cupure logo
trumpstardeadkilledwatercrashmissingdeathcourtreveals

I Couldn't Get My Son To Eat Anything. I Thought He Was Just Picky – Then I Discovered The Truth

I Couldn't Get My Son To Eat Anything. I Thought He Was Just Picky – Then I Discovered The Truth
The author's son.Around 18 months old, I first noticed my son eating less and less of what I put in front of him. I could tell you on one hand how many foods he ate, and as the weeks passed, the list kept shrinking. The usual parenting strategies – making food fun, encouraging bites, and offering choices – only led to more frustration. Then one evening, we had breakfast for dinner. When my three-year-old son refused a cinnamon roll, I lost it. I sent him to his room, convinced he was just being stubborn. He never came back. That’s when it hit me: what if he wasn’t refusing food – what if he couldn’t eat it?Over the next year, I often asked myself, “What am I doing wrong?” Breakfast, lunch and dinner as a family became a production. Me, making something special for my middle child while my other two kiddos looked on, questioning why they didn’t get to eat a fruit pouch and crackers too. Still, we persisted even as the sight and smell of certain foods prompted my son’s gag reflex. Meanwhile, the world around us was less patient. “I make my kids eat what I serve,” other parents would say with casual confidence, as though I simply lacked backbone. I smiled through those moments, even when they stung.Eventually, I asked his paediatrician for help and was referred to feeding therapy. I had no idea speech therapists often double as feeding specialists. Ours handed me a “Steps to Eating” chart, containing a list of 32 incremental actions that started with tolerating the sight of food on a plate and ended, someday, with swallowing it. My eyes scanned the list in the hospital lobby as we waited in the Starbucks line for a much-needed cup of coffee and two pastries — treats for siblings forced to tag along to weekly appointments that seemed to be going nowhere. It was then I understood: there would be no quick fix.Week after week, we sat in sterile hospital rooms as the kind therapist coaxed him to smell a cracker or squish a piece of kiwi between his fingers. I looked on and silently tabulated the rising cost of our weekly food play. When our insurance reset and we lost our regular therapist, I gave up on the sessions altogether. I felt like a huge failure as a parent. What was I doing wrong? Since nobody seemed to have a diagnosis for what my son struggled with, I came up with my own explanations for his limited palate. “He’s highly allergic to everything,” I’d say. Or, “He’s gluten free, nut free.” Whatever got me the socially acceptable knowing nod from his preschool teacher, the attendant at the amusement park checking our bags, or the mum at the odd birthday party. All the while thinking, I just wish they understood. I wish I understood. That’s when I decided to let go of what people thought, trying to eat out, or getting more therapy. I posted the 32 steps from the hospital on our fridge and shifted my focus to simply keeping him healthy. We bought a Vitamix, blended spinach into chocolate protein powder, and served dinner on a spaceship-shaped plate. I let go of the fight for progress and concentrated on just getting him the nutrition he needed. Meanwhile, a friend suggested occupational therapy. Our insurance didn’t cover it, and there was no way we could afford the out-of-pocket cost, so I put it out of my mind. To dwell on yet another possible fix was just too much. I was exhausted from just keeping him happy and healthy.Yet, when my husband found a new job, with coverage for occupational therapy, I started asking myself, “What if it could help?” We booked our first appointment. That’s when the deeper truth came out. Our son had a visual processing disorder: His eyes lacked the stabilising reflex that allows most people to see the world without constant motion. His entire life, he had experienced the world as though riding in a moving car. He’d been nauseated, disoriented and overly tired for all of his young life. He hadn’t been unwilling to eat. He had been sick.Once OT helped stabilise his sensory system, by the time he turned six, feeding therapy finally started to work. I found a therapist outside a hospital, which was much more affordable. She used humour and rewards to get him past five more steps on the list. Then, after years of quiet struggle, came the clinical recognition of what’s now known as avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder, or ARFID. ARFID, as we later learned, has several possible roots. It can be brought on by anxiety, trauma, or, in our case, a neurological problem. Not only was there a name for what we’d been dealing with for years, but there were others – with Instagram accounts! One had 25,000 followers. Watching another kiddo try something new that was also difficult for him was so encouraging. We weren’t alone anymore. We finally had a name for our struggle.Now he’s 10. He still avoids foods most kids love, but he’s willing to try. And perhaps more importantly, he’s learning how to talk about his condition, not simply hide it. At dinner recently, we asked a playful question: “If you had a magic wand, what would you change about yourself?” Without hesitation, he answered, “I want to eat like other kids.”There was a silence at the table. Then we nodded. “We want that for you too, buddy, and you’ll get there. Just keep taking steps. We’re so proud of you!”Now we celebrate the small victories. When he came home from a birthday party raving about “shoestring fries”, there were high-fives and a few dance moves in the kitchen. When I watched him casually eat a pastry at his school’s end-of-year tea, I had to physically stop myself from screaming: “DID YOU SEE THAT! HE ATE A DANISH!” And when he told me raspberries were a six out of 10 on his “Do I like this?” scale, I texted my husband: “HE LIKES BERRIES!”Dealing with ARFID is still difficult, but my son isn’t difficult; he’s absolutely amazing. This journey has taught me to let go of guilt, to let go of fitting in to people’s expectations, and to let go of my own. What I care about now is that he feels safe and proud of every step forward, even if it’s a sniff, a lick or a single bite.Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at [email protected]...'I Can't Go Back To Eating Three Meals A Day': The Heartbreaking Secrets Kids Share With ChildlineMy Dad Has A Serious Illness. He Started Eating McDonald's And I Couldn't Believe What Happened Next.I Was My Daughter’s Champion. Behind Closed Doors, I Was Keeping A Dangerous Secret

Comments

Breaking news