Unbridled uneasiness triggered the goosebumps on my clammy skin as a concoction of racing thoughts about diet culture pounded into my mind, spiraling the urge to throw up. “Sweet tooth” has encapsulated my being since sugar first touched my tongue. As a child, I was frequently given desserts from neighbors and friends. From home-baked cakes to home-grown fruit, the overpowering warmth of love was unearthed within each bite. Unfortunately, this childhood satisfaction was but a bittersweet dream. I was oblivious to the facets of diet culture creeping around, encasing me within their grasping walls as I let the Slovak and American ideals pour through my sanity. The crunch of unwrapping a metallic wrapper, the snap of breaking off a creamy milk chocolate piece, and the smell of sugar made bile rise in my throat- seventeen years old, but I could not eat a single bite.

My diet was a topic of discussion, no matter how many salads I ate. The preteen version of myself did not hope for her Slovak neighbor to mock, “Wow, you lost weight!” after not visiting for years. Instead, as an adolescent dipping her toes into teenagehood, I pondered if my body would ever fit into the jeans my mom wore at my age or replicate the perfectly skinny models on my “For You” TikTok page. The media’s label of an ideal “American teen” trampled over my confidence, akin to a horde of zombies eager to sneak a bite of my attention on the latest “quick-fix, fat-melting” diet. I could hardly figure out if I was Slovak or American, let alone reconfigure my body to fit both societies’ expectations. At last, when a high school acquaintance slyly remarked, “You’re fat,” during sophomore year, it catalyzed the diet and cultural imprints to stain my soul. I nibbled at the bare minimum to function, for the sweets once embodying love could not conquer the quaky waters of my mentality. I yearned for the bliss of sweetness; my gagging at its scent was purely unplanned.

Moments of realization often hit like a superhero slapping one’s face, a grotesque message underlying a victorious moment. As I analyzed the fragment of chocolate within my grasp, the incessant thundering of my heart ceased. Thump. How could a minuscule creation of cocoa beans and a sprinkle of sugar be the source of my seventeen-year-old distress? Was allowing myself to melt away like the piece of chocolate in my palm worth an arbitrary number on the scale? With shaky hands, I lined the chocolate up to my lips, teeth gingerly chipping at sugary relief, etching away my anguish.

Although my father says, “Sugar is a killer,” sugar can manifest marvelously. Each atom of glazed delight that melted upon my tongue conjured memories of salty tears, nails digging into bleeding skin, and hours staring at the ceiling fan. When I uttered, “I’m sorry,” to those recollections, the thoughts stilled.  I began to research my chocolate awakening the following day. From my phone history brimming with specialists advocating for a “balanced lifestyle” to refraining from advertised diet trends to a resounding “yes” when offered an ice cream sandwich, I strived for months on carefully crafted food-relationship rebuilding. With each purposeful bite, my food guilt was buried in a pit, never uncovered again.

While continuing to cherish my relationship with food, the number of chocolate pieces I have had ever since is innumerable. I devour one against diet culture, another against Slovak influences, and a last against American fad diets.  I am even currently nibbling on a chocolate chunk, pondering my past. Although being American may mean that I can never escape mentions of intermittent fasting or keto plans, it is that trait that empowers me to trailblaze my path and alter the immovable “diet culture.” My heart no longer pounds over the item that provides subsistence, culture, and bonding with those I love. I finally savor. After all, life is a see-saw, precariously balanced joy that is always worth the ending solace.

© Ellie . All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.