Grandma’s House

“Is this enough?” My grandmother asks and I nod my head as she hands me a plate with the portion sizes she deemed fit. I then watch her as she fills my cousin’s plate, with him egging her on to add more and her smiling and complying with his whims. I look back down at my plate and take a deep breath. While I was thankful for the food in front of me, I knew I would be going to bed hungry at the end of the day.

We go to our grandmother’s house once a week, and on the day we do Mom points out not to eat so much as there’ll be lots of delicious food waiting for us. The food was always delicious, but the treatment I received instilled fear and anxiety I was never able to get rid of. When I was younger, I tried asking for more food, as my cousins do but was always met with a disapproving look and remarks about my weight. After the first few times, I learned to accept what was given to me and remained quiet during meal times, withdrawing myself from the lively conversations that took place around me.

I was the first to finish my food, this was no surprise as everyone went for seconds, but I did not. I gathered my plate and utensils, thanked my grandmother for the food, and placed the dishes in the sink before heading to the restroom to wash my hands. I try to trick myself into thinking I ate enough to satisfy my hunger, but my stomach grumbles. I sigh and wash my face, trying to remove the anxious feeling lingering at the pit of my stomach. As I look up into the mirror, I see a young girl, she couldn’t be more than five or six. She’s looking up at me as if she’s about to cry. For a moment I forget the anxiousness I feel and reach out to her, with my hand laying flat against the mirror. This isn’t a new interaction as I see her often after eating at grandma’s house, as if in a silent plea for help. Reaching out to comfort her, I tell her that next time we are asked if it’s enough we will finally speak up and say “no”.