Naughty Girls Don't Get Dinner

I loath feeling hungry. So much so, I have gone out of my way all my life to avoid it. The result is a love-hate relationship with my body as it changes with the ebb and flow of my life.

Recently, mid-pandemic, that life took me to a woman's retreat in Central Alberta. The weather couldn't have been better for the end of September; clear blue skies, crisp autumn air and mild temperatures greeted my arrival. The long gravel driveway crinkled in anticipation of new guests. The sprawling grounds of the 4-H Club we would call home for the next three days were still lush and green. The gentle slope of the lawn wickedly beckoned this 55-year-old to contemplate falling to her knees and unceremoniously roll herself to the bottom like she used when she was a little girl.

Looking around, with tote bags and bedding in hand, I marvelled at the beauty around me. A deep forest of statuesque trees wearing their best yellow and gold finery dwarfed the main building where we would meet met each morning at 6:30 am. While we meditated and did Nia - a beautiful new-to-me movement practice - in the chilly basement, the real work happened upstairs in a bright, large, outdated room. Floor-to-ceiling windows trimmed in oak lead out to an unadorned wood porch, begging for a fresh coat of paint. The other three walls, plain and panelled, were peppered with a photo history of the club and a blatant call to action. They also had stark white poster sheets, scotched taped somewhat haphazardly with instructions for the various retreat activities.

Day three of the retreat found me sitting at my round banquet table, artfully covered with brown paper to hide the knicks and age spots befitting a table from the 1970s. Evidence of my stay lay strewn in front of me: assorted highlighters, brightly coloured post-it notes, pieces of cut-out magazines - the beginnings of a vision board, and a water bottle with lipstick stains. The personalized nameplate that I created on day one, with stickers and fancy pens, stood awkwardly facing the back wall. I figured everyone knew my name by now, so I wasn't concerned about repositioning it. There were eight of us sharing the open space. We were also sharing our ah-ha moments and deep personal insight. 

In a fascinating and straightforward exercise, we recalled an event from our past that we felt was the catalyst for a limiting belief in our present. The instructions posted directly to my left were as follows:

• What is a limiting belief affecting you today? 

"Only one?" I thought as I repositioned my chair to face left.

• Can you think of an event from your past that may explain this belief?

Oh, this is interesting. I slumped a bit, wrapping my black shawl tightly around my shoulders.

• How has that belief affected your life?

Ok, I need a drink! Facing forward again, I had my epiphany for the day.

In a matter of what felt like only a few seconds, I went from a grounded and grinning Empowerment Coach to a heartbroken little girl, hungry after missing supper.

When the facilitator noticed my pale face and brimming eyes, she gently asked if I would share. It took a few deep breaths and a wipe of my eyes to do so. What I recalled was the only time my beautiful mother ever laid a hand on me. I stuck my tongue out at her in a fit of pique, and she pulled me up by one arm and gave me a licking on my backside. I'm not sure who was more surprised or upset as we glared at each other, solitary tears of indignation rolling down my face. For my rudeness, I was banished to my bedroom without supper. With seven pairs of eyes glued to mine, I concluded in halting sentences that naughty girls went hungry and acknowledged that little me had drawn a misguided correlation between behaviour and hunger. That belief from long ago is still buried deep within me today.

I loathe feeling hungry, and now I think I understand why.