There are apparently two kinds of people: those who plan out their meals or menus well ahead of time, and those who figure out what they will eat when they reach the time where they need to cook. I am one thousand percent the former, and until this week, it had never occurred to me that the latter was even an option. My family and I visited friends out of state this week, and they’re of the latter approach, so trying to plan meals was a source of bemusement for us all because it was such a clash of personalities. We found it funny, really, but it is something I’m still thinking about. Up to now, I hadn’t considered how pervasive my penchant for planning ahead was, particularly when it comes to food.

With input from my husband (at varying levels of interest ranging from enthusiastic to indifferent), I plan our dinners out roughly one full week at a time. I literally write the details out on paper, like a list of menu ideas. I then write, revise, and rewrite grocery lists accordingly. I genuinely enjoy grocery shopping. I spend what some might consider an inordinate amount of time thinking about what recipes I haven’t made in awhile, or looking for new ones to try, or how to make fun twists on old favorites. Unless my husband has commandeered the television at home with insert-sports-game-of-choice-here, nine times out of ten, I’m watching a food-related show. I enjoy reading biographies and autobiographies of famous chefs.

It’s a hobby. An interest. A passion.

…or is it exemplary of my need to maintain control in my life, and food is a handy part of my life in which I can execute that control?

The truth is that it’s probably all of the above. I never thought much about it until it came up this past week, and now it’s giving me pause. I can pinpoint exactly what this preoccupation, this compulsion, stems from, if we want to call it that. When so much of one’s life has been utterly beyond one’s own control, it is only fitting to seek out that independent decision-making wherever possible. When toddlers begin eating more on their own, parents often get frustrated when the kid suddenly refuses foods, even ones they know are favorites; one of the only and most basic things a child can control at that age is what goes into their mouth. It’s a natural developmental step toward learning how to control and manage other parts of life. If along the way, other developmental steps toward learning about self-management and self-regulation get all fucked up, that part of a person’s growth and maturity can get stunted.

I recently figured out that my daughter has something called sensory food aversion, which is a situation where she has difficulty processing the sensory aspects of eating. It can present in different ways, but in her case, she struggles a great deal with textures in her mouth. There is not a wide variety of foods she will eat (although it’s wider than for some other kids), and trying new foods is really difficult for her; she has struggled with this issue since she was a toddler, and many a meal has been punctuated with vomiting at the table because of her hairpin trigger gag reflex, so at this point she generally prefers to stick with foods she knows are “safe” for her. We are working on some strategies, such as remembering to take smaller bites, and while she has an interest in food and we always offer her new foods to try, we never force them on her. I allow her to spit food out if she needs to. Many adults view this sort of situation as poor behavior on the child’s part, where they’re just being picky or trying to get their own way. I can tell you beyond any doubt that that’s not the case with my kid. A consummate rule follower and people pleaser, she would love nothing more than to swallow the bite of extremely dry chicken she’s been sitting with for ten minutes while tears roll down her face, because she feels bad that she can’t do what will make everyone happy. She just can’t do it. She isn’t trying to be a problem. She has a problem, one that she is learning how to control and manage. With the right support from the adults in her life, she’ll get there.

Unlike me. Because I had the exact same problem growing up, and the only thing my adults ever did was tease me, label me a super picky eater, and force me to eat things I couldn’t manage well. I have vivid memories of my mother demanding I eat green beans (which she made all the time); I would take as big a bite as I could stand, chew them up, ask to go to the bathroom, spit them out into the toilet, return to the table, and repeat the process until they were off my plate. Apparently she never caught on to my strategy. To this day, though I have tried making green beans myself several times, in many different ways, I just cannot stand to eat them. I have the same trouble with both meatloaf and celery, because she used to put celery in meatloaf. Even today, I refer to celery as the Dread Vegetable. My father, who when I was a child worked for a company that made different uniforms and and graphically designed clothing and such, came home one day with a tee shirt for me that said “Picky Picky Picky” on it (a very odd ad for the National Lice Prevention Association or something, if you can believe it, but he thought it humorous for his daughter to wear because she was such a picky eater). My challenges with food were a source of amusement to family, at my expense. Already trained to relinquish my autonomy in deference to everyone else’s needs, my only choice was to go along with the jokes and teasing. I have also experienced food insecurity in my past (by which I mean, not having enough food or knowing consistently where or when my next meal would be coming from), but as I just described above, my need for culinary control stems from even before that.

I don’t know that I can cease menu planning and food management in my life. To do so feels too much like letting other people take the wheel again, and the idea of relegating myself back to the passenger’s seat in my own life strikes a drumbeat of primal fear inside. Sure, some would say it’s just food. But, much like a toddler, control over food was all I had (and I didn’t always have it), and now as an adult it brings me comfort. If I start feeling anxious about anything, thinking about a new recipe or fleshing out my grocery list helps to calm my mind. I’ve come to realize that I’m a bit of a stress baker; I tend to bake when I feel stressed, and my colleagues at work have loved reaping the benefits of that behavior! Just talking about meals to come brings me palpable reassurance. Indeed, it literally reassures me that there will be a meal to come, and I’ll be able to eat it.

I don’t think that either a controlled or a blasé approach to meal planning is right or wrong. People should do whatever works for them. I just know that I need the controlled approach, and I know why I need it. At this point, it’s pretty much a core part of my personality. I’m trying not to judge myself about it. There are worse compulsions out there, no? At least this predilection dovetails nicely with the need to provide sustenance for myself and my loved ones, right? (If you’re wondering who I’m trying to convince, you or me…yes.)

At minimum, food fuels the body. If done well, it comforts the heart, enriches the soul, and even nurtures the community. For myself, it seems to do all of those things, and also serves the much-needed purpose of soothing my mind. That seems like a worthwhile endeavor to me.