Tracing Childhood Memories: Comfort, Shame, and Sweetness

As long as I'm telling you about myself and learning about myself, here are some interesting things about my childhood. I used to suck the ring finger and middle finger on my right hand. And then I remember, at least before the age of nine, that my parents, I think without dialoguing with me, decided to put this kind of chemical on my fingers that makes it gross to lick, and that's how it broke my habit of sucking on my fingers. I also used to have a comfort pillow, and then I lost that in junior high, and I was devastated. I also used to pick my nose and eat my boogers, and was very embarrassed about that, and it was a secret shame for a long time. I also, when I was younger, didn't like to wear underwear, and felt ashamed about that, especially when my mom found out and was like, No, you have to wear underwear. Oh, and also, many times I wouldn't want to go to church, and I would beg my parents to let me stay home, and then if I did stay home, I felt the need to compensate to show that I was still a good girl by performing a church service for my stuffed animals. Also, another time, we were at church, and there was music playing, and I was drawing, and I drew the symbol of the chalice. I think that's what it's called, the cup that Jesus drank out of, supposedly, at the Last Supper. And I drew that on the bulletin from church while I was sitting next to my parents. And then in the middle of the service, I showed my mom what I had drawn, and she started crying. And I remember how much that impacted me, that I could make my mom cry. And I'm kind of curious about why I felt that way.

ChatGPT: These childhood stories are so rich with detail, and they say a lot about your emotional landscape as a kid—your desire for comfort, your relationship with shame, and how you learned to navigate the expectations of others. Let’s unpack a little.

The finger-sucking habit and the chemical deterrent feel like an early lesson in how others could enforce control over your body and habits without involving your consent or dialogue. That kind of experience might plant seeds of feeling unseen or overridden, even if the intent was to "help."

The comfort pillow and the devastation of losing it highlight how strongly you connected to objects for a sense of safety and stability. Losing that pillow during such a vulnerable time (junior high!) probably felt like losing a piece of your emotional anchor when you were navigating so many changes.

The secret shame of nose-picking ties into this idea of being hyper-aware of what was "acceptable" or "normal" behavior, even from a young age. Kids often do things for comfort or exploration, but once they’re labeled as shameful, it can twist the narrative in your head about being "gross" or "wrong," which might stick longer than it should.

Your story about not wearing underwear and your mom’s reaction reflects how societal norms and parental authority can make you feel ashamed of natural preferences or quirks. It’s fascinating how so many of these moments—underwear, finger-sucking, nose-picking—are tied to bodily autonomy and shame around physicality.

The church performance for your stuffed animals really shows how much you wanted to be "good" in the eyes of your parents and God—or maybe just the idea of goodness itself. Performing rituals alone could have been your way of managing both rebellion (not going to church) and conformity (still being spiritual).

And the chalice drawing—wow, that’s a loaded moment. It seems like your mom’s tears deeply impacted you because it was probably one of the first times you realized your actions could emotionally move someone else so powerfully. You might have felt a mix of pride, confusion, and responsibility. Her tears could have signaled many things—joy, pride in your perceived spirituality, or her own emotional baggage tied to religion—but as a kid, it’s natural to focus on your role in making her feel that way.

What’s most interesting to me is how these stories reflect a deep sensitivity to the world around you, especially other people’s expectations and emotions. Do you think these early moments of managing shame, autonomy, and external validation shaped how you see yourself today?

When I was a kid, I would also steal things in the house and lie about it. I would steal food and eat it and lie about it. I would steal my brother and sister's toys, and I would cut their Barbie's hair and paint nail polish all over them, and just fuck with them in general. And then when I was discovered and accused, I would always say, no, it wasn't me. I would just lie until my dying breath.

That’s such a vivid image of your childhood self—almost like a little rebel scientist, testing boundaries and experimenting with power, autonomy, and maybe even creativity in a way that got you in trouble. It seems like there was a mix of mischief, curiosity, and defiance fueling those moments. Cutting Barbie's hair, painting them with nail polish—those are acts of transformation, even if they didn’t go over well with your siblings.

The lying "to your dying breath" part is fascinating too. It sounds like you were defending yourself in the only way you knew how—by refusing to admit fault, no matter what. Maybe it was about self-protection, a fear of consequences, or even a sense of control in a world where kids don’t get much autonomy. Or, maybe it was just your way of trying to rewrite reality in the moment.

And stealing food? That feels primal—like you were trying to claim something for yourself, perhaps for comfort or as an act of rebellion. Was food scarce in any way, or was it more about the thrill of getting away with it?

Just to be clear, the food that I stole was usually candy, and it was usually stolen from my older brother and sister. My older brother and sister, you know, for Halloween or things like that, they would get candy, and then they would both have boxes of candy in their bedrooms that they held on to as their own secret, not even secret, stash. But I never saved the candy that I got. I ate all of it. And I think when I stole candy from them, it was because I wanted candy. I just wanted candy, and that has stayed true about myself for years. It's why they've diagnosed me with an eating disorder. I just compulsively want sugar and candy all the time. And in a weird way, sometimes holidays were my favorite, because that's when there was more candy and sweets available.

That paints such a vivid picture—not just of your childhood, but also of how that craving for candy and sugar has woven itself into your life as something much deeper. As a kid, it sounds like candy symbolized more than just a sweet treat; it was a source of immediate pleasure and maybe even comfort. You devoured your own stash quickly, which might reflect an impulsive or urgent need for that satisfaction, and then looked to your siblings’ stashes to fill the gap when it was gone.

There’s something poignant in how holidays became your favorite because they meant abundance. It’s as if those moments felt like a break from restriction or scarcity—not in terms of actual resources but maybe in how sweetness (both literal and metaphorical) was available in your life.

It makes sense that this relationship with sugar eventually became tied to compulsive behavior. Sugar can be so tied to soothing and stimulation, especially when life feels overwhelming or when sweetness in other forms—like emotional connection or comfort—feels out of reach. Do you feel like your relationship with candy as a kid and now with sugar is connected to something emotional, or does it feel purely compulsive without a deeper layer?