Why I Made My Career About Nutrition: A Personal Story of Food Scarcity, Abundance, and Everything In Between

A Memorial Day reflection on scarcity, abundance, and the psychology that connects them

Rations

Memorial Day has always made me think about sacrifice and remembrance, but this year, as I sat with my morning coffee in a kitchen stocked with more food than my 4-year-old self could have imagined, I found myself thinking about hunger in different contexts. I thought about the soldiers who ate cold C-rations in foxholes during the Battle of the Bulge, subsisting on beans and crackers for days. I thought about the families on the home front during World War II, carefully rationing sugar and meat, making "victory gardens" stretch through winter. I thought about POWs in places like the Hanoi Hilton, where a single bowl of thin soup and a piece of bread constituted a feast.

And then I thought about my own small childhood experience with scarcity...not born of war or captivity, but of the simple reality of young parents learning to make ends meet. I remember the feeling distinctly: that gnawing awareness that there might not be enough. Not always, but often enough that my small body learned to pay attention.

I have specific memories that still surface decades later. I remember my dad eating one of our only three single serving yogurts and giving me a spoonful from his container. As a child, I understood I wasn't entitled to my own yogurt when there were so few, and looking back, I can see how a busy 20-something college student, focused on studying to build a better future for our growing family, might prioritize his own nutritional needs. He was doing his best to become the provider who would eventually ensure my younger siblings never knew that kind of limitation.

I remember dinners of hot dogs and beans, olive loaf sandwiches...foods that filled us up but left something wanting. I was never worried about where my next meal would come from; there was always something to eat. But "enough" was sometimes elusive, leaving me with a particular kind of hunger that wasn't about starvation but about satiation.

But then there were the visits to our grandparents...once a year pilgrimages from wherever my father's schooling had taken us, sometimes five hours away, sometimes a three day drive. These visits offered glimpses into a different world entirely. At my mom's parents' house, we'd gather around a table that seated more than a dozen people: leg of lamb, fresh-made rolls, multiple vegetables, abundance that seemed almost shocking in its plenty. At my dad's side of the family, summer visits meant poolside gatherings with fudgesicles and every flavor of pop imaginable...the kind of variety that felt like pure magic.

When we went out to dinner with the grandparents, the rules changed completely. To order a burger in a place that served steak was gently frowned upon; we were encouraged to reach for things we didn't usually get. Shirley Temples and Roy Rogers were par for the course as generous grandfathers insisted on footing the bill, wanting us to experience abundance in all its forms.

These contrasts...scarcity at home, abundance with extended family, created their own psychological landscape that I'm still navigating decades later.

Interestingly, some of my fondest food memories from that time involve my mom making homemade yogurt. Maybe it was the care that went into it, or maybe my body was already craving what it needed. Today, I'm a passionate advocate for probiotics, and I sometimes wonder if all those processed meats left my gut yearning for the live cultures that would help restore balance.

What I didn't know then was how deeply that early experience of "not quite enough" would etch itself into my neural pathways, creating patterns that would follow me into adulthood... patterns that many of us carry, whether we experienced scarcity or its opposite.

The Scarcity Script: When "Not Enough" Becomes Our Default

Food scarcity in childhood doesn't just affect our bodies; it rewrites our relationship with nourishment, safety, and control. When we experience genuine hunger as children, our developing brains form what psychologists call "survival schemas"...deep-seated beliefs about the world's reliability and our own worthiness.

The scarcity script often sounds like:

• "I better eat this now because it might not be here later"

• "I need to clear my plate because food is precious"

• "Saying no to food feels dangerous"

• "Food equals love, security, and safety"

  
  

This script can show up decades later in surprising ways. Maybe you find yourself finishing meals even when you're full, or feeling anxious when the pantry looks bare. Perhaps you over-shop for groceries, creating a fortress of food that feels like emotional armor. Or maybe, like me, food becomes your primary love language...the way you show care, celebrate achievements, and soothe difficult emotions. Or maybe you make your whole career about nutrition (subtle much?).

Having spent enough of my adult life in abundance, I've also experienced the flip side...the abundance trap. I know the particular thrill of wandering Costco aisles, the dopamine hit of spotting something with a "NEW" tag at the health food store, the paradox of standing in a fully stocked kitchen declaring there's "nothing good to eat."

The Abundance Trap: When Too Much Choice Creates Its Own Hunger

But here's what's fascinating: growing up with food abundance creates its own complex psychology. When choice is infinite and food is always available, we can develop what researchers call "decision fatigue" around eating. The paradox of plenty can leave us feeling just as disconnected from our bodies' natural cues as scarcity can.

The abundance script might whisper:

• "I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want"

• "There's always something better/more exciting to try"

• "Food is entertainment, not just fuel"

• "I should be able to control this, so why can't I?"

  
  

This can manifest as emotional eating, constant snacking, or an endless search for the "perfect" meal that will finally satisfy us. We might find ourselves standing in a fully-stocked kitchen declaring "there's nothing to eat," not because food is absent, but because no single option feels like it will meet our emotional needs.

The Neuroscience Behind Our Food Stories

Understanding the brain science behind these patterns is both humbling and hopeful. When we experience food scarcity early in life, our amygdala...the brain's alarm system, becomes hypervigilant about food security. This isn't a character flaw; it's evolutionary wisdom. Our brains are designed to remember and protect us from threats, including the threat of hunger.

Similarly, in food-abundant environments, our dopamine systems can become dysregulated. We chase the pleasure hit of novel flavors, textures, and food experiences, but like any reward system, it requires increasingly intense stimulation to achieve the same satisfaction.

The good news? Neuroplasticity means our brains can form new pathways at any age. We can literally rewire our relationships with food and abundance.

Flipping the Script: Practical Strategies for Food Freedom

For the Scarcity-Minded:

Practice Mechanical Eating: Eat regular meals and snacks regardless of hunger cues. This helps retrain your nervous system to trust that food will always be available.

Stock Your Environment: Keep easy, nourishing foods visible and accessible. This isn't hoarding; it's nervous system regulation.

Explore Food Neutrality: Practice seeing all foods as morally neutral. A cookie isn't "bad" and a salad isn't "good"... they're just different tools for different needs.

Honor Your Food Generosity: If food is your love language, embrace it consciously. Plan special meals, try new recipes, and let cooking and sharing food be a deliberate act of love rather than a compulsive one.

I learned this lesson through a conversation with my dad years later, when I called to tell him I was making steak for my family. His response was immediate: "When you're not making a lot of money, you should have burger." He had a point about budgeting, even though I'd found those steaks at Grocery Outlet. But I realized I've always allocated a disproportionate amount of my budget to food, and that's okay. It's where I choose to invest because it matters to my sense of security and love.

For the Abundance-Overwhelmed:

Simplify Your Food Environment: Reduce decision fatigue by creating structure. Plan meals ahead, limit restaurant options, or designate certain days for specific types of food.

Practice Mindful Abundance: Before eating, pause and ask: "What does my body actually need right now?" Not what sounds good, but what would genuinely nourish you.

Embrace Food Boredom: It's okay to eat the same breakfast for a week. Variety is wonderful, but it doesn't need to happen at every meal.

Connect Eating with Values: Ask yourself how your food choices align with your deeper values...health, environmental impact, supporting local businesses, or cultural connection.

The Integration: Making Peace with Your Food Story

The most powerful shift happens when we stop trying to overcome our food patterns and start working with them. My early experience of scarcity has made me someone who finds deep joy in feeding others, who views a well-stocked kitchen as a form of love, and who appreciates food in ways that perhaps someone who never experienced hunger cannot.

Rather than seeing this as something to fix, I've learned to channel it consciously. I budget generously for food because I know it's a priority for my well-being. I keep backup snacks in my car and office because my nervous system feels safer that way. I plan elaborate meals for friends because sharing abundance feels like healing.

The key is consciousness... moving from unconscious reaction to intentional response.

A Memorial Day Reflection

As we honor those who sacrificed for our freedoms this Memorial Day, I'm struck by the stories of what they endured. During the Bataan Death March, soldiers went days without food, surviving on handfuls of rice when they were lucky. In German POW camps, Allied prisoners subsisted on watery soup, black bread, and potatoes that were often rotten. On the home front, families learned to make do with ration stamps... two pounds of sugar per person per month, limited meat, no coffee some weeks.

These aren't my stories to tell as an authority, but they're part of our collective memory. They remind me that food scarcity has shaped human experience in ways both profound and mundane. The 4-year-old who worried about whether there would be enough yogurt and the soldier who dreamed of his mother's apple pie while eating cold beans from a can...We're connected by this fundamental human vulnerability around nourishment.

Our food stories are never just about food. They're about safety, love, control, and connection. They're about the deep human need to be nourished... not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually.

Whether your story began with too little or too much, with hunger or overwhelm, it's shaped who you are today. And today, you have the power to write the next chapter consciously, with compassion for all the versions of yourself that brought you here.

In this land of plenty, may we remember that true abundance isn't about having access to everything, but about knowing deeply that we have enough... that we are enough... exactly as we are.

What's your food story? How has your relationship with scarcity or abundance shaped the way you nourish yourself today? Share your reflections in the comments. Our stories have power when they're witnessed.

Kelly Greenway MRWP, FNTP