CONFESSIONS OF A PICKY EATER (AND THE AMAZING JOY OF OWNING IT)

I'm a picky eater. There, I said it.

- Written By Sherry Parks

For a long time, I avoided admitting that out loud. Where I grew up, being a picky eater was frowned upon. Money was tight, food was precious, and waste wasn't tolerated. If something was on your plate, you ate it. To reject food was to reject gratitude, and that felt shameful. So, I learned to stay quiet, push things around my plate, and carry the silent stigma of being “picky.”

But here’s the truth: I get to be a picky eater. And so do you. We don’t all have to like the same things, and pretending otherwise only makes life heavier.

Childhood Memories of Pickiness

For me, it started with textures. I could never handle foods that felt too doughy. Give me the corner piece of a brownie, but never the soft middle. I liked my toast fully crisp, not lightly browned. And French toast? Don't even try — soggy bread was my worst nightmare.

Then came the smells. While others sighed happily over the aroma of fresh sourdough or yeasty rolls, I had to leave the room before gagging. Onions were the hardest. Raw or cooked, they ruined entire dishes for me. My mom resorted to mincing them into oblivion so I wouldn't notice, though I usually did anyway.

So yes, I was a picky eater as a kid — and, truthfully, I still am. I avoid doughy textures, yeasty smells, and onion-heavy foods. And I've got my quirks with the foods I do enjoy.

• I prefer aged pu-erh black tea.

• I eat gluten-free, which limits my options.

• I stick with familiar favorites and rarely venture out.

On paper, that might sound limiting. But it's simply what works for me.