“I won’t eat it,” I said as I pushed it to the edge of the plate with my fork.
Like most children, I loathed vegetables, especially broccoli. I thought it tasted bitter and the texture of the florets against my tongue felt like I was putting dirt into my mouth. Like most parents, my mom had tried (and failed) to get me to eat it. The battle was a hard-fought one. She assaulted me with her words. She cornered me in my room. She tried getting broccoli into my stomach by camouflaging them with melted-cheese, or stir-frying and cloaking them in oyster sauce. One time she even cut off my access to the dinner table, but as soon as she saw that I wouldn’t hesitate to starve myself, she finally conceded to working around my finicky palate. Yet by the following week, I was eating not only broccoli, but almost any vegetable that she put on my plate.
What had changed?
Choose to Take the Journey 