Please note that this is an Archived article and may contain content that is out of date. The use of she/her/hers pronouns in some articles is not intended to be exclusionary. Eating disorders can affect people of all genders, ages, races, religions, ethnicities, sexual orientations, body shapes, and weights.

By: Quinn Nystrom, M.S.

At our middle schooler’s orientation, I was doing what parents do: finding classrooms, trying to remember which hallway led where, and wondering how another child in our family had become old enough for middle school. Then I walked into the cafeteria and saw a massive poster advising students to choose fat-free foods.

I stopped. This was the room where children would eat breakfast and lunch with their friends every day. I wondered what that poster might mean to a student already anxious about eating in front of others, a child who had heard comments about their body, or someone learning to manage a medical condition. I also thought about my own history with bulimia and how easily a rule about food can sound like a rule about being good.

I don’t know who chose the poster or what they intended. Perhaps they wanted to promote health. But intent is only one part of what children receive. A message presented on a cafeteria wall carries the school’s authority. In a room full of peers, it can become a public lesson about which choices deserve approval.

Middle school is already a loud place for body messages. Bodies change at different times and in different ways. Kids compare lunches, clothes, sports performance, and pictures online. Some arrive at school without enough to eat. Some bring foods rooted in family or culture. Some have food allergies or diabetes (like my brother and I). Some are quietly struggling with an eating disorder. A simple command to choose “fat-free” cannot account for those realities.

It also confuses one nutrient with the whole story of nourishment. Fat is a normal part of eating and helps the body use certain vitamins. More broadly, growing children need enough food, variety, and freedom from shame. A child doesn’t need to learn that a food containing fat is a moral failure. A child needs a setting where lunch is lunch, and where adults can teach health without making eating feel like a test.

I know how powerful rules can be because I once lived inside them. During my eating disorder, I could turn ordinary language about food into permission to restrict, judge myself, or compensate. That does not mean one school poster causes an eating disorder. These illnesses have many contributing factors. It does mean adults should take seriously the environment in which vulnerable kids hear nutrition messages.

It is tempting to answer a poster with another simple rule. I don’t think children need a replacement slogan telling them to eat in one approved way. They need adults willing to handle complexity: different bodies, different access to food, different medical needs, and the fact that a meal is also a social experience. A student who chooses the food available to them should not have to defend it. A student who eats with support from a treatment team should not have to explain that plan to classmates.

The cafeteria is not the only place. A coach praises an athlete for getting smaller. A classroom assignment asks students to track everything they eat. A fundraiser advertises food as something to “earn” with exercise. A health lesson sorts meals into “good” and “bad.” A parent calls themselves “bad” for eating dessert. Children hear the cumulative message: your body and appetite are always being evaluated. We can teach useful things instead.

We can talk about how food gives us energy to learn, play, concentrate, and grow. We can make room for cultural foods and different family circumstances. We can teach children that bodies need different things and that medical nutrition advice should come from a qualified professional who knows the individual child. We can avoid using body size as a shortcut for health or character.

This matters especially when a child is returning to school during eating disorder recovery. Lunch can be one of the hardest parts of the day. The student may need a plan developed with their family and treatment team, a trusted adult to check in with, or support navigating peer comments. A school can make that process easier by examining the messages already hanging on its walls.

If you’re a parent and your child points out a poster or a lesson that feels uncomfortable, you don’t need to deliver a perfect speech. You can ask, “What did you think that meant?” and listen. You might say, “Bodies need many kinds of food. One sign can’t tell you what your body needs.” If the message comes from school, you can ask a counselor, nurse, or administrator how nutrition materials are selected and whether they can be updated. Curiosity can open a better conversation than blame.

If you’re an educator, consider walking through your building at a student’s eye level. What do the signs near the cafeteria say? What language appears in PE and health class? How are food, weight, and exercise discussed on normal days, not only during an awareness week? Do students have a private way to tell an adult when something is hard? These questions don’t require abandoning health education. They ask us to make it more accurate, thoughtful, and humane.

Schools can bring students into the conversation without asking them to disclose private struggles. Ask what messages make the cafeteria feel welcoming, and what makes it harder to eat there. Invite a school dietitian and mental health professional to review materials together. If a parent raises a concern, consider it useful input rather than a complaint to dismiss. A poster can be changed quickly; the trust built by a considerate response can last much longer.

I’m also asking myself what my children hear at home. Recovery has not made me a flawless parent or wiped every old thought. It has given me the chance to pause before I pass one on. When I catch myself talking about “being good” with food, I can choose different words. When a child asks about a body, I can answer with respect. When I see a school message that worries me, I can speak up without assuming the people who put it there meant harm.

The poster at orientation was only a poster. But a cafeteria is a place where kids practice belonging. They should be able to bring their lunch, sit with friends, and learn without wondering whether their meal makes them worthy of approval. If we want children to develop a healthier relationship with food, the messages around them need to make space for nourishment, difference, and dignity.