Am I a fussy eater?

We were playing in the kitchen and my son asked:

“Am I a fussy eater?”

In that moment I wondered where on earth this had come from and so used my favourite tactic of answering a question with a question and asked why? He was non-committal with his answer and I knew him well enough by now to know he was astute enough to see people enjoying food and wondering why he didn’t. Because I know he didn’t enjoy food, eating just seemed so traumatic for him….except eating custard, he lived for custard (Read this: Can I plant some custard?).

I spent the next week or so reflecting on my son’s diet. He was 6 now and it was terrible. He didn’t eat meat, he barely ate any protein whatsoever, fruit and veg were few and far between. In fact, the only fruit he would eat was an apple peeled and cut up. He was still eating the fruit pouches that you give babies/toddlers when weaning them. To an outsider, it might seem like laziness or bad parenting on my part. I know this because I’ve felt it myself—the self-doubt, the guilt. But it’s so much more complicated than that.

The weaning process as a baby was hard for my son, and me. He just didn’t take to food as I would like, and I couldn’t understand why. Foods were rejected over and over again, and I constantly felt like a failure.  People kept saying things like…

“Keep trying.”
“You have to offer a food 13 times before they start to like it.”
“Don’t just offer sweeter foods.”
“They will eat when they are hungry.”

Sweet foods, savoury foods, finger foods, rejected time and time again. The one thing he would eat was a jar of cauliflower cheese. And over time without even realising it was happening I ended up just feeding him this. I wasn’t sure at this point how I had got to this point. This experience was worlds apart from weaning my daughter. With her, I made everything from scratch, blending fruit and vegetables with care. She ate anything and everything, and she loved it. My son? It was like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.

As time went on and my son got bigger his diet progressed ever so slowly, but it was very plain – breadsticks, raisins, cheese muffins, yogurts and fruit pouches. I remember him eating that every single dinner time and nothing I did seemed to help. He wouldn’t touch fruit (other than the raisins), usual meals that small children eat like mashed potato and gravy, or chicken nuggets was a no. And no matter how many times I tried him with them it was a no. And so, I gave up really. I gave him what I knew he would eat and reasoned with myself that eventually this would sort itself out.

When he was two and a half, I reached out to the health visiting team out of concern. Their advice was the same:

“You just have to be stricter.”
“He’ll eat when he’s hungry.”

Spoiler: he didn’t.

Each Sunday my son was presented with a Sunday dinner and each week he looked at it and never ate anything. And over time, as I am sure I have written about before he gradually started eating it. First a lick of a carrot then a few weeks later a bite of a carrot then a few weeks later a whole carrot and so on and on. But this process took around 2-3 years. Eventually he would eat all his carrots but that is as far as we got because as time went on and he got older the anxiety around the Sunday dinners got worse and worse. As soon as they were mentioned my son changed and it all came out in a mother of a meltdown. And so we have done full circle, he has tried to like them, I believe he truly wants to like a Sunday dinner because we all do but the reality is he just can’t like them. And my reality is I am not going to put him through that for the sake of a carrot. And so the last Sunday my husband and the girls ate a Sunday dinner and me and my son ate a bowl of pasta each. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was what he needed. And sometimes, that’s parenting. (I did get my Sunday dinner the next day—my husband saved me a plate.)

And I believe we have done full circle with many foods. Now, at six, his food preferences are narrowing even further. Foods he once ate—like spaghetti hoops or beans on toast—are now rejected. Yogurts are down to one specific flavour and brand. Sweets? He barely touches them. The idea that he’s avoiding “real food” in favour of treats doesn’t hold up when I see uneaten skittles and M&Ms gathering dust in his room.

So, no. He’s not a fussy eater. It’s so much more than that. His relationship with food isn’t about being picky; it’s about the overwhelming world of textures, tastes, and sensations. What looks simple to others is a battlefield for him. And while I don’t have all the answers, I’ve learned to meet him where he’s at, to prioritise his comfort over societal norms, and to celebrate the small wins (like that first bite of carrot).

Being his parent means adapting, compromising, and loving him through the challenges. It’s not about what he eats, but about who he is. And who he is will always matter more than what’s on his plate.

And what did I say to him when he asked?

“No you aren’t a fussy eater. Just keep eating what you like to eat and all will be well.”

So even if he eats custard every day for the rest of his life as long as he is happy I don’t care. And the proof is in the pudding because when he is eating custard he is at his happiest.