When You’re Caring for Everyone Else, Eating Gets Complicated (Colorado + Hawaiʻi Edition)
There’s a rhythm you only understand if you’ve lived in a multigenerational household - the kind where someone is always in the kitchen, something is always simmering, and you’re somehow feeding everyone else before you ever feed yourself.
Hawaiʻi has the highest rate of multigenerational living in the country, and Colorado’s Hispanic and immigrant communities carry a similar caregiving rhythm - different states, same lived pattern.
In Hawaiʻi, that rhythm is anchored by the rice cooker.
In Colorado, it’s the olla of frijoles on the back burner, the tortillas wrapped in a towel, the caldo reheated three times a day.
Different foods.
Same heartbeat.
And if you’re the one who keeps that heartbeat steady - the one who cooks, checks in, anticipates, translates, organizes, and feeds everyone - your appetite doesn’t stand a chance.
Not because you don’t want to eat.
Not because you’re “too busy.”
Not because you’re trying to be disciplined.
But because caregiving mode shuts hunger down.
The Rice Cooker Is the Center of the House
In Hawaiʻi, the rice cooker isn’t an appliance.
It’s a household member.
Always warm.
Always ready.
Always there.
You don’t ask, “Should we make rice?”
You ask, “Is there rice?”
And the answer is always yes, because auntie already checked.
Auntie energy runs the kitchen.
Not mom.
Not grandma.
Auntie.
Auntie is the one who:
rinses the rice without measuring
knows the water level by sound
flips the switch with her knuckle
makes spam musubi “for later”
hands you food before you even realize you’re hungry
feeds everyone else before herself
And if you grew up around that, you carry that rhythm into adulthood - even if you now live in Aurora, Greeley, Commerce City, or Pueblo.
Spam Musubi: The Caregiver’s Food You Rarely Eat Yourself
Spam musubi is the perfect caregiving food:
portable
predictable
comforting
salty enough to wake your appetite
carb‑dense enough to ground you
But here’s the truth:
You’re usually making it for someone else.
For the cousin running late.
For the uncle working outside.
For the niece who needs something quick.
For the auntie who’s been on her feet all day.
And by the time you’re done handing them out, you’re not hungry anymore - not because you ate, but because caregiving mode shut your appetite off.
Colorado has its own version of this:
rolling tortillas for everyone
scooping rice for the kids
plating carne for the family
handing out bowls of caldo
checking the frijoles de la olla
making sure everyone else is fed
Same pattern.
Different food.
Colorado Has Its Own Rice‑Cooker Rhythm
Colorado’s Hispanic and multigenerational households have the same “always‑ready” food culture - it’s just expressed differently.
Instead of a rice cooker humming in the corner, it’s:
frijoles de la olla simmering quietly
tortillas wrapped in a towel to keep them soft
caldo reheated throughout the day
carne shared across cousins and neighbors
the rice cooker auntie brought when she moved in from New Mexico or Texas
These foods are predictable.
Warm.
Comforting.
Always available.
And predictability matters - because predictable food is one of the strongest appetite regulators adults have.
But predictable food doesn’t help if you’re not actually eating it.
Outdoor Days Don’t Fix It - They Complicate It
Colorado adds another twist:
You can go from a morning hike at Cherry Creek or Red Rocks to a full day of caregiving and still not feel hunger.
Altitude suppresses appetite.
Stress suppresses appetite.
Responsibility suppresses appetite.
Stack them together and you get:
long stretches without eating
late‑night overeating
inconsistent hunger
guilt around saying no to food
guilt around saying yes to food
feeling “off” around meals
thinking something is wrong with you
Nothing is wrong with you.
Your environment is just loud.
ED‑Informed Truth: Feeding Others Isn’t the Same as Feeding Yourself
This is the part adults in multigenerational households never hear:
Cooking doesn’t count as eating.
Tasting doesn’t count as eating.
Picking at the pot doesn’t count as eating.
Finishing your kid’s leftovers doesn’t count as eating.
Your body needs:
predictable meals
grounding carbs
protein that isn’t an afterthought
meals that aren’t rushed
food chosen for you, not everyone else
And you can do that without disrespecting your culture, your family, or your role.
Predictable eating fits into:
frijoles de la olla
rice
tortillas
caldo
carne
chile
produce from the farmers market
leftovers from Sunday dinner
spam musubi you actually eat instead of giving away
You don’t need to change the food.
You just need to change your place in the lineup.
The Identity Layer: Being the “Reliable One” Comes With a Cost
In every multigenerational household - Hawaiʻi, Colorado, rural, urban, Hispanic, local, immigrant - there’s always one person who becomes the reliable one.
Not because they volunteered.
Not because they had the time.
Not because they were the most skilled.
But because they were the one who noticed.
The one who:
saw who hadn’t eaten
saw who was tired
saw who needed something warm
saw who needed to be fed without being asked
And once you become the reliable one, it’s almost impossible to step out of that role.
People don’t ask if you can cook - they assume you will.
People don’t ask if you’re hungry - they hand you a plate after you’ve fed everyone else.
People don’t ask if you’re overwhelmed - they assume you’re fine because you always are.
And here’s the part that matters clinically:
When your identity is built around feeding others, it becomes very easy to forget that you also need feeding.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Your body still needs:
grounding carbs
protein that isn’t an afterthought
meals that aren’t rushed
food chosen for you
predictable eating
care that goes both ways
Being the reliable one doesn’t mean you don’t get to have needs.
It just means you’ve gotten very good at hiding them.
The Real Takeaway
You can honor your family’s food, your culture’s food, and your own body at the same time.
You can care for others without disappearing into the caregiving.
You can live in a multigenerational home - in Hawaiʻi or Colorado - and still have a relationship with food that feels grounded, adult, and yours.
And if eating feels harder than it “should,” it’s not a personal failure.
It’s a predictable response to the life you’re living.
You’re not broken.
You’re carrying a lot.
Whether your kitchen hums with a rice cooker or an olla of frijoles, your needs matter in both places.
