Why “They’ll Eat When They’re Hungry” Fails Kids With ARFID
“Mom, I don’t want another ham and cheese sandwich for lunch.”
“Well, you don’t eat anything else for lunch. If you give me something different to put in your lunchbox, I’ll do it.”
And just like that, we were off—long before I knew the word ARFID, long before I understood that this wasn’t picky eating, and long before I stopped believing that hunger would eventually win.
It didn’t.
When You Know Something Isn’t Normal (Even If Everyone Else Tells You It Is)
For years, I told myself the same things parents are told all the time:
- He’ll grow out of it.
- Just make him eat what you serve him.
- He won’t starve himself. (honestly, my older child was starving himself)
- ‘When I was a kid, we ate what we were served or you didn’t eat.’
- Stop catering to him.
- He’s just being difficult.
I tried everything you’re not supposed to do when a child struggles with eating. I yelled. I begged. I bribed. I punished. I ignored it and hoped it would resolve on its own.
If there were a dictionary entry for “what not to do with a child who has ARFID,” my parenting greatest hits would be right there. I didn’t know.
What I did know was this: I was standing in my kitchen thinking, This cannot be normal. Turns out it wasn’t.
ARFID Is Not Picky Eating (And It’s Not About Willpower)
ARFID stands for Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. You may also hear older families call it Selective Eating Disorder, that was the term used before the DSM-5 update.
But labels aside, here’s what parents need to understand: ARFID is not about being stubborn. It is not about hunger cues failing. And it is absolutely not solved by “waiting it out.”
Many kids with ARFID also have disabilities—autism, ADHD, intellectual disabilities, anxiety—and their relationship with food is often shaped by sensory processing, fear, past experiences, and neurological wiring. That context matters far more than any single definition.
What sent me seeking help wasn’t a checklist. It was watching things get smaller instead of broader.
And, this is my non-disabled child. My child with significant disabilities–he has a g-tube due to his ARFID. I don’t tell his ARFID story because it’s so complex–he’s non-verbal, so there were no food negotiations, just refusal to eat. And, he must take seizure medicine twice a day–refusing to eat could have immediate life-threatening consequences for him. Same with hydration–dehydration leads to more seizures and he refused to drink anything.
It was a GI-journey for sure–doctors do not just give g-tubes to anyone. But in the end, he received one and he has been thriving ever since. Previously I had been trying anything and everything to get my child to gain weight, unsuccessfully.
What ARFID Looked Like in Our House
This is the moment that made it undeniable for me. My son used to eat yogurt. Any kind. Then it had to be one brand. Then two flavors of that one brand. Then one flavor.
One morning, I handed him that exact yogurt—the only one left on the list—and he couldn’t eat it because there was condensation on the lid.
Not the yogurt. Not the taste-the condensation. Even after I stirred it.
That’s when I stopped telling myself this was a phase.
Why “They’ll Eat When They’re Hungry” Is Harmful Advice
This is where well-meaning advice does real damage.
Children with ARFID do not experience hunger as motivation. Hunger often increases anxiety, rigidity, and avoidance. Waiting them out doesn’t build flexibility—it reinforces fear.
And when meals turn into battles, something else breaks too: the parent-child relationship. I don’t say that to center myself. I say it because stress at every meal spills into everything else—school mornings, bedtime, behavior, regulation, trust.
When eating becomes a daily power struggle, no one is winning.
Getting a Name Didn’t Fix Everything—but It Changed Everything
When a psychologist finally said the word ARFID, it wasn’t a relief because it explained everything. It was a relief because it took morality out of the equation.
My child wasn’t refusing. I wasn’t failing. And hunger wasn’t the lever everyone thought it was.
Treatment Isn’t One-Size-Fits-All (And That’s Okay)
I’m not a clinician, and I’m not here to tell anyone how to treat ARFID. What I can say as a parent and advocate is this:
- Some families need intensive medical support.
- Some work with outpatient providers.
- Some focus on reducing pressure and stabilizing nutrition first.
- Many paths exist—and none of them look like “just make them eat.”
In our case, removing pressure was critical. Ensuring my child had something reliable to consume mattered more than forcing variety. When hunger wasn’t constant, everything else became more workable.
Progress didn’t come from control. It came from understanding.
ARFID at School: What Actually Helps (And What Often Doesn’t)
Parents often ask whether ARFID can be addressed through an IEP or 504 plan. Technically, yes, feeding therapy can be a related service.
But here’s the advocacy lens most people miss: Your child eats the vast majority of their meals at home, not school.
School controls roughly 15% of a child’s meals in a year. The other 85% happens in an environment you can regulate, support, and monitor more effectively.
That doesn’t mean schools should ignore ARFID. It means the goal should be reducing harm, not fixing eating at lunchtime.
Practical accommodations that do make sense might include:
- Allowing safe foods without pressure
- Not requiring students to try new foods publicly
- Access to reheating or temperature-specific foods if needed
- Flexible lunch environments to reduce stress
What usually doesn’t help? Turning lunch into therapy, hovering adults, or social pressure disguised as encouragement. Kids with ARFID already experience enough stress in a school day. Lunch should not add to it.
Kids with ARFID are already (often) extremely stressed out at mealtimes, and the school cafeteria social dynamics can exacerbate that stress. Yes, feeding therapy must be provided if warranted.
For me, personally as a parent, and as an advocate, I do not push for this. I think the lunch period should be their break time, their down time. A time when they can eat what they want, get some sustenance, and try new or more foods another time in a safer space.
If You’re Reading This and Something Feels Familiar
If you’re living with a child whose eating feels extreme, rigid, or shrinking—not expanding—trust that instinct.
If advice keeps making things worse instead of better, it’s okay to stop listening to it. And if you’ve been told you’re overreacting, catering, or creating the problem—you’re not alone.
This does get better. Not because hunger eventually wins, but because understanding replaces pressure. You don’t have to navigate it alone.
There are many ARFID support groups online. Some families find them helpful. For us, too much outside input became noise. Sticking to a clear plan with professionals we trusted worked better than crowd-sourcing strategies.
That’s not a judgment—just permission to choose what actually helps your family.
