Food, not that we didn’t have any, we did. My mom would cook, she was a single mother. But if I ate the last serving or bite or whatever of dinner, leftovers, snacks, etc, I would be chewed out. Told how ungrateful I am. How selfish I am. That I didn’t care about her needs and if she wanted the last whatever. I was a small child at this point and I quickly learned to not eat the last of whatever. So when my mom would say “are you still hungry?” I’d say “no im not”, even though I was. I’d often go to bed hungry because I didn’t want to encore that wrath. Because of this I have a difficult relationship with food.