What Feeding Therapy for ARFID Was Actually Like for Our Family

We decided to start feeding therapy at the recommendation of our doctor. J had a very limited diet at the time, and it seemed as if it was only getting worse. We figured we didn’t have anything to lose and wanted to give it a try.

What I Thought Would Happen

I honestly thought that this would be a quick fix. I thought all he needed was some extra help, and within one 8-week session, he would be more willing to try new foods and we would be on a new path.

Wrong.

What Actually Happened

While feeding therapy did not create the “magic fix” I had secretly hoped for, there were some helpful things I learned.

I learned that there are 32 steps to eating that a child may go through before they feel comfortable enough to eat a new food. The first step? Being able to be in the same room as a new food.

Download my free “32 Steps to Eating” printable below:

We learned that keeping the pressure low was important. This is something I always tried my best to do, but like with a lot of things, it is easier said than done. The more you push, the more they push back, and all that does is frustrate both of you.

Like with other therapies we have done, it was all play-based. It was a one-hour session with an OT and SLP. The first 30 minutes were spent with J playing in a sensory room because the theory is that kids are more willing to sit and learn something new once they have gotten some energy out.

The remaining 30 minutes were spent having a “food party.” This was when J, myself, and both therapists would sit at a table and explore new foods together.

We just tried to get J to do something as simple as touching a new food. If he did, that was a win. Most of the time, he touched everything at least once. We would have about three or four different foods, and sometimes we would get to them all while other times we did not.

We would essentially “play” with the food. Basically the opposite of what many of us were taught as kids. This is one of the ways that pressure is kept low.

We would balance Cheerios on our noses, pretend crackers were train wheels, and take bites of food like dinosaurs. I can definitely see how that could be intriguing to a child.

However, that only got us so far. Once we moved to licking or biting a food, J usually made it very clear he was done learning about that particular food.

We completed two 8-week sessions, and J only gained one food during that time—which he no longer eats today.

The therapists would reassure me that I was doing everything right and that this was completely normal for where J was at.

Needless to say, I still felt defeated.

The Cost Nobody Talks About

I did not realize at the beginning how expensive feeding therapy is.

In my mind, it was just a normal co-pay visit. I was essentially taking him to a doctor’s office once a week, so in theory that thought made sense.

I am here to say I was WRONG.

I could not believe how wrong I was.

No one seemed to mention the cost at the time, and I also didn’t think to ask. However, two wrongs don’t make a right.

After two 8-week sessions, we were left to pay almost $3,000 AFTER insurance. It was roughly $375 PER WEEK.

I had no idea until the bill came.

Very different from the $30–$50 per week I thought it was going to be.

Looking back, I wish I had asked more questions about the financial side before we started.

Not to mention, I work from home a few days a week, so I was the one who had to commit to taking him once a week. With my husband working about 30 minutes from home, it just made more sense for me to handle the appointments for both boys.

I could schedule them while I was working from home, and it was easier to adjust my schedule.

Again, I felt defeated.

What I Wish Someone Had Told Me

Before we started feeding therapy, I wish someone had told me that it wasn’t a quick fix.

It doesn’t erase ARFID.

It doesn’t transform meals overnight.

And that’s okay.

What feeding therapy did give us was a better understanding of what J was experiencing and a more realistic view of what progress actually looks like.

I learned to meet J where he was at.

I learned that this was more than just “picky eating.”

I learned that progress is progress, no matter how small.

And I learned that any interaction with a new food counts—whether it’s looking at it, touching it, smelling it, or eventually tasting it.

Would I do feeding therapy again? Probably. But this time I would go into it with different expectations.

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And I would know that success isn’t always measured by whether a child eats a new food. Sometimes success is simply helping them feel a little safer around it.

If you’re reading this and considering feeding therapy, I hope this gives you a more honest picture of what the experience can be like.

And if you’re in the middle of it right now and feeling discouraged, you’re not alone.

I know how defeated it can feel. I know how exhausting it can be to put so much time, energy, hope, and money into something and still wonder if you’re making progress.

But sometimes the smallest steps are the ones that matter most.