“Why do I do this?”
“I am disgusting.”
“Why can’t I control myself?”
“What is wrong with me?”
“No one is going to love me.”
“I am NEVER going to look like that.”
If you’ve had any of these delightful, soul-crushing thoughts after a binge, congratulations, you’re not alone! I’ve been there, done that, and even got the metaphorical T-shirt (you know, the one with the stain on it because I ate my feelings during the binge). But here’s the thing—this toxic rollercoaster doesn't have to be your lifelong ride. So, grab a snack (not a binge-worthy one, though) and let’s dive into how I broke that endless restrict/binge cycle and found peace with food.
Disclaimer: I’m not a doctor. (If I were, I’d probably give you a prescription for a solid dose of self-compassion and the occasional snack.) This is just my experience and what’s worked for me. If you’re struggling, don’t hesitate to get professional help. Seriously, if you need it, go get it. This isn’t an “I’m fine, thanks” moment. This is “Let’s actually take care of you” time.
The Backstory (aka “The Tale of How I Let Diet Culture Break My Brain”)
Let me rewind the tape for you—because if you’re new here, you don’t have the luxury of knowing the full horror show that was my eating disorder. Spoiler: It started with body dysmorphia in my teens (shout-out to every magazine that convinced me I needed to look like a prepubescent giraffe with perfect abs). I spent my late teens and twenties obsessed with how I looked in comparison to everyone else. You know the drill: diet fads, low-cut jeans, “flat stomachs” (LOL, those are for aliens), and super unrealistic beauty standards. Guess what? It didn’t help that I had gained weight after birthing some actual humans (because, surprise, growing tiny humans doesn’t come with a six-pack).
By my mid-twenties, I was restricting food to the point that my body was basically begging me to eat. I’d obsessively check labels (because calories are clearly the secret to life), then when I’d finally allow myself a treat, I’d end up binging and feeling like total garbage.
It was a vicious cycle of self-loathing, hiding food, and crying into a tub of ice cream (because of course it was ice cream). I felt broken, unworthy, and generally like a walking disaster. My body was suffering, my gut was a train wreck, and I was basically running on fumes (and shame). It took hitting rock bottom with my health to finally snap out of it—because, surprise! I wanted to be around for my husband, my kids, and eventually grandkids.
Steps I Took to Stop Treating Food Like My Mortal Enemy
1. Stop Reading the Damn Labels.
The first thing I did? I had to un-train my brain from compulsively flipping over packages to check for calorie counts. Newsflash: Whole, real foods don’t come with nutrition labels. So I started eating things that weren’t hiding behind fancy packaging. Fruits, vegetables, meats—no labels, no numbers. It’s a real thing, I promise. If I did happen to pick up something with a label (sometimes we slip, right?), I’d tell myself: “Nope, not today, Satan. I’m reading the ingredients, not the calories.”
2. I Took a Break from Working Out Like an Overzealous Hamster on a Wheel.
So here’s the thing: For a while, I was working out like a crazy person, pushing my body to the limit for hours. Guess what? That didn’t help. Not even a little. I had to stop completely for a while, because pushing myself into a sweaty, tear-filled frenzy wasn’t going to heal me. So now? I work out when I feel like it. Sometimes it’s once a week, sometimes three times. Sometimes it’s only 15 minutes. Other times I’m out snowshoeing with my husband for a “date night” (which is honestly just a creative way to get fresh air while also exercising).
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