Last night, I had one of those moments—the kind that used to completely unravel me. I was tired. I’d eaten more than I wanted to that day. My body felt uncomfortable and full of that familiar guilt I know too well. But it wasn’t just about food—I’d been carrying a lot emotionally too. I’d uncovered deep truths about myself, about my past, about patterns I’ve lived in for years. It was heavy.
And in the middle of all that, the thought showed up: fruit snacks. That quiet, almost automatic whisper—“Just eat them. You already messed up today anyway.”
And for years, I’ve listened to that voice. I’ve turned to food when things felt too big. Not because I was hungry, but because I didn’t know how else to self-soothe. Not because I didn’t care, but because it felt like the only comfort I had. And I hated that. I hated how fast I could go from tired and overwhelmed to numbing myself with sugar. It always felt like a betrayal—to my body, to my goals, to the version of me that I’m trying to become.
The Pattern I’m Breaking
Usually, the story in my head goes something like this:
“You’ve already messed up today.” “You’re uncomfortable anyway, what’s one more thing?” “Just eat the fruit snacks. You’ll feel better.”
And maybe I would—for about three minutes. But then came the spiral: regret, shame, more guilt, more discomfort. The food was never the problem. It was the way I was using it to disconnect from myself.
What I’m learning is that the urge to eat like that—fast, disconnected, reactive—isn’t about weakness. It’s a trauma response. It’s survival-mode. It’s my body trying to rescue me from emotional overwhelm the only way it knew how.
Last Night Was Different
But something shifted in me last night.
I noticed the thought. I paused. I breathed. And I said, “No. Not this time.”
Not out of punishment. Not out of willpower. But because I finally felt strong enough to sit in the discomfort. To stay connected to myself instead of abandoning her again.
I reminded myself that I was safe, even in the mess. That I could feel full and emotionally raw and still not need to numb it. I let the craving rise and fall. I told the voice in my head, “I hear you. But I’m choosing me instead.”
And it passed.
It Wasn’t About the Fruit Snacks
It was about the story behind them.
It was about the part of me that always believed comfort only comes in a package. The part of me that thought I had to numb my feelings to survive. The part of me that was trained to self-abandon the moment things got hard.
But that part of me isn’t running the show anymore. Last night wasn’t just about saying no to fruit snacks. It was about saying yes to me.
To the woman who is learning to stay. To the woman who no longer needs to prove anything through perfection. To the woman who can feel big feelings without reaching for something to quiet them. To the woman who is healing.
And that small win? It was huge. Because it reminded me that I am not powerless. I am not broken. I am not owned by my cravings or my past.
I am learning to love myself not just when I get it all right, but especially when I don’t. And that, right there, is where real transformation begins.
Yesterday, I had a really healthy day with food. I felt proud of myself. Then, later that night, I was in bed eating some fruit when I accidentally knocked my phone onto the floor. I leaned over to grab it, and that’s when I saw them—an opened bag of crackers I had binged on back on Easter. I had completely forgotten about them until that moment.
And just like that, everything shifted.
I got back into bed, but suddenly I felt hungry—almost uncomfortably so. The excuses started rushing in, like a familiar chorus: You already messed up before, just finish the bag. It’s just this once. You’re probably actually hungry. I didn’t fight them for long. I gave in. And afterward, I felt that deep, heavy guilt. I even woke up in the middle of the night, just kicking myself.
But somewhere between shame and exhaustion, I had a realization: I’ve been doing a good job holding boundaries with others, but I haven’t been holding any with myself.
That moment wasn’t just about crackers—it was about self-trust. It showed me how quickly my brain can fall back into old patterns when I don’t have clear, compassionate boundaries to support me. Not rules. Not restrictions. Just loving guardrails that help me feel safe.
So I’ve decided to start small, with two gentle boundaries that feel right for me right now:
1. No Eating After 8 PM Evenings are when I tend to feel the most vulnerable. I’m tired, emotionally worn, and more likely to confuse other needs—like comfort, rest, or distraction—for hunger. My boundary: I stop eating after 8 p.m. If an urge comes up, I check in with myself: What am I really needing right now?
2. Anchor Phrase for Urges When those sneaky justifications start whispering in my ear, I need a way to interrupt the script. My boundary: When I feel an urge, I pause and say: “This isn’t about hunger—it’s about something else. Let me check in.”
These boundaries aren’t meant to trap me—they’re meant to hold me.
If you’re on a healing journey too, maybe ask yourself: What boundaries am I holding for others that I haven’t yet learned to hold for myself? And what would it look like to offer yourself the same structure and care?
We deserve that kind of self-respect. We really do.
Growing up, I struggled a lot with my weight. After puberty, I started to gain and was thrown headfirst into diet culture. I still remember being barely thirteen and already obsessed with losing fat—desperate to get back to a body I didn’t even realize I was supposed to miss. That’s when binge eating began.
The beginning of my obsession with food didn’t start with a craving—it started with shame.
Feeling constantly deprived, I’d start hiding food in my closet like a squirrel storing nuts for winter. Frozen Cool Whip, melted ice cream, candy—anything I could stash. It was like my body said, “You’ve starved me long enough. Let me take over.” And I let it. Over time, the binges weren’t a choice—they became automatic. I’d lose control, binge, gain weight, feel ashamed, then restrict again. Over and over. I thought about food nonstop—how to avoid it, how to control it, or how to reward myself with it.
I wasn’t just hiding snacks—I was hiding pain, shame, and the feeling that I’d lost control.
By 17, I was regularly binging on entire bags of Cheetos, family-sized Twizzlers, and trays of cheesecake. I felt helpless. My weight fluctuated all through high school, peaking at 190 lbs. I had always imagined being at a healthy weight by graduation, and instead, I was more uncomfortable in my skin than ever.
By 2012, I’d lost some weight and was down to 160 lbs. That’s when I met my husband. We moved into my sister’s basement for a while, which didn’t have a kitchen, so we ate out constantly—usually greasy, comforting fast food. It became our routine: work, dinner, TV. Even after we got our own place, we kept up the habit.
Planning our wedding should’ve been one of the happiest times of my life, but I was deeply depressed. I had gained nearly 100 lbs in two years, topping out at 250 lbs. I felt ashamed and stuck. But I moved forward and got married at that weight—miserable inside. I had horrible reflux, intense anxiety, and this overwhelming sense that I’d let everything get out of control.
I got married at 250 lbs. I wore the dress, said the vows, and carried the shame. But I also showed up—and that matters too.
Everything shifted in 2016 when my doctor warned I was on the verge of prediabetes. That scared me. With diabetes in my family history, I knew I had to change. I started walking daily, eating more intentionally, and discovered intermittent fasting. The 16:8 method worked wonders for me—I lost weight, felt amazing, and by 2017, I was down to 170 lbs when we bought our first home.
She’s been through a lot—but she keeps walking.
But my old habits weren’t gone. I’d still slip into binge patterns when life got stressful, but fasting helped me get back on track. For a while, I maintained. Then, after a cruise in late 2018 (where I gained 10 lbs), I found out I was pregnant.
I was excited—and scared. I hadn’t reached my goal weight, but the timing felt right. I dreamed of a natural birth and started working with a birth center. Things went well until month eight, when my blood pressure climbed. No matter what I tried, it stayed high—likely from my weight, which had crept back up to 255 lbs. When my midwife told me I could no longer birth at the center, I broke down in tears. Once again, my weight felt like it had stolen something from me.
But on August 24, 2019, my son Liam was born. I didn’t lose 50 lbs overnight like I hoped, but nothing else mattered in that moment—I just wanted to be healthy for him.
Exhausted. Overwhelmed. In love. Nursing Liam for the first time and feeling everything all at once.
The months that followed were some of the hardest of my life.
Liam hated sleep. He only calmed while nursing. He had constant gas and cried endlessly. I was working full-time from home and had to return to work the very next day. I was recovering from birth, glued to the couch with a fussy newborn on my boob, answering emails and phone calls—and I was unraveling. Food became my only comfort. I snacked constantly—candy, chocolate, anything to survive the fog. I struggled with baby blues and felt completely trapped.
Sleep training Liam was pure hell. It took forever for him to learn how to fall asleep on his own. But eventually, he did—and with sleep came a sliver of normalcy. My hormones balanced out (finally), and by the time he was about a year and a half, I felt ready to focus on my health again.
I restarted intermittent fasting and began dancing—something I hadn’t done in years. I fell in love with dance workouts and even tried Barre. I got down to 170 lbs in 8 months and felt great.
Zoo day with Liam at 170 lbs. Strong. Happy. Grateful.
And that’s when I got pregnant with baby #2.
This time, I was thrilled to find out it was a girl. I was determined to take better care of myself during this pregnancy—and I did. I exercised, did prenatal Barre, and ate well (with the occasional binge, of course). I worked with a different midwife and avoided the emotional rollercoaster of trying to birth outside the hospital system. Things went much smoother.
Pregnant with baby #2 and hopeful to do things differently this time.
On April 1, 2022, Ashlyn was born. She was perfect—and the complete opposite of Liam. She slept like an angel (so much that I was worried at first!), and I didn’t even have to sleep train her. One night, I just laid her down, and she fell asleep. It felt like a miracle.
But even though Ashlyn was an easier baby, my hormones were still all over the place. I started snacking constantly again, using the excuse that I’d eaten so well during pregnancy. I went on a massive sugar binge right after labor—just me and Ashlyn in the hospital, no food in hours, and a whole bag of candy. That binge was hard to come back from. I wasn’t working out much either—life with two kids and a full-time job was a lot.
This photo holds everything—my weight, my weariness, and my why.
By early 2024, I was back up to 230 lbs. Hitting that number again felt crushing. I had worked so hard after both pregnancies, and here I was—right back where I swore I’d never be. I felt miserable in my body, and the heaviness wasn’t just physical—it weighed on my spirit too. I spiraled into another wave of depression, frustrated that no matter how hard I tried, a healthy weight seemed to keep slipping through my fingers. I wanted it so badly. I dreamed of feeling light, strong, and free in my body—but that dream felt just out of reach, like it always had.
Eventually, I lost a bit of that weight, getting down to 218 by the end of the year, but emotionally, I was still clawing my way out of a fog.
And that brings us to now.
I’m back into intermittent fasting. I’m walking more—aiming for at least 7,000 steps a day—and listening to my body. Some days I exceed that. Some days I rest. I’m working on intuitive eating, letting go of shame, and focusing on nourishment over numbers.
I’m down to 205 as of this writing. It’s slower than I’d like, but I’m learning to trust the process. More importantly, I’m finally addressing the root of it all: the binge eating.
205 today. Stronger than yesterday.
And there’s one more piece of this journey that’s changed everything…
Liam was diagnosed with ADHD. Suddenly, those early struggles—the sleepless nights, nonstop movement, the intense emotions—they all made sense. Parenting a child with ADHD has stretched me in ways I didn’t know were possible. It’s exhausting, beautiful, overwhelming, and sacred all at once.
Stylish. Spirited. Strong-willed. That’s Liam.
There are days I’m overstimulated, touched out, and on the edge—and that’s when the binge urges come back strongest. But now, I’m starting to recognize that what I need isn’t food. It’s a pause. A breath. A moment of self-compassion.
Liam has taught me more about resilience than any diet ever could. And in many ways, this healing journey? It’s not just mine—it’s ours.
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