Emotional Eating Recovery

  • Breaking the Weekend Binge Cycle: Choosing Consistency Over Cruelty

    Last weekend was Halloween, and I let myself go completely wild. I told myself it was okay — it’s Halloween, after all — and gave myself permission to eat whatever I wanted. That “permission” turned into opening the floodgates, and I ended up gorging myself all weekend long.

    Every night I ate until I felt sick. I couldn’t sleep well, my body was overloaded, and by Monday, I felt physically awful and emotionally wrecked. I even had alcohol on Halloween, which only made things worse — I regretted it the moment I realized how terrible my sleep and anxiety were afterward.

    By Monday morning, I was exhausted, foggy, and anxious. The more I’ve reflected on my past binges, the clearer it’s become: the anxiety always follows. And it’s usually tied to sugar — the more sugar I eat, the more anxious and hopeless I feel in the days after.

    That’s when I made a decision.

    I decided to stop being cruel to myself.
    I decided that I deserve consistency.
    I decided that I deserve a healthy, fit body and a calm, stable mind.

    Because the truth is, gorging myself on food isn’t self-care — it’s self-destruction. And I’m done with that.


    —

    When I Binge, I Disconnect

    When I’m in binge mode, I completely check out. I get irritable, I ignore my kids, I ignore my husband, and I scroll mindlessly on my phone. It’s like I’m not even there. And it can last the entire weekend — once I binge one night, I almost always continue through Sunday.

    Weekdays aren’t the problem anymore; I’ve built better structure during the week. But weekends? My brain still automatically associates them with indulgence and “freedom.” It’s a pattern I’ve repeated so often that it’s now a habit.

    My brain has learned that weekends = sweets, overeating, and escape.
    Now, it’s time to teach it something new.


    —

    Reprogramming My Mind

    This week, I took a gentler approach. Instead of diving into restriction (which only backfires), I allowed myself to binge on fruit if I felt the urge. It’s helping me transition out of the old pattern without the all-or-nothing thinking.

    And moving into the next week, I’m setting small, consistent goals:

    Eat one meal mindfully every day. I struggle with this, especially at dinner when I’m starving and distracted by my kids. I want to practice slowing down, chewing thoroughly, and actually enjoying my food.

    Increase my hydration. I know how much better I feel when I’m drinking enough water.

    Walk at least 6,000 steps a day. Nothing extreme — just enough to move my body and clear my head.


    Each morning, I also spend a few minutes visualizing what it feels like to be at my healthiest weight — strong, confident, and at peace in my body. It’s my reminder that this journey isn’t about punishment; it’s about becoming who I’m meant to be, one small step at a time.


    —

    Why I’m Sharing This

    I’m writing all of this because I know I’m not the only one who struggles. The guilt, the frustration, the feeling of hopelessness — it’s real, and it’s heavy. But I’m ready to change, and I want to help others who feel stuck in the same cycle.

    Because it really does start with mindset.

    My old mindset made me believe I needed to “let go” on weekends to feel free. My new mindset is learning that freedom comes from consistency, not chaos. It’s about teaching my brain that weekends are safe — I don’t need to go into survival mode.

    So this is where my next chapter begins: with small, steady steps toward peace, health, and self-respect.


    —

    If you’re reading this and you relate — you’re not alone.
    This journey is hard, but it’s possible. And we’re worth every effort it takes to heal.

  • Breathwork and Emotional Regulation: Relearning How to Feel Safe in My Body

    I used to think that cravings were my enemy. That if I could just try harder—be more disciplined, more focused, more in control—I wouldn’t end up elbow-deep in the pantry, eating something I didn’t even want.

    But the more I tried to force my way out of sugar cravings, the stronger they seemed to become. And honestly? It made me feel broken. Like I was failing at something that should be simple. “Just don’t eat it,” right?

    But I wasn’t reaching for sugar because I wanted a treat. I was reaching for sugar because something inside of me was screaming for relief. For escape. For safety.

    And sugar, for a long time, felt like the fastest way to quiet the noise.

    The Turning Point

    It took me a while to see that my sugar binges weren’t really about food. They were about regulation. Every time I felt overwhelmed—by the kids, by my own thoughts, by the pressure to do and be everything—I would find myself in the kitchen. Not because I was hungry, but because I didn’t know how else to soothe myself.

    There’s this moment that sticks with me. It was mid-afternoon, both kids were having meltdowns, the house was a mess, and I was running on three hours of sleep. I was standing in front of the pantry, just staring. My heart was pounding. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. And I remember thinking, If I eat something, maybe I’ll feel better.

    And that’s when it clicked. I wasn’t reaching for sugar. I was reaching for peace.

    Enter: Breathwork

    I heard about breathwork years ago, but it always felt too simple. Too slow. I thought it was something people did when they had extra time and soft music playing in the background. Not something you use when your brain is spiraling and your body is begging for comfort.

    But I was wrong.

    I started practicing breathwork during moments that would usually lead to a binge. And not in some elaborate, Instagram-worthy way. I didn’t light candles or sit cross-legged on a meditation pillow. I just… paused.

    I’d put one hand on my chest and one on my belly—so I could actually feel the breath moving through me—and I’d inhale slowly through my nose for four counts. Then I’d exhale through my mouth for six. Sometimes I’d count. Sometimes I wouldn’t. Sometimes I’d cry while I breathed. Sometimes I was just trying not to lose it.

    And honestly? It helped.

    It didn’t make the hard feelings go away. But it gave me a pocket of stillness. A moment to choose what came next, instead of being dragged by an automatic response I didn’t even understand.

    Creating a New Pattern

    The hardest part wasn’t learning how to breathe—it was remembering to breathe.

    Because when you’ve spent years reacting automatically—grabbing food the moment things get hard—your brain is wired for that shortcut. So I had to retrain it. Gently. Repetitively. Without shame.

    And that looked like:

    • Breathing before opening the pantry.
    • Breathing before responding to a stressful text.
    • Breathing when I wanted to escape my own skin.
    • Breathing when my kids were melting down and I could feel myself about to lose it.

    Not always perfectly. Not every time. But enough that it started to feel natural.

    What Breathwork Gave Me

    Breathwork hasn’t made my cravings disappear. But it has changed my relationship with them. Now, when I feel that old pull—the tightness in my chest, the buzzing in my brain, the tunnel vision toward food—I pause. I breathe. I ask myself, What’s really going on here?

    Sometimes the answer is: I’m tired.
    Sometimes it’s: I’m touched out.
    Sometimes it’s: I feel unseen.

    And sometimes, yeah, I still eat the thing. But now it’s not from a place of panic. It’s a conscious decision. That alone is a win.

    Final Thoughts: You Don’t Have to Escape

    If you’re anything like me, sugar may have been your refuge. Your way to soften the world. And I want you to know: You’re not weak. You were doing the best you could with the tools you had. I was too.

    Breathwork gave me a new tool. A way to come back to my body instead of running from it. A way to ride the waves of discomfort instead of drowning in them.

    And it starts with something as small—and as powerful—as one breath.

    You don’t have to escape.
    You can exhale instead.

  • Mindful Eating: A Gentle Path Back to Self

    Mindful Eating: Coming Home to Myself

    There was a time when I didn’t even realize I had eaten until I saw the empty wrapper on the counter.

    I’d be standing in the kitchen — heart racing, mind spinning, kids yelling in the background — and suddenly I’d find myself halfway through a bag of something sweet or salty, not even remembering how it started. I wasn’t hungry. I was overwhelmed. I was touched-out. I was craving quiet and couldn’t find it. I just wanted to feel better for a second.

    That was my normal for a long time.

    It felt like food was the only thing that didn’t ask anything of me. It didn’t need me to be patient or regulated or productive or strong. It just let me escape — for a few minutes.

    But afterward? I felt worse. Sluggish. Guilty. Distant from my own body.
    And that’s when I realized: I didn’t want food to be my only safe place.
    I wanted me to be my safe place.

    Mindful eating became my slow return back to myself. Not as a diet. Not as a punishment. But as a way to reconnect. To pause. To listen. To be with myself, instead of running away from everything I was feeling.

    What Is Mindful Eating, Really?

    Mindful eating is the practice of bringing your full awareness to the act of eating — from the first craving to the last bite. It’s about noticing, choosing, and experiencing your food with intention.

    It’s not about eating perfectly, or only eating kale, or giving up sugar forever.
    It’s not about counting every macro or chewing each bite 47 times.

    It’s about breaking the cycle of numbing out, speeding through, and self-shaming.
    It’s about slowing down long enough to feel safe in your body again.

    My Old Patterns: Automatic and Invisible

    There were so many triggers I didn’t see clearly until I started paying attention.
    — When I was alone, especially at night — food filled the silence.
    — When I was sick or tired, I craved sugar and salt like a lifeline.
    — When I felt anxious, I needed the crunch or the chew or the sweetness.
    — When I was overstimulated (hello, toddler meltdowns), it gave me something to control.

    It was so automatic, I didn’t even notice it happening. Until I was already knee-deep in brownie batter, or licking the inside of the peanut butter jar, or hiding the wrapper because I didn’t want to admit how out of control I felt.

    But mindful eating isn’t about willpower.
    It’s about awareness.

    The goal isn’t to never emotionally eat again. The goal is to notice the why — and then gently decide, “What do I really need right now?”

    Sometimes the answer is still food.
    But other times, it’s a nap. A breath. A moment alone. Or just permission to cry.

    What Mindful Eating Looks Like in My Life Now

    I’m not perfect at this. I still slip. But I’ve created some habits that help me reconnect before, during, and after I eat.

    Before I Eat:

    • I take a breath — even just one — before I grab something. It gives me a chance to ask: What am I feeling? What do I really need?
    • I pause and name my hunger. Is this physical hunger or emotional hunger? Both are valid. But they need different care.
    • I remind myself I’m allowed to enjoy food. This helps take away the guilt, so I can actually feel satisfied — instead of stuck in a shame loop.

    While I Eat:

    • I sit down (when I can). Even if it’s just on the floor with my toddler. I try not to eat standing up like I’m rushing through life.
    • I put the food on a plate instead of eating from the package. It makes the act feel more intentional.
    • I check in halfway through. Am I still hungry? Am I full but still wanting more for emotional reasons? Just asking the question helps.

    After I Eat:

    • I take a moment to notice how I feel. Did that food satisfy me? Or am I still needing something deeper — connection, rest, stillness?
    • I give myself grace. There is no “perfect” here. Some days I eat mindfully. Some days I eat emotionally. Both are human. I’m still healing.

    Mindful Eating Is Not About Control. It’s About Curiosity.

    For years, I thought healing my relationship with food meant I had to control it. Track it. Conquer it.
    But it turns out, control was never the answer.
    Compassion was.

    Now, instead of saying, “Why did I eat that?”
    I ask: “What was I needing?”
    And that question alone softens everything.

    Because at the end of the day, mindful eating isn’t about food.
    It’s about presence. Awareness. And the courage to stay with yourself — even in the messiest moments.

    I’m not here to eat perfectly.
    I’m here to feel whole.

    And every time I eat with intention, every time I choose connection over control, I come home to myself a little more.

    If You’re Just Starting This Journey

    Here’s what I’d say to you, mama — if you’re where I was:

    • Start small. Just one breath before eating is enough.
    • Get curious, not judgmental. Every moment is feedback, not failure.
    • You don’t need a plan, or rules, or a perfect kitchen. You just need a willingness to come back to yourself.
    • The goal isn’t to never eat emotionally. It’s to understand what your emotions are asking for.

    You’re not broken. You’re just tired.
    And maybe food was the only one listening for a while.
    But now… you are.