personal-growth

  • 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.

  • I Set Boundaries With Everyone—Except Me

    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.