More Than Hunger

 I will ground myself in the past without judgement. In this I will only hold curiosity.

Growing up food was neither nourishment nor restriction. Food was comfort. Food was love.

My mother was a grazer- and still to this day. She could survive on carbs, carbs, and carbs with a side of carbs. Anything from potato chips to a slice of toast slathered with butter. Even a "balanced" meal cooked by my mother often consisted of corn (which she considered a vegetable, though I knew it was a grain), mashed potatoes (her favourite vegetable) and chicken drums sticks coated in- you guessed it- carbs thanks to shake and bake. 

I remember a moment when I was about seven years old. My mom took me grocery shopping and asked if I would like a treat. Thrilled to choose something myself, I immediately went for a bag of baby carrots. She was shocked. That's when she explained we can for sure get the carrots but a treat is meant to be something fun- like a candy or a chocolate bar. That day I went home with both carrots and a Nestle Crunch bar. Still to this day Nestle Crunch is one of my favourite treats. 

Now my father, may he rest in peace, was quite a bit different than my mother. He had grown up under difficult circumstances, and by the time he was eighteen was raising his younger siblings as his own. Food was sometimes scarce in his childhood, and that scarcity shaped his views long after. Those views in turn, were passed on to me.

When my father was in charge of meals, there was always far more food than necessary. Eating until you were painfully full was a sign of safety, comfort, and- most importantly- love. One memory that stands out is of him trying to sneak the last bit of McCains deep n delicious cake. I caught him in the act and was a bit upset that I wouldn't get any. My father hated to see me sad so he scooped me up and we shared the last bit together.

Food was always around during celebrations. There were good foods, bad foods, and foods that were reserved only for special occasions. However What I do not recall is any real sense of balance.

As a child, food made me feel happy and comforted—sometimes even joyful. Now, my relationship with food feels damaged. I often experience guilt and stress around eating, or even the idea of it. Emotional eating has become second nature, and lately I find myself wondering whether I even know what hunger truly feels like anymore.

Am I hungry for food, or am I hungry for something else?
What do I need right now besides food?

Learning to approach food with curiosity instead of punishment came from the same place as learning that survival doesn't have to look perfect. Something I wrote about more deeply here.

I overeat consistently, though for a long time I didn’t think much of it. I tried fad diets. I tracked everything I ate. None of it ever felt like enough. Eventually, I realized the next true step for me wasn’t another plan or set of rules—but a deeper understanding of my relationship with food and how to build a healthier one.

In high school, I was always labelled the “fat girl.” Looking back now, I see a young girl with a perfectly normal body—not large, not unhealthy. But some of the girls around me were painfully thin, which made me feel abnormal by comparison. I remember periods where I tried to make myself sick after eating, or avoided food altogether. Thankfully, I had good friends who helped make high school bearable, and those behaviours didn’t last long.

A major turning point came about four years ago. I was working with a personal trainer and trying to improve my overall health, which led to more frequent visits with my doctor. That’s when I was diagnosed with a hormonal condition called PCOS. Part of this condition affects how my body processes carbohydrates and can cause insulin resistance. Learning there was a medical component behind my weight and food cravings was eye-opening. It allowed me to approach food with curiosity instead of shame.

Since then, I’ve been re-acquainting myself with food—slowly and imperfectly. I’ve learned that I need more structure, more intention, and more compassion. My relationship with food doesn’t need to be perfect to be healthier. It is allowed to evolve. It can be inconsistent and still be worthy of time and care.

I am worthy of time and care.

Moving forward, I want my relationship with food to be rooted in nourishment and balance. I do love carbohydrates—but I want to learn how they fit into my body and my life in a way that serves me. I also need to better understand the emotions tied to my cravings so I can respond to them with kindness rather than habit.

This is not about restriction.
It’s about understanding.
And it’s about learning to listen—to my body, and to myself.