Have you ever had that constant urge to eat, buy, or stash food? Not out of hunger, but out of habit, impulse, or some strange comfort you can’t fully explain? That quiet voice in your head that whispers, “Just in case. You might need it later. Better to have more.”
Maybe it’s grabbing an extra snack you don’t really want, or keeping a half-empty drink around longer than necessary. Maybe it’s ordering food even after you’ve already stocked your fridge, just to feel safe. If you’ve ever done that and wondered, “What’s wrong with me?” This is for you.
I’ve grappled with my relationship with food since I was a teenager. Now, as I near my 30s, I’m still on a journey to truly listen to my body. Not through the lens of fear, shame, or urgency, but with genuine patience. It’s far from a linear path, and it’s certainly not easy. Some days, I feel like I’ve finally outgrown old patterns. Other days, I fall right back into them.
I wish I had all the answers, a clear set of tips or simple solutions to offer. But the truth is, I don’t. What I can offer instead is this: if you’re navigating this emotional, complicated terrain too, you are not alone. This struggle didn’t appear out of nowhere. And naming that, for many of us, is where healing quietly begins.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment my relationship with food shifted, when it transformed from simple eating into a search for comfort and control. Perhaps it was around age sixteen, when I first earned my own money. I’d quietly skim a little from my lunch allowance, then use it to buy a drink, followed by a second, just in case. Later, there were snacks. Not because I needed them, but because I craved the feeling of having more than enough.
The truth is, I didn’t grow up starving. We always had food, just not extra. We lived in the realm of “barely sufficient.” Enough to last the day. Enough to fill the pot. Enough to get by. But “plenty”? That was rare.
I still remember eating pancit canton for two weeks straight. Not because we were on a budget, but because that was the budget. At the time, I remember enjoying it. But now, that memory feels heavier. Familiar, but shaded with quiet grief.
Even now, as an adult who can afford her own groceries, the survival instinct hasn’t left me. I can do a full grocery run and still feel the urge to buy food on the way home. Something fast. Something warm. Something that says, You’re safe now.
It’s not even always about eating. Sometimes, I just like seeing the food. Knowing it’s within reach. I’ve caught myself keeping a half-finished drink, not because I want it, but because it comforts me. I feel less anxious knowing it’s still there.
The landscape changed significantly after my PCOS diagnosis in 2019. The medication, intended to help regulate my body, came with an unforgiving side effect: constant, insatiable cravings. Even when I feel sick, there’s a strange, almost shameful relief in finally having a reason for my obsession with food. I know it isn’t healthy, but part of me holds onto the excuse. It feels like permission to keep going.
On the worst nights, I force myself to sleep just to escape the urge to eat. Just to quiet the noise in my head. On my lowest days, I purposely starve myself during the day, convincing myself that it makes the binge later more acceptable.
Food delivery apps have become both my lifeline and my biggest challenge. They feel less like a convenience and more like an enabler for my binge-eating patterns. Even with home-cooked meals on the table, I often find myself ordering “comfort” foods. It’s a relentless cycle: munch after munch, something sweet, then something salty. I’ll even order a drink to sip throughout the day, not out of thirst, but because knowing it’s there brings a strange comfort. Sometimes, that drink or food sits untouched in the fridge for days, until I feel like I can finally let it go.
But once the craving passes, the sickness sets in. A wave of guilt and shame washes over me for how much I’ve eaten. Some days, I find myself staring in the mirror, scrutinizing every pound I’ve gained. Seeing the number on the scale climb makes my stomach churn, yet despite the nausea, I feel powerless to stop.
It’s rarely about physical hunger. Instead, it’s about security. It’s about control. It’s about frantically patching over old wounds with something immediate and comforting. It’s a quiet, persistent fear of lack, echoing from a time when “just enough” was all I ever knew.
If this tension, this push and pull between comfort and guilt, between wanting control and feeling chaos resonates with you, know this: you are not alone.
You are not flawed, or broken, or failing. You are simply human, navigating the complex hand you’ve been dealt. We don’t need to have every answer, right here, right now. What we need is to gently guide ourselves back home, one meal, one feeling at a time, without judgment.
Leaving you with this thought:
Writing this was hard. It felt vulnerable, personal, and honestly, a part of me didn’t want to share it. But I’ve spent so long in denial about this struggle, and maybe putting it into words is my way of facing it.
If any part of this resonated with you, please know you’re not weird or weak for feeling this way. You’re doing the best you can, while carrying something heavy and deeply real, and that alone takes strength. You don’t have to have everything figured out. Just keep showing up for yourself. That’s more than enough.
- This piece was originally published on my blog, Scribbles by July, on WordPress. I'm sharing it here in the hope that it finds its way to the people who may need it, resonate with it, or simply enjoy the read :)
Thank you for sharing. I needed to hear your ending paragraph! Such a beautiful article. I too have been struggling with food in all aspects as an international student, so this was much needed reassurance!
Thank you for sharing this and for opening up; it’s not an easy topic, but it deserves to be understood 💜