Feelings are Fattening

I eat my feelings. Unfortunately, they’re fattening.

Have you ever come home after a long day of back-to-back meetings, solving problems that aren’t even yours, and making 47 decisions before 2 p.m. — only to head straight for the freezer where that little evil Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough beckons?

Or maybe you’ve had an argument with your spouse, your sibling, or the customer service agent where you keep having to say, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that” — and somehow a full sleeve of Girl Scout Peanut Butter Patties disappears. You don’t even remember chewing. You only know you ate them because there are crumbs clinging to your shirt.

I cannot be the only person who turns to Cape Cod potato chips in times of stress, boredom, or discontent - as if the solution to my problems could only be found in the bottom of that crinkly white bag.

If I were the only person who turned to food instead of processing and dealing with my feelings, Weight Watchers wouldn’t exist and the grocery store snack aisle wouldn’t be 14 miles long.

Sure, I know eating doesn’t fix anything. Intellectually, I understand the science. But when we’re stressed, sad, lonely, or frustrated, our minds go, “You know what would help? CHEESE.”

Sugary and high-fat foods give us a quick hit of dopamine — that feel-good chemical that says, “Everything is fine!” even when everything is not fine. The problem, of course, is that after the dopamine leaves, the feelings are still sitting on the couch waiting for us - along with the empty plate where the brownies used to be.

And yet… in the moment? Magic.

Bad day? Ice cream says, “You tried.”
Argument? Chips say, “Of course, you’re right.”
Stressed? Chocolate says, “Don’t think. Just chew.”

Food is comfort.
Food is celebration.
Food is love.
Unfortunately, food is not a licensed therapist.

The tricky part is learning to pause in that tiny moment between feeling and eating. That moment where I could ask, “Am I hungry… or do I just need a hug, a walk, a nap, or maybe a new job” before my brain goes, “Ohhh, I’m mad. This is a mad brownie.”

But I’m working on it. Little by little. Progress, not perfection - as a dear friend at work reminds me. 

And I am getting better. At least now I put the chips in a bowl like a civilized person instead of eating directly from the bag.