When Food Became My First Comfort
Food is meant to keep you alive.
If you eat the right foods — the ones your body was actually designed to consume —
they’ll give you the nutrients, minerals, and energy you need to thrive.
But if you eat the wrong foods —
the ones lining grocery store shelves today —
you slowly become addicted.
You get sick, even if it takes time.
Your body starts to break down.
It no longer works in tandem the way it’s supposed to.
Something feels off — and eventually, everything does.
Needless to say — as most of us do —
I consumed the wrong foods.
And somewhere in the mix of trauma, exhaustion, and just trying to stay afloat,
I developed a full-blown food addiction.
I don’t know if I was trying to fill a void
or just searching for something that felt good.
But food started whispering that it could keep me safe —
and it felt good in the moment.
It began the year I turned 18 —
pregnant, terrified, and suddenly eating for two…
and sometimes for three, four, five.
I had an excuse to eat.
Up until 18, I don’t recall ever having an issue with food.
I grew up on a farm where meat and potatoes were on the table every day.
I’m a vegetarian now and will never eat meat again —
but I wasn’t out of control with food.
Until pregnancy cracked something open…
and it crept in like a slow-growing cancer waiting to spread.
The weight came fast.
Fifty pounds by delivery day.
And later —
258 pounds at my heaviest.
A size 18/20.
I didn’t even recognize myself.
I felt ugly, unlovable, and hideous.
Everyone said, “You’re glowing.”
But after my daughter was born, the glow disappeared.
The stretch marks stayed.
So did the weight — to my surprise.
So did the hunger.
Not the stomach-growl kind.
The quiet, lonely, please-let-me-feel-something kind.
I don’t remember much from those early days —
but I remember the chocolate Ho-Hos.
The convenience food.
The hot, fresh French fries.
The mind-numbing ice cream.
The binges that numbed me for a moment
and crushed me afterward.
I told myself it was fuel.
A new mom needs energy, right?
But really, it was armor.
Calories layered like blankets
so no one would see the girl underneath
who still didn’t know how to be held.
I wore the weight like I wore long sleeves:
as camouflage.
If I couldn’t be beautiful,
at least I could be invisible.
And invisibility was familiar.
I knew how to disappear —
into hoodies,
into maternity pants long after the baby outgrew hers,
into a body I no longer recognized.
Before long, my medical chart read like a warning label:
Extreme fatigue
Mood swings
Postpartum depression
Low self-esteem
Rapid weight gain
Cravings I couldn’t control
Doctors said, “Exercise more. Eat less.”
“Take this antidepressant.”
The first one came after childbirth — for postpartum depression.
But fast forward...
I’ve been on and off a cocktail of SSRIs, SNRIs, MAOIs —
even antipsychotics.
Now? I quit those damn things in 2025.
Depression isn’t the real issue.
The imbalance is in the body:
In your gut.
In your hormones.
In your nervous system.
It’s a reaction to the world we live in —
where the food is toxic,
and so is everything else around us.
I’m veering down a rabbit hole now —
but I’ll save that for the book.
The mirror said nothing.
It just kept showing me a stranger.
And food kept talking:
Come here. No judgment. Just one more bite.
That’s the thing about comfort:
It can cradle you — or it can choke you.
Sometimes, it does both.
If you feel this way —
please know: You are not alone.
More people struggle with this than you realize.
Don’t be ashamed.
Don’t hide.
Don’t carry guilt.
You literally cannot control it —
because the food is designed to hook you.
And each body reacts differently.
There is always hope.
With heart,
Rebecca
*FOR INFORMATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY. NOT MEDICAL ADVICE.
