Food isn’t the answer

(But bloody hell, it tries to be)

You’re having a crap day at work. Your boss is one passive-aggressive email away from a stapler to the forehead, your to-do list is now a novella and you’ve officially run out of fake-smiles and printer paper.

So you grab pizza.
Even though you packed a perfectly decent lunch.
With salad. And effort. And a note to yourself that said, “You’re doing great!”
(You were. Until about 9:17am.)

Then, it hits—the 3pm slump. That post-lunch, pre-dinner existential vacuum where time drips like cold coffee and your motivation has packed up and joined a yoga commune.

So you grab some chocolate. Because it helps.

Sort of.

It’s not world peace, but it’s something. A momentary spike in serotonin. A pause in the chaos. A chewy little band-aid.

And then you get home.

Exhausted.
Done.
One bad comment from Kriistiin in accounts away from burning your whole life down and moving to the mountains.

You see creamy pasta in your mind like it’s a romantic movie montage.
And next minute, you’re in a relationship with it.

Because pasta understands.
It doesn’t judge.
It just is.

But here’s the thing—somewhere between the last mouthful and unbuttoning your jeans on the couch—you remember something.

You want to lose weight.

You’re tired of feeling flabby and uncomfortable in your own skin.
You want more energy. Less mental noise. To wear the damn jeans without negotiating with the zipper.

So you do what smart, logical people do.
You make a plan.

You decide: Right, that’s it. Less food. More willpower. Sorted.

You might even write it down.
Maybe colour-code it.
Maybe announce it to someone.

But then... real life happens. Again.

And the cravings come.

Not dainty little “maybe a biscuit?” cravings.
I’m talking ravenous, all-consuming, clear-the-pantry-with-a-soup-ladle cravings.

And you try to resist. You do.
But it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a paper towel.

Eventually, inevitably, you cave.

And then—you give up.

Because clearly, you’re broken.
You must be.
Who else makes a plan and can’t even stick to it for 24 bloody hours?

What’s wrong with me?
Why don’t I have more willpower?
Why do I keep doing this?

But let’s pause here. Because this is important:

Self-control isn’t your problem.
Willpower isn’t your missing ingredient.

You’re just using food as the solution to everything.

Stress? Chocolate.
Loneliness? Pasta.
Overwhelm? Cheese.
Celebration? Cake.
Sadness? Ice cream.
Mild annoyance because the dog looked at you funny? Tim Tams.

Food has become the all-purpose glue holding your emotional world together.

But here’s the kicker:
If food is the only solution, what happens when you take it away?

You don’t feel powerful.
You feel deprived.

Like someone’s taken away your security blanket and left you standing in a thunderstorm with no shoes and a salad.

You feel like food has control over you.
And worse—you feel out of control around food.

But let me say this again for the people at the back:
Food is not the real problem.

It’s not evil. It’s not manipulative. It’s not hiding in the pantry plotting your demise.

It’s just a thing.
A thing you’re using to fix something else.

And when you keep trying to fix emotional overwhelm with grilled cheese, you don’t just stay stuck—you get really good at staying stuck.

You spend more time thinking about food, fighting food, planning food, avoiding food, bingeing food, regretting food... than actually enjoying your bloody life.

And the worst bit?

You still don’t have what you want.

Not the body you feel great in.
Not the energy to run your day without collapsing into pasta.
Not the mental peace that comes from not thinking about food every 7 seconds like a diet-brain parrot.

Here’s the truth:
If you don’t figure out what’s driving you to eat when you’re not hungry...
You’ll keep eating when you’re not hungry.

Simple.

But—once you do sort that out?

Game. Changed.

Because when food is no longer your emotional crutch, you don’t need to rely on it.
You don’t crave it with the same desperation.
You don’t obsess over it.
You don’t fear it.

And you don’t need a military-grade plan to control yourself around it.

You just… eat.
When you’re hungry.
What you feel like.
Until you’ve had enough.

You know, like a normal person.

And weight loss?
Becomes a by-product.
Not a battle.

So if you’re ready to do this differently—
To stop wrestling with your cravings like it’s WWE: Carb Edition—
And start understanding what’s actually driving you to the fridge—

Let’s talk.

No diets.
No restriction.
No shame.

Just real change.

Because this isn’t about becoming a “better” version of you.
It’s about finally coming home to yourself—
Without the lasagne.

(I mean… unless you’re hungry. Then go for it.)