You don’t need more willpower

Willpower is not the problem.

It’s been dressed up as the hero of every weight loss journey—the grit, the grind, the inner drill sergeant that’s meant to keep you away from the biscuits and tethered to your salad like some sort of behavioural leash.

But if willpower was really the answer, you'd be doing what you know is best and you wouldn’t be reading this.

Let me tell you about my experience using willpower:

I used to think something was wrong with me.
Because I was hungry. Constantly.

Not distracted-by-snack-advertising hungry—actual hunger.
The kind that lingers. The kind that hijacks your thoughts mid-conversation.
The kind that shows up even when you’ve done everything “right.”

I kept thinking: I should be able to control this.

So, I tried.

Salads. Coffee. Gum.
Rituals. Resolutions. Rules.
I’d go for long walks just to avoid opening the fridge.
I’d stare into the mirror, pinching bits of my body, promising to be better tomorrow.

It was exhausting.

But the story I told myself was:
You just need more willpower.
More discipline. More control. More sacrifice.

And for a while, it kind of worked.
Until it didn’t.

When Hunger Isn’t Really About Food

Back then, I was running a café and catering business. From the outside, it looked ideal—coffee, people, the illusion of flexibility.

But inside? I was bone-tired.

It was relentless. Long hours, early mornings, endless prep lists, constant noise. The kind of stress that clings to you even after the doors are closed and the floor’s been mopped.

I wasn’t just physically drained. I was running on fumes emotionally.

And every night, without fail, I’d come home and find myself halfway through a box of BBQ Shapes, not even tasting them. Not even hungry.

The food wasn’t the point.
The food was just the only thing I had time to say yes to.

I didn’t need a snack.
I needed a pause.
Some space. A moment where I wasn’t responsible for everything and everyone.

But I didn’t know that yet. I just thought I was “bad” at eating.

The Shift

Eventually, I reached a line I couldn’t uncross.

It wasn’t some dramatic moment of clarity. No meltdown. No “Dear John” letter to my job. Just a quiet, steady realisation: I can’t keep doing this.

So I left. The business. The burnout. The identity I’d built around feeding everyone else and starving myself emotionally.

And something strange happened.

Not overnight. But over weeks.

That gnawing urgency—the twitchy compulsion to eat the entire contents of the pantry in one sitting—faded. Not because I found some perfect eating plan. Not because I replaced carbs with cauliflower.

But because I stopped needing food to fix what food was never meant to fix.

You’re Not Out of Control. You’re Underfed—Somewhere Else.

This is the part no one talks about.

The overeating? The cravings? The bingeing?
It’s not about being weak or greedy or “bad with food.”

It’s about trying to meet a real need in the only way you know how.

It’s about soothing boredom that masks as rest.
Distracting yourself from a job that drains you.
Filling the gap where connection or purpose or play used to be.

Food becomes the stand-in.
Not because you’re broken.
Because you’re resourceful. Because you’re trying.

But using food to deal with a life that doesn’t fit anymore is like charging your phone with a banana. You’re doing something—but it’s not solving the actual problem.

When Food Goes Back to Being Just Food

Today, food is uncomplicated.
I eat when I’m hungry.
I stop when I’ve had enough.
And I enjoy what I eat without needing it to rescue me from my life.

I still have cravings. I still eat cake. I still adore a crunchy hot chip.
But it’s not emotional scaffolding anymore.
It’s food. It tastes good. And that’s where the story ends.

I can have ice-cream in the house and forget it’s there. Not because I’m superhuman, but because I’m not using it to patch up parts of me that are gasping for something else.

And that’s the real shift.

You don’t “get control” by tightening the reins.
You change the need that’s fuelling the behaviour.

What Are You Actually Hungry For?

That’s the question that matters.

Because if you’re constantly craving food, the real issue usually has nothing to do with food.

It could be:

• A job that no longer fits but still pays the bills

• A relationship that leaves you lonely while looking good on paper

• A life full of responsibilities but empty of pleasure

• A creative itch you haven’t scratched since high school

Or maybe it’s just needing an hour a day where no one needs anything from you.

Whatever it is, it’s legitimate. It’s real. And no amount of kale will fix it.

This isn’t about blaming food. Food is not the villain.
But it’s also not the solution to everything.

No More Willpower. Just More You.

So no, you don’t need more willpower.

You need space to hear yourself think.
You need the courage to look at what’s not working.
And the support to start changing that—not by force, but with clarity.

Willpower is a blunt tool.
It might get you through a tough hour, a stressful afternoon, maybe even a week.

But a meaningful, sustainable shift?
That comes when you stop trying to out-discipline your desires and start getting honest about what they’re trying to tell you.

A Final Word (No Pep Talks, Promise)

You’re not weak.
You’re not failing.
You’re just trying to live a life that actually feels like yours.

And when you do that—when you give yourself what you’re really hungry for—the need to use food as a coping mechanism fades.

Not because you’re trying harder.
But because you finally don’t have to.