My Unhealthy Relationship With Food

I don’t think I realised how unhealthy my relationship with food was until I got older. Because when you grow up with something, it just feels normal.

In my house, food wasn’t really a choice. It was a rule. You finished everything on your plate. It didn’t matter if you were full. It didn’t matter if you didn’t like it. You ate it.

And if you didn’t? That was it. No alternatives. No “that’s okay.” No listening to your body. You’d go to bed hungry.

So you learned quickly. You learned to eat past fullness. To ignore your body. To override what you felt. Because the consequence of not doing that
felt worse.

And then there was dessert. You only got it if you finished your main. And if you were the last one still eating? You didn’t get any. You’d sit there, still trying to force food down, while everyone else had theirs. Watching. Waiting. Knowing you’d missed your chance.

So food became pressure. A task. Something to get through. Something tied to reward and punishment.

But it went beyond just meals. I don’t remember ever having a cupboard where you could just help yourself. No snacks you could grab if you were hungry. No “just take something if you need it.” Hunger wasn’t something you responded to. It was something that was decided for you.

You ate at set times. When you were told it was time to eat.  When it was considered acceptable. Not when your body said you were hungry. And you ate what you were given.No choosing. No preferences. No “I don’t feel like that today.”

So you learned not to trust your hunger. To ignore it. To wait. To adjust yourself around rules that had nothing to do with what you actually needed. Food was controlled. Structured. Something that belonged to someone else’s decisions, not yours.

And I think that stayed with me more than I realised.

Even now, I struggle to stop when I’m full. There’s still that voice: “Just finish it.” “Don’t waste it.” “You should be grateful.” Even when my body is saying enough.

Sometimes I eat things I don’t even enjoy. Out of habit. Out of guilt. Because it feels wrong not to. And other times, I go the opposite way. Avoiding food. Skipping meals. Because eating doesn’t feel simple. It feels loaded. Like there are rules I’m supposed to follow, even though no one is saying them anymore.

Sometimes I don’t even know if I’m hungry or if I just think I should eat. Or the other way round - I am hungry, but I ignore it because it doesn’t feel like the “right” time.

And even now, it’s still there in a different way. When I’m around family, if I eat something or have a snack, there are comments.“Eating again?” “Still hungry?” “How are you possibly hungry?”

And suddenly I’m aware of everything. Aware of what I’m eating. How much. How often. Even when I know I haven’t eaten in hours. Even when I know my body actually is hungry. Like having breakfast two hours ago and lunch isn’t for another three - but somehow I’m still made to feel like I’m doing something wrong for needing something in between.

So I question it. Second guess it. Wonder if I should just wait. Ignore it. Push it down. And it takes me right back. To being a kid. To food being monitored. Commented on. Controlled. Food was never just food. It was control. It was discipline. It was expectation. There wasn’t space to say, “I don’t like this.” “I’m full.” “I’m hungry.”

And I think that’s where it started. Learning not to listen to myself. Because when you’re taught that your body is wrong, you stop trusting it.

And that doesn’t just stay with food. It shows up everywhere. In ignoring your needs. In pushing past your limits. In feeling guilty for saying no.

I’m trying to unlearn it now. Trying to stop when I’m full. Trying to eat when I’m actually hungry. Trying to choose what I want, not what feels “allowed.”  Trying to remind myself that I’m allowed to not like something. That I won’t be punished for it. That I won’t be questioned for it. That I won’t be made to feel like I’m doing something wrong.

But it’s not easy. Because that voice is still there. Quiet, but constant. Telling me to finish. Telling me to wait. Telling me I’m doing it wrong.

And I’m slowly learning to question it. Because food shouldn’t feel like pressure. It shouldn’t feel like something you have to earn. It shouldn’t feel like something you’re controlled through. It should just be… food.

And I’m still trying to get there.