“Its Complicated”- My relationship with hunger before and after ED
Yesterday was a hungry day. I woke up starving. And not the usual, stomach’s-empty, I-could-eat-something-feeling. It was the my-stomach-is-eating-itself-and-I can’t-function-as-a-human-kind of hunger. It caught me off guard. For a couple weeks now I have been waking up and having just coffee until about 10:30 on my first break, not really hungry for breakfast until then.
I got myself ready and out the door to work. I left the house earlier than usual but arrived a little after I normally would but arrived a few minutes late still. Turns out being hungry left me walking at a snail’s pace. I had no energy. I poured myself my usual cup of coffee, and a generous splash of soy milk. But one sip did diddly squat to the hunger that at this point was making me feel as if I had been hit by a bus.
So I ate something. And it was not a big deal. It was NOT planned, and would have and once of a time, this kind of unplanned eating would have sent my anxiety through the roof.
Actually, I probably wouldn’t have done it, and just continued on my morning being a hangry zombie until the clock determined an acceptable time to eat.
I smiled, taking a bite of my banana walnut muffin, taking in the sense of okayness I was feeling about it all. I was learning to listen to my hunger, and NOT to fear it. I still ate the breakfast I packed and planned for later. I didn’t miss anything out. I was hungry for it all.
In the afternoon, I made avocado hummus gardens for all my kids. I munched on hummus and carrots and crackers with them all, regardless of the “extra” I had already had in the morning.
At this point, my brain was computing some arbitrary calculations:
Brain: Eat crackers and hummus now, and it can be an afternoon snack before having a nice big dinner later this evening at home.
Me: That sounds like good logic. Mom is making a big dinner. I don’t need to snack before that…
So I ate my fill of hummus, deeming it my “last fuel stop” until dinner.
But of course, when I got home from school, my afternoon hunger hit.
Despite all the thoughts I could have been thinking, about seeing my dog, or condos I wanted live in, or literally anything else, I was thinking about just one* thing—
Banana and peanut butter.
*Okay, two things (banana + peanut butter)
The most beautiful thing was that as I was eating it, and even after I was done, I wasn’t stressing about it. I was responding to my hunger, and doing so without an emotional tantrum.
It was so simple, and yet so profound.
I spent the ride to Markham chatting and joking with my brother— NOT adding up calories or macros or coming up with a “plan” or how to compensate for the extra calories I had since demolished.
In Markham, I walked my dog, stopping to pet her and admire the face I had missed so much these past few months. I didn’t feel the need to go fast or far, to “make room” for dinner.
Around 7, I realized I was hungry (again). I wasn’t even surprised. Like I said, it was a hungry day-- nothing I had eaten yet had truly filled me up entirely, not even the “extras.”
“Dinner’s in about thirty minutes.” My mother informed me, putting a tray into the oven. “Can I get you a snack?”
She delivers to me a big bowl of root vegetable crisps.
I don’t eat one straight away. In that moment I notice a rule I still have been blindly following— NOT allowing myself to reach for pre-dinner nibbles or appetizers, always in the name of saving myself for the main event.
Today I asked why.
I was hungry, and the crisps looked delicious. I didn’t need to eat them all and ruin my dinner. Having one or two or even a small handful really doesn’t mean anything at all.
When it came time for dinner, I was handed a plate with a modest amount of everything.
I demolished it.
More please?
Demolished that too.
Thirds please?
Down the hatch.
At this point, I was mildly anxious. I felt like I was over eating, maybe even bingeing, that I was overdoing it.
Then I checked myself.
I was satisfied, and maybe full, but barely. I was far from uncomfortable. At least physically. Mentally, I was uncomfortable with the idea of eating more than I typically would for a meal.
Back downtown, getting home just after 11, I was not ready to call it day just yet.
After being slow like molasses most of the day I was finally awake. I put on the series I am bingeing (New Amsterdam, fyi) and made myself some hot chocolate to go along with it.
Waiting for the water to boil, I started munching on baby carrots. Turns out after all that delicious dinner, I still hadn’t quite satisfied my appetite. And from many years of experience, I knew that a handful of carrot sticks was going to do nada. I needed something with a little more bang for its buck.
A couple chunks of chocolate bark later I was finally that level of satisfied I needed.
And looking back on this whole day, yeah, it may seem like a lot of food. But NOT an obscene amount. I was never mindlessly snacking. I was never stuffing my face. I was never in pain or uncomfortable or eating to numb some kind of emotion.
I was eating because I was h-u-n-g-r-y.
It was a hungry day.
And I am so incredibly grateful that I have reached this place of freedom and intuition where I can respond to these variances in my body’s needs, without spiralling into anxiety.
I can eat, and eat some more, and then move on. My body is an intelligent, intricately wired vessel. For reasons I can only guess, I needed more food yesterday.
I don’t need to question why. I just needed to honour my appetite and feed it without judgement.
This my friends, is recovery.
—Jordan