Emotional Eating: What I Learned from Using Food to Cope

Like many women, my relationship with food has never been simple. It’s carried guilt, shame, rules, rebellion, silence. For a long time, food wasn’t just fuel, it was comfort, distraction, a way to cope. Also, it was a secret.

There were periods in my life when I used food to avoid what I didn’t want to feel. I’d overeat emotionally—sometimes intentionally, yet mostly without realizing it—then feel awful afterward. But I now understand that this wasn’t about food. It wasn’t an eating disorder. It was a signal, a coping mechanism. A pattern that asked for my attention.

Overeating and Internalised Shame

I never talked about it. It felt too personal and too embarrassing. It happened behind closed doors, and it never occurred to me that I could share this with anyone, not even my best friends. While people close to me would often claim they couldn’t eat under stress, I envied that restraint, even though deep down I knew that was a twisted ideal. Growing up in a misogynistic environment, I absorbed the belief that my body was something to be controlled and shrunk. I tried to starve myself countless times, either as punishment or in pursuit of some imagined perfection. But it never worked. In a culture that celebrates thinness, discipline, and control, overeating made me feel lazy, broken, unfeminine. I didn’t know how to challenge those beliefs, so I didn’t. I just stayed silent, convinced this struggle was mine alone.

But looking back, there were clues I understood something wasn’t right. When I started my studies, for example, I chose an active student house with 13 flatmates, so I’d never have to be alone, eat alone. I didn’t fully grasp why at the time, but something in me already sensed that solitude made the urge stronger. During university, that urge faded. I was busy, friends, exams, a relationship, work. But after graduation, I moved to a new city, got my own flat, became single again and the behavior returned. Stronger. I found myself reaching for sugar in the evenings. Not out of hunger, but as a way to push something down. Loneliness. Restlessness. Maybe even frustration with a life I wasn’t fully living.

“Feelings are for feeling. All of them. Even the hard ones. The secret is that you're doing it right, and that doing it right hurts sometimes.”
— Glennon Doyle, Untamed

Then one day at work, a colleague casually said, “I overeat when I’m unhappy.” She said it without shame. I stared at her. That was the thing I had never dared to say out loud. It was a turning point. Her honesty gave me permission to look at my own experience without flinching.

The Symbolism of Food and Hunger

That moment pushed me to dig deeper. I wanted to understand what else could be behind this behavior—beyond stress, loneliness, or habit. That’s when I discovered Eating in the Light of the Moon by Anita Johnston. She explores the emotional and symbolic meanings behind food struggles, especially for women. Johnston argues that when we lack a sense of creative purpose or fulfilling outlet, we may turn to food as a substitute. Food becomes a metaphor for what’s missing. A stand-in for expression, for joy, for a life that feels truly our own. She also explains how creativity can be a way back to ourselves. When we engage in meaningful work or creative expression, we reclaim parts of us that have been silenced or stifled. It’s not about productivity, it’s about resonance.

This really struck me. Because the woman Johnston described? That was me.

I’ve always been the “good girl.” I studied psychology, I helped others, I did what was expected. But I also loved music, writing, art. I dreamed wildly as a kid, rockstar dreams, dreams of something bigger. I stopped feeding those desires because they didn’t seem practical. So there I was: back in my hometown after years abroad, surrounded by love but disconnected from myself. I wasn’t trapped by anyone else, I just didn’t feel free to want more. Sugar became my buffer. It numbed me out, slowed me down, dulled the ache of unmet needs. It kept me from facing the fact that my life no longer matched who I was becoming.

Reclaiming Power and Authenticity

Recognizing that truth was painful, but also freeing. It marked the beginning of a new way of relating to myself. Now, when I feel that familiar urge to eat emotionally, I try to pause. I ask myself: What’s going on here? What do I really need?

Sometimes it’s simple: I’m tired. Sometimes it’s complex: avoiding a feeling or conversation. Like the time I walked into the kitchen after a tense moment with my partner. I wasn’t hungry. I was avoiding conflict. I didn’t want to talk about my feelings, so naturally I reached for the most emotionally supportive food group: sugar. But I caught myself, I chose to talk instead and the moment passed. That night reminded me: food isn’t the enemy. It’s a learned coping strategy. A messenger. And sometimes, it’s okay to give in, but with honesty, not shame. I might indulge, but I promise myself I’ll return to my feelings in the morning. (Morning Pages help.)

Over time, I started to make space for the parts of me I’d neglected. I moved to France. Then Berlin (still trying to figure out where I actually want to stay longer—work in progress!). I began to sing again. I started this blog. Life’s not perfectly stable, financially or otherwise, but it feels real. And more than that: it feels mine.

Practical Steps for Anyone Using Food (or Something Else) to Cope

If you’ve ever used food, or anything else like scrolling, drinking, overworking, or avoiding, to soothe difficult feelings, here are a few gentle invitations to check in with yourself:

1. Pause and Get Curious
   Before reacting automatically, take a moment. Ask: What am I really feeling right now? It’s okay if you don’t know. The pause itself is powerful.
2. Name the Need
   Are you tired? Lonely? Bored? Anxious? Naming the feeling can help it soften. Ask: Is there something I’m avoiding? Something I need to hear from myself?
3. Make Space Without Judgment
   Even if you eat, scroll, zone out, try not to shame yourself. That behavior served a purpose. You’re not trying to be perfect. You’re learning to understand your needs.
4. Try a Tiny Shift
   Is there something else you could try, alongside or instead? A short walk, a song, a few words in a journal, lying down, calling a friend. Not as punishment, but care.
5. Check In Regularly and Keep Coming Back
   Notice how it feels to respond differently. In the moment. Afterward. No need to get it right every time. This is a process. Be gentle. You’re learning a new rhythm with yourself.

Remember: This Isn’t Just You: Coping mechanisms aren’t flaws. They’re signals. Most of us have them. You’re not weak. You’re responding to something that matters.

Do you recognize yourself in any part of this story? Are there coping strategies you turn to—consciously or unconsciously—when something inside feels off? I’d love to hear how this shows up for you, whatever form it takes.

And just to be clear: I’m not a therapist or an expert on eating disorders. I’m simply sharing my experience in the hope that it resonates. If your relationship with food feels overwhelming or painful, please consider reaching out to a mental health professional. You deserve care, and you don’t have to go through it alone.

Thanks for reading and please, feel free to leave a comment 🧡