I love to eat. I always have. Sweet, salty, rich, surprising — I find joy in flavor. And I used to enjoy food without guilt. Back then, I was active, constantly moving. I was never thin, but I felt strong and grounded in my body.

That started to change slowly, over years. The movement faded — the stress built up. Food, once a pleasure, became something else: my reward, my escape, my only soft place to land. I did not see it at first. It started with extra snacks, working late, a tight schedule and quick fixes. I convinced myself I had no time to cook, and that my job — with its pressure, personalities, and endless demands — left no room for anything more.

What I did not notice at first was the way food had started running the show. I was no longer eating to enjoy. I was eating to function. Eating to comfort. Eating to make it through the day. I would open a pack of cookies and suddenly the whole jar was gone. Ice cream after dinner. Bars and energy drinks while multitasking.

It felt like a small rebellion, a comfort I could still allow myself. But over time, it stopped being comforting. I noticed I was eating larger quantities, more often, with less attention. And yet it still felt like the only thing that helped me cope.

Looking at it now through the lens of the Puzzle, I see how many pieces were out of place. I was completely disconnected from myself — from the signals of hunger, the emotion behind the behavior, even from the act of eating itself. I had started to collapse my identity into one role: the high-performing, constantly delivering professional.
But there were other parts of me — the tired part, the joyful part, the curious one who loved to cook. None of them had space anymore. And without that internal balance, I defaulted to autopilot.

And as I realized so, I also realized how I had been suffocating myself for all these years. I sucked out all the oxygen around me, to give it with all my heart. And all I had left was to eat - no wonder why I ended up where I was!
My Ego played a role too. It told me I had no choice. That there was no time. That being productive was the most important thing, and eating was the only part I would be allowed to.

Well I thought - if you dragged me here, then you can equally drag me out of it! I want your will. I want your strength. I want you to give me the long lasting courage to change. ...and I heard "OK!" in my head. Like I only had to ask....!! This made me laugh: I knew the journey would be more difficult, but I could live with this first victory!

When the evening came and I felt time to sit in front of the TV with lots of food, I asked myself what else I could do. I decided to go for a walk around the block. It had been aged since I moved. It was not much, but it took me lots of energy - and also make me realize how much how of shape I was. And so I promised to myself that I would go for a small walk each day. And liked that idea very much: to start healthy habits, and turn them into a routine so I would not forget. The walk would be after every diner - so I would not differ family time.

I also decided that I would start enjoying what I would eat - as it hit me how absent I had been. I was not tasting anything. I was not breathing. I was just numbing. So I began practicing presence again while eating, and as much as possible I made breaks to eat. Something it was short, but it was still enough to allow me to be aware of what I was eating, and how much. That awareness helped me reduce quantities little by little.
Also asking myself whether I was really hungry, or programmed to go grad food?! What it in my head or in my stomach?! Most of the time, it was not about food. That question changed everything for me! Acknowledging that I was eating because my brain demanded it, not because my body wanted it. And telling my brain that I would find other ways to comfort myself.
That was key to acknowledge and address because food had become the buffer between me and the stress. It helped me survive a high-pressure environment that gave me little space to feel. But that protection had turned into a real pollution. I was no longer just numbing stress — I was suppressing joy, awareness, and choice. That inner clutter made it impossible to hear what I actually needed.
Once I named it, I began clearing space — mentally and physically. Only to realize that my body already knew: I just had to listen.

I was not be able to change my entire work culture and food habits overnight, but I could decide to treat myself in plenty different ways. Walking was one. Registering to an art class as I always wanted to learn to draw, and granting myself time for it. Taking my time on a Sunday morning, drinking a cup of coffee outside in the sun.

I still love to eat. That part has not changed. But now, I am learning to do it from a place of presence, choice, and care. Food is no longer my only refuge — it is just one part of a life that I am slowly rebuilding to include more of what I need.