How I Quit Obsessing About Food—And Got My Life Back.

When I was in college, I went to an aerobics class that was held in the basement of some random office building near campus.

I was able to attend for free in exchange for arriving early to set the room up for class, which meant pushing all the desks, chairs and trashcans out of the way so there was plenty of space for leg kicks and grapevines.

Right next to the building was a tiny cookie shop that baked the most delicious, ginormous cookies. You could smell them baking from blocks away. I was very fond of the double chocolate chip ones.

While sweating away under the fluorescent lights in that low-ceiling makeshift aerobics studio, I fantasized about sinking my teeth into one of those chewy, gooey delights—a big no-no on my fat-free diet.

Distracted by my food fantasies, I was often sidestepping to the right when everyone else was moving to the left. 

A Major Distraction
I can recall many times when my obsession with food, especially my forbidden foods, prevented me from being fully engaged in my life and present for those around me.

I remember being distracted at a bridal shower by the chocolate layer cake I so badly wanted but wouldn’t let myself have because it would have blown my calorie count for the day.

I spent numerous work meetings preoccupied with the muffins and bagels on the conference table that were off-limits because they didn’t fit into my idea of a healthy diet.

At parties, I barely recalled conversations with friends because my mind was on the pizza box, cheese platter, chip bowl or brownie plate—all “illegal” foods.

Constant State of Deprivation
I thought about food ALL THE TIME. It consumed my life.

Back then, I didn’t understand that the reason I spent so much time, energy and headspace thinking about food was because I was living in a constant state of deprivation.

As a result of all my food rules and restrictions, I incessantly thought about what I could eat, should eat, shouldn’t eat and really wanted to eat.

Unconditional Permission to Eat
When I finally stopped trying to micromanage my diet and force my body to be a size it was never meant to be, my preoccupation with food eventually went away (along with many of the other harmful side effects of dieting).

By slowly learning how to eat intuitively, which included giving myself unconditional permission to eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, food took a balanced place in my life.

When my deprivation ended, my obsession ended.

The intensity, anxiety, stress and shame I once experienced with food were replaced with a sense of ease, peace, expansiveness and freedom.

Of course, none of this happened overnight. It took time for me to break up with diet culture, ditch my food rules and trust my body again. Instead of putting all my time and energy into depriving myself, I put it into healing my disordered eating. 

As a result, I opened up so much more space in my life for far more important, meaningful and fun things than obsessing about food. 

My Last Last Supper. It Involved A Lot of Bread.

Many years ago, I went to see a naturopath about some health challenges I was having. As part of my treatment, she asked me to eliminate some foods from my diet, including gluten. Desperate to feel better, I agreed to do so.

I gave myself one last week to eat all my favorite gluten-containing foods.

During those last few days, I vividly recall feasting on artisanal sourdough loaves from my beloved local bread maker. 

I also raided all my favorite bakeries loading up on blueberry scones, chocolate chip cookies, veggie focaccia, chocolate fudge cake, and yes, more bread.

The idea of future deprivation drove this intense phase of one-last-shot, now-or-never eating. I happily gorged on gluten while simultaneously grieving the end of our relationship.

Can you relate to this behavior?

It’s called Last Supper Eating.

Farewell-to-Food Feast
Before embarking on a new diet, plan or program, have you ever found yourself eating everything in sight, especially the foods that will soon be forbidden?

Or perhaps you planned one last elaborate meal featuring all the dishes that would be off-limits starting tomorrow.

If you’re a yo-yo dieter, you’re likely very familiar with this pre-dieting ritual. Maybe it occurs every Sunday night before you get back on track on Monday.

Like many of my clients, you may view this period of intense, frantic consumption—which is often followed by overwhelming guilt—as “proof” that you need to restrict your eating because you simply can’t control yourself around food.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

The threat of food restriction can naturally trigger a Last Supper, farewell-to-food feast. It’s human nature to respond this way when deprivation and scarcity are just around the corner.

Yet, it’s so easy to go into self-blame and shame.

How to End Last Supper Eating
Intuitive Eating puts an end to Last Supper Eating.

With Intuitive Eating, there is no deprivation. You have unconditional permission to eat whatever looks good, tastes good, and feels good in your body.

Instead of depriving yourself and eating according to a set of rules, you ask yourself questions such as: What will hit the spot? What will satisfy my needs and desires? Is this satisfying? Do I like how it tastes and how it makes my body feel? Would I do anything differently next time?

In the Driver's Seat
When I started reclaiming my ability to eat intuitively, I asked myself if I actually liked the gluten-free foods I was eating.

The gluten-free bread, for example, was tolerable. It wasn’t delicious. It was simply an expensive vehicle for nut butter.

Since it wasn’t medically necessary for me to eliminate gluten (i.e., I don’t have celiac disease), I experimented with eating my beloved breads again, along with other gluten-containing foods—and my body felt just fine.

Although well-intentioned, the diet the naturopath put me on didn’t improve my health. It only caused a lot of unnecessary stress and left me feeling deprived and unsatisfied, which always backfires.

As an Intuitive Eater, I'm in the driver's seat. 

I determine what works best for me by staying attuned to the messages my body sends and focusing on what's satisfying.

If I skip a particular food because I don’t like how it tastes or feels in my body, I don’t view it as deprivation as I know I can have it if I truly want it, now or in the future.

It's such a relief to know I’ve had my last Last Supper.

Every Weekend, I Binged On Cookies

Many years ago, when I worked in the corporate world, I had a weekend cookie ritual.

Every Friday morning, after getting off the train downtown, I would stop at my favorite cookie shop and pick out a bunch of cookies before going to my office.

The cookies were large, dense and utterly delicious. You could smell them baking from blocks away. The peanut-butter chocolate chip and wheat-germ chocolate chip cookies especially made my mouth water.

I liked to arrive at the bakery early so I could save money by purchasing the half-priced day-old cookies before they were sold out (these cookies weren’t cheap!). Sometimes I’d hit more than one location if the first shop I stopped at didn’t have enough cookies to meet my needs.

Before heading to work, I'd quickly hide the big, butter-stained bakery bag inside a darker bag as I feared my co-workers seeing me with such a “bad” food and potentially tarnishing my “healthy eater” reputation. 

I also worried my co-workers would smell the cookies in my office, so I’d bury the bag under my coat. 

Although secretly obtaining these cookies every Friday was a bit stressful, not getting them felt far more stressful. 

Weekends Nights Only
Late each weekend night, I would stuff myself with the cookies, first while sitting in front of my TV and then while standing in my dark kitchen after doing the dishes. 

I was determined to eat them all before the weekend ended, before my time was up.

You see, I had a rule that I could only eat cookies on weekend nights. They were my reward for eating “clean” during the week.

However, because I was restricting my eating throughout the week, including depriving myself of sweets (you know, being “good”), I had a scarcity mindset that drove me to binge on the cookies when I allowed myself to have them. 

What was supposed to be a yummy treat wasn’t so satisfying in the end. I went to bed uncomfortably full and full of guilt and shame. 

The physical discomfort and emotional distress my cookie binges caused convinced me all the more that I couldn’t be trusted with certain foods, that I had to get back on track on Monday, and that I needed a "no cookies ever" food rule.

Once again, I would be “good” during the week—and once again, I'd inevitably head to the bakery at the end of the week. I was obsessed with those cookies and stuck in a vicious restrict-binge cycle. 

Not About Willpower
While I sometimes binged on other forbidden foods, my weekend cookie binges bothered me the most. 

I tried to explain my anguish to my boyfriend who just laughed as he didn’t understand why I, the healthiest eater he knew, was so devastated by my behavior. 

To be fair, I hid a lot of the cookies and my cookie-eating from him, so he didn’t really have a full grasp of the situation. Plus, he had never dieted a day in his life, so he had no idea what it felt like to “fail” at eating.

What I didn’t understand at the time was that my cookie binges did not make me a failure and were not due to a lack of willpower, despite what diet culture had taught me to believe. 

My behavior was a natural human response to food deprivation. 

With the threat of scarcity just around the corner—that is, no more cookies come Monday—my very protective brain told me to eat all the cookies now before they were gone, even if I didn’t really want them or was uncomfortably full.

Plus, I feared if I didn’t eat them all on the weekend, I would be tempted to eat the leftovers on Monday. Doing so would ruin my good-eating plan and mean I wouldn't deserve to be rewarded with more cookies come Friday.

An Unimaginable Solution
At the time, I thought I needed to stop buying and eating cookies. I never imagined the solution was to freely eat cookies.

When I finally hit rock bottom with my disordered eating, I started challenging my food rules and giving myself unconditional permission to eat. 

This included eating cookies whenever I wanted, even on a Wednesday and even for breakfast. Loosening the reins was scary, but to my great surprise, my cookie binges eventually stopped.

Over time, I went from rigidly controlling my cookie consumption and then feeling shamefully out of control with them to freely eating cookies at any time and feeling neutral about it.

Now, I pretty much always have cookies on hand along with many other foods I had once made off-limits.

All these years later, I’m still sometimes astounded by how these foods are no longer a big deal.

The sense of ease and peace I now feel with food is something I wish for you, too.