Food can be very comforting. There is even a specific type of food that we label “comfort food.”  But what happens when all food becomes comfort food?  When I no longer eat to live, but I live to eat?

comfort-food

While overeating is not my main addiction, it certainly was my first.  I grew up overweight, I felt awkward, and I never fit in.  I did not have friends, but I had food. My parents made a rule that I could not bring food into my room, a rule I never intended to follow.  I ate entire boxes of crackers, whole containers of ice cream.  At first, I cleaned up the crumbs, the spills.  Then, I started hiding the boxes under my bed.  Next, I stopped caring if my parents knew I was eating in the room.  My mom would find out, yell about rats and cockroaches (that never existed) and reinforce the rule. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Other addictions ended up overwhelming my food addiction, but now that I am sober from drugs and alcohol, it has returned.  If I am having a bad day, I believe I can reward myself with an unhealthy meal.  It becomes unhealthy for me when I label every day bad and every meal a reward.  I need to know my own limits, my own bottom lines.  I try to achieve balance in my eating routine.  If I never feed the “addicted mind,” if I do not acknowledge its presence, it will arise more powerful than ever.  I need to make sure this does not happen.

What is your bottom line? Where do you draw the line? How do you find comfort in food without letting it rule your life?

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