Yesterday I ate 4 big chocolate chip cookies in the car on the way home from a god-awful day.
Yesterday I ate 4 big chocolate chip cookies in the car on the way home from a god-awful day.
My Dad is at the end of his life. Last weekend the hospital bed arrived, and my siblings and I rearranged their whole flat so that my parents could still be together. Our mother has dementia. My Dad has been her primary carer for the last 5 years, until just a few months ago when his age suddenly caught up with him. They’ve been happily married for 61 years and they still hold hands. We didn’t want to separate them.
We have cameras in the flat so we can keep an eye on them when they’re alone. Yesterday I happened to be watching when my Dad had a fall. I called one brother and he was there in five minutes. Then came the District Nurses, the Urgent Response Care team, paramedics, a tightened RESPECT form, OT and Physio arranged, endless discussions about how to keep him safe. Most of it before 9am. Then client calls. Intense ones. Then the drive over to be there for more calls, more visits, more decisions.
My mother is aware, but also not completely aware. Repeated questions. Who are these people. Why is no one consulting me. She only has one hearing aid this week, the other having stopped working at exactly the wrong moment. I was trying to be kind and patient while also talking to the District Nurse about keeping my Dad safe. I was utterly depleted.
On the way out I noticed they needed a few bits from the shops. I also felt like I needed some movement, so I walked. I passed the bakery section and thought: I really fancy one of those big chewy chocolate chip cookies. You can only buy them in packs of four. I put them in the trolley. As soon as I’d paid, walking back, I was breaking off small pieces. It was very sweet and felt like just what I needed. Bringing some sweetness, when the situation that’s unfolding feels anything but sweet, keeping me going for just a few more hours till I could crawl into bed. I finished that one, went back to unpack their groceries, then drove the thirty minutes home with the rest of the cookies and made my way through them.
I didn’t feel sick. I slept well. I didn’t beat myself up or vow never to eat cookies again. I didn’t wake up with a plan to eat better or cut sugar or make up for it somehow. In the morning I didn’t inspect myself for signs of bloat or weight gain or wonder whether I’d fit into my clothes. I just thought: should I write about this?
Here’s why I’m glad I did. Food can do this job. It always has, for humans, across every culture and century there has ever been.
It’s not shameful. It’s not a relapse or a failure or evidence that I don’t practise what I teach. It’s just one of the ways humans use food, and your day doesn’t have to reach any particular threshold before you’re allowed to do it.
I don’t reach for food every time I have a hard day. But that doesn’t make me more sorted or more evolved. It just means I’ve learned, slowly and imperfectly, to meet my needs in different ways most of the time. And sometimes, this is what I do too.
The cookies were fine. I’m fine. And if you’ve done something similar recently, you’re fine too.
If you saw yourself somewhere in this story, maybe it’s not really about cookies at all…
Maybe you’re tired of feeling at war with food, exhausted from trying to control your eating, your body, or yourself. Or perhaps you’re carrying more than anyone realises and food has become one of the ways you’ve learned to cope.
If you’d like a safe space to explore your relationship with food and eating, I invite you to book a free discovery call. We’ll talk about what’s been going on, what support might look like and if working together feels like the right fit.
Hi, I'm Vania.
I'm passionate about helping you break free from the exhausting cycle of yo-yo dieting, body shame, overeating, bingeing, and emotional eating.
For decades, I was at war with my body and food. It wasn't until I found an approach which didn't involve strict rules, diets and a focus on weight, that my relationship with food and my body transformed into one of ease and peace. There’s a lightness in living when food no longer holds power over your thoughts. If you're seeking that kind of freedom — where food becomes simple and life feels full — I’d love to walk that journey with you.
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