I’m here post-emotional breakdown to tell you that eating healthy is a roller coaster. For me, food is a solace that finds me at my worst. When I’m feeling blue, I medicate with pizza and lick my wounds with a plate of nachos. I use food as a crutch to not only make me feel better, but to celebrate, to numb, and to punish myself after a week of eating unhealthy. My attitude towards food hovers somewhere between addiction and joy. I love cooking so much that I will habitually make a cobbler on a weekday, not because I want cobbler, but because the act of making cobbler heals me all by itself. But the problem every time is that I eat said cobbler in its entirety.
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