Eating My Feelings (Yes! On Purpose)

Somewhere along the way, “eating my feelings” became a bad word.

We say it to ourselves—half jokingly and fully judgingly—as if responding to emotional distress with food is something to fix. A deficit. Something to be ashamed of. As if the real problem isn’t anxiety, depression, grief, burnout, or overwhelm—but the fact that you reached for a snack instead of “dealing with it appropriately.”

As a clinician, I’m trained to redirect maladaptive behavior and encourage coping skills. Promote balance. Suggest walks and baths and mindfulness.

None of which anyone can actually eat.

As a human, I know that sometimes the most realistic coping skill available is food you don’t have to think about.

When you’re depressed, motivation drops. When you’re anxious, decision-making becomes exhausting. When you’re overwhelmed, even small tasks—like cooking—can feel impossible. In those moments, asking “What should I eat?” isn’t a neutral question. It’s the literal straw that broke the camel’s back. And if you have children, it somehow becomes a quiet indictment of your parenting.

So yes. Sometimes we eat our feelings.

And honestly? That’s not the problem people think it is.

Eating when you’re depressed isn’t a moral failure. Eating something easy when you have no energy to cook isn’t avoidance—it’s adaptation. It’s meeting yourself where you are instead of insisting you should be somewhere else.

What I ate today:
Sliced cheese.
Boxed crackers.

Go Girl Dinner.

No assembly required. No heat. No decisions beyond “salty or less salty.”

From a mental health perspective, this makes sense. It’s predictable. It’s accessible. It requires almost no executive functioning. It keeps blood sugar from crashing, which can make anxiety and depression worse. It’s not impressive, but it is effective.

And before anyone gets worried: this isn’t about eating instead of addressing your feelings. It’s about eating so you can keep existing while you have them.

Food doesn’t have to be aspirational to be useful. It doesn’t need to be balanced, beautiful, or prepared with intention. Sometimes it just needs to be there, within reach, when everything else feels like too much.

This is the kind of eating that helps you get through the day—not fix your life, not optimize your mental health, not become a better version of yourself. Just get through the day.

If today’s version of that is sliced cheese and boxed crackers, that’s not something to apologize for. That’s listening to reality.

Go ahead. Eat something.