Emotional Eating - Before you judge the behaviour, look at the state

I baked a batch of cookies over the weekend. They were really nourishing cookies, the sort of thing I can happily have sitting in the kitchen because, usually, one is enough.

So when I got home from a conference recently, I made myself a cup of tea and had one. Then I had another. Then another. And before I knew it, one had turned into four.

What caught my attention wasn’t really the fact that I’d eaten four cookies. It was that one cookie would normally satisfy me. So why hadn’t it this time?

That made me curious.

I’d spent the day at a conference with around 80 staff members. I actually enjoyed it. I enjoyed the conversations, seeing people and being somewhere different. But there was also a lot going on. People everywhere, constant conversation, noise, information coming at me and the social energy of being around that many people for several hours.

It wasn’t until I got home that I realised just how much I’d been taking in.

I could finally stop. My home was quiet. I was on the sofa with my tea, and it suddenly occurred to me that I’d been masking a lot more than I’d realised.

I’d been smiling, engaging, listening, making conversation and keeping up. From the outside, there probably wasn’t anything particularly unusual going on. I was fine. I’d enjoyed myself. But I think I’d spent a lot of the day managing my environment and managing myself within it.

And then I ate four cookies. This is the bit I find interesting.

Rather than immediately thinking, Why did I eat four?, I started wondering what was actually going on for me in that moment. Was I hungry? Was I looking for comfort? Was I trying to decompress after a day of stimulation? Was there some element of compensation going on — a little bit of pleasure after spending so much of the day being “on”? Maybe I was simply enjoying them.

I don’t know that there was one answer. And I don’t think there needs to be.

What I do know is that the context mattered. And this is something I think about a lot in my work with clients, particularly when we talk about emotional eating. It’s very easy to focus on the food. I ate too much. I couldn’t stop. I shouldn’t have eaten that. Why did I do that?

But I’m often much more interested in what was happening before the food.

What had the day been like? Had they eaten enough? Were they exhausted? Overstimulated? Lonely? Bored? Had they spent the whole day looking after everyone else? Were they finally alone and able to let go?

Sometimes there’s a very obvious connection. Sometimes there isn’t. And sometimes you just really wanted the cookies. That’s okay too. Because I think we all emotionally eat to some degree. Food isn’t just fuel. We use it for comfort, pleasure, celebration, connection, routine and sometimes because something simply tastes so good.

So I’m not particularly interested in teaching people to be afraid of emotional eating. I’m much more interested in helping people understand their own patterns. Not just: How do I stop doing this? But What’s happening for me here?

That’s the same question I found myself asking about my four cookies.

I’ve become much more aware of this through my own recovery from ED and understanding my lived experience of neurodivergence. I can function really well in environments that are actually quite demanding for me. I can be sociable, engaged and completely capable of doing what is required. The problem is that I don’t always notice what something has cost me until afterwards.

Sometimes I only realise when I get home and suddenly don’t want to speak to anyone. Or I need quiet. Or comfortable clothes. Or I find myself reaching for something that feels soothing. And sometimes, apparently, one cookie becomes four.

I’m not saying that every behaviour has some deep hidden meaning. Four cookies don’t need to become a psychological investigation. They were homemade, nourishing cookies and I enjoyed eating them. But the fact that one normally felt satisfying and, on this particular occasion, it didn’t gave me something to notice.

It made me reflect on how much our state can influence what happens next.

When we’re rested and have plenty of capacity, something can feel easy. When we’ve been overstimulated, socially depleted, hungry, stressed or simply running on empty, the same person can respond very differently.

What feels satisfying can change. What feels comforting can change. Our ability to make decisions can change. Even our awareness of what we need can become a little less clear.

And I think this is where I’ve become much more interested in curiosity than judgement.

For a long time, I might have looked at the behaviour first and asked, Why did I do that? What’s wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just have one?

Now I’m more likely to look backwards.

What happened today?

How much was I taking in?

Had I eaten enough?

Had I had enough downtime?

Was I actually hungry, or was I looking for something else?

Not because I need to justify every choice I make, but because the behaviour can sometimes give me information about what I didn’t notice earlier.

The behaviour can be the clue.

And this still happens to me. Not every week and certainly not in some neat, predictable pattern. I’m not going to pretend I’ve suddenly become someone who catches every signal my body sends me.

Sometimes I still get home and think, Wow. That took more out of me than I realised. But I’m getting better at noticing.

And perhaps that’s what I’m most interested in now. Not controlling every behaviour or trying to optimise myself into never feeling overwhelmed, but becoming a little more fluent in my own signals.

Because maybe the question isn’t always: How do I change this behaviour?

Maybe sometimes it’s simply:

What is this behaviour telling me about what came before it?

And sometimes you don’t need to change the four cookies.

You just need to get curious about why four felt different from one.

What if the goal isn't to control ourselves better, but to know ourselves better?

I hope this reflection gives you a little more curiosity about your own patterns, and perhaps a little less judgement too.

Warmly,

Willow 🤎