This cycle began when I was around twelve years old. At the time, I didn't understand why I was doing it. I just knew that I needed to. Somehow, it protected me.

I would later come to understand that my paternal grandfather had sexually abused me as a child. I didn't yet have the language to understand what had happened to me, let alone how those experiences were shaping my relationship with food, my body, and myself.

My experience is extreme. But it fundamentally shaped my relationship with nourishment from an early age. How I felt. How I saw myself. And perhaps, most importantly, how I didn't want to see myself.

Looking back, I understand that my eating behaviors were never simply about food. They were expressions of something much deeper—attempts to manage feelings I couldn't name, make sense of experiences I didn't understand, and navigate emotions I didn't yet have the capacity to process. In a home where chaos was the norm, making sense of any of it was even harder.

What I now recognize as harmful was, in some complicated way, also serving a purpose. It was a way of coping. A way of finding some sense of control. A way of protecting myself when I didn't know how else to feel safe.

As another holiday season approaches, I reflect on those experiences and how far I've come. The healing. The compassion I can now hold for myself. And how, over time, I've found a way to turn my pain into purpose.

Sharing my story with this kind of authenticity still feels vulnerable. Scary, even. But my lived experience, coupled with years of learning, has helped me approach my own behaviors—and those of others—with curiosity rather than judgment.

Beneath the festive tables and familiar traditions lies a confluence of emotions many of us carry into this time of year.

For some, the holidays bring joy, connection, and comfort. For others, they stir up complicated family dynamics, anxiety, loneliness, grief, or memories of what once was. And for many of us, it's all of these things at once.

We arrive at the table carrying far more than an appetite.

We arrive at the table carrying far more than an appetite.

And sometimes, without even realizing it, our eating behaviors become ways of managing what we carry. We may cling to rigid food rules, become hyperfocused on eating "clean," reach for food when emotions feel overwhelming, eat before arriving at a party, or even avoid social gatherings altogether. What appears to be discipline, preference, or even a commitment to health may actually be an attempt to find comfort, create certainty, or regain a sense of control.

None of these behaviors necessarily signals a problem on its own. Context matters. But when our relationship with food becomes increasingly rigid, driven by anxiety or fear, urgent, or even secretive, there's something worth exploring.

These behaviors may look very different on the surface, but they invite us to consider the same question:

What is this eating behavior trying to protect me from?

And perhaps an equally important one:

What might I discover if I became curious about that behavior instead of judging myself for it?

When Eating Becomes Protection

As a culinary nutritionist, I've spent decades helping people understand why they eat the way they do. Often, those patterns are shaped by needs for safety, certainty, belonging, comfort, or control.

In a recent conversation with my dear colleague Dr. Courtney Pensavalle, she challenged the way we often characterize these patterns as dysfunctional eating behaviors, offering a more compassionate perspective: protective eating behaviors. These are patterns of eating, restricting, avoiding, or controlling food that may develop as ways to navigate emotional discomfort, manage uncertainty, or create a sense of safety.

These patterns can emerge from many places. Childhood experiences, family food rules, chronic stress, medical experiences, weight stigma, cultural expectations, and the relentless messaging of diet and wellness culture can all influence our relationships with food.

For someone who has experienced abuse, food may become a means of exerting control over a body that once felt powerless—or a way of perpetuating harm rooted in deeply held feelings of shame or unworthiness. For someone raised in an unpredictable environment, controlling what, when, and how much they eat may create a sense of certainty and safety. For someone whose body was constantly scrutinized or criticized, rigid food rules may offer protection from judgment or rejection. And for someone who learned to associate food with love, comfort, or connection, eating may become a familiar way to soothe difficult emotions or fill an unmet emotional need.

Different experiences. Different behaviors. But often, the same underlying need: to feel safe.

These behaviors aren't necessarily conscious decisions. They can become deeply practiced responses that help us navigate emotional experiences we may not yet have the language or tools to understand.

And importantly, not every protective eating behavior is inherently harmful. Finding comfort in food is human. Choosing foods that support our health is valuable. Having preferences, routines, and boundaries around eating is perfectly reasonable.

The question is what happens when these behaviors become so rigid or automatic that they begin to limit our ability to nourish ourselves physically, emotionally, and socially.

Sometimes what began as a way to feel safe becomes the very thing that keeps us feeling unsafe.

Sometimes what began as a way to feel safe becomes the very thing that keeps us feeling unsafe.

When Wellness Becomes Watchfulness

We live in a culture that celebrates discipline, restraint, optimization, and control, particularly when it comes to food.

We're told to eliminate this, avoid that, scrutinize ingredients, count, track, measure, and perfect. Foods are divided into categories of good and bad, clean and dirty, healthy and unhealthy. Somewhere along the way, the pursuit of health can become an exhausting exercise in trying to get everything right. And with messaging coming from every direction—government agencies, the food industry, academia, healthcare professionals, and a growing universe of self-proclaimed wellness experts flooding our social media feeds—this shit is confusing!

Understanding where our food comes from, how it's produced, and how it affects our bodies matters. Food literacy supports informed choice.

I'm all for reading food labels. Hell, I wrote the book What the Fork Are You Eating? for a reason. But when does reading a label shift from curiosity to compulsion? When does an effort to support our health begin to compromise our relationships, experiences, and peace of mind? And at what point does nutrition analysis become edible paralysis?

Researchers have described an excessive preoccupation with eating healthy or "pure" foods as orthorexia. Although not currently recognized as a distinct diagnosis in major psychiatric diagnostic systems, the pattern can involve rigid food rules, intense anxiety around perceived unhealthy foods, and significant interference with everyday life.

But we don't need an eating disorder diagnosis for curiosity to slide into compulsion.

Consider someone who eats a beautifully balanced diet but feels tremendous anxiety when dining at a restaurant. Or someone who declines invitations because they cannot control the ingredients being served. Or someone whose sense of self-worth rises and falls based on how perfectly they followed their food rules that day.

That used to be me.

From the outside, my eating appeared healthy. But internally, my experience was anything but nourishing. I lived by rigid rules and restrictions, and my family often mocked me for my food choices. When life became too overwhelming, which was often, I either stopped eating altogether or found myself caught in a cycle of bingeing and purging.

No one saw my suffering. They were too consumed by their own.

It wasn't until the late 1980s, when I began working as a teenager in the kitchen of a health food market and café, that something began to shift.

For the first time, I felt seen. Appreciated. Valued.

I was encouraged to learn, to experiment, to explore. There was room for curiosity rather than criticism. And through cooking, I began to discover a different relationship with food—one that wasn't solely defined by rules, restriction, or fear.

Looking back, I recognize how meaningful that experience was. In a life often defined by chaos, the kitchen offered something I desperately needed. Ingredients were predictable. Recipes had a beginning, middle, and end. There were steps I could follow, choices I could make, and something tangible I could create with my own hands. Even when things didn't turn out as planned, I could adjust and try again. The kitchen became more than a place to prepare food. It was a place where I could experience safety, belonging, and possibility.

Of course, some dietary boundaries are medically necessary, including those related to food allergies, celiac disease, and other health conditions. The goal is not to abandon appropriate food precautions or personal values. It is to understand whether our behaviors are supporting our well-being or creating unnecessary distress.

Because health is not simply the absence of certain foods. It is also the presence of flexibility, connection, pleasure, and trust.

Why the Holidays Can Make Our Patterns Louder

The holidays have a remarkable way of bringing our histories into the present.

We return to familiar places, sit with familiar people, prepare familiar recipes, and sometimes find ourselves slipping into familiar roles. The child who was mocked for eating a certain way. The one who needed to please. The one who was criticized for eating too much. The one who learned not to ask for more. The one who felt safest by remaining in control.

Old feelings can resurface, even when our circumstances have changed, coloring how we experience the present.

Perhaps you're anticipating comments about your food choices and weight. Perhaps family gatherings bring tension, or the pressure to create the perfect holiday leaves you overwhelmed before anyone even arrives. Maybe you're grieving someone who is no longer at the table.

The emotional complexity of the holidays can shape how we engage with food. For some, it means tightening food rules to maintain control. For others, it may mean seeking comfort in food, eating in secret, skipping meals, or disconnecting from hunger and fullness cues.

A Gentle Check-In: What's Beneath the Behavior?

What we do with food is often just the visible part of a much deeper story. Beneath our eating behaviors may be different needs, emotions, beliefs, and protective responses, sometimes competing for our attention.

As you navigate the holiday season and beyond, I invite you to pause and get curious. Not to judge, criticize, or correct your choices, but to better understand what might be driving them.

Ask yourself:

1. What is my body telling me? Am I experiencing hunger, fullness, fatigue, tension, or something else? Can I recognize what my body needs?

2. What am I feeling? Are there emotions beneath the surface that I haven't acknowledged or don't quite know how to name?

3. What might this eating behavior be doing for me? Am I seeking comfort, relief, reassurance, connection, or a sense of control?

4. What happens when I can't follow my usual food routines? Do I experience flexibility, or do fear, anxiety, guilt, or feelings of vulnerability begin to surface?

5. What would it look like to respond with care rather than criticism? Can I offer myself the same understanding and compassion I would extend to someone I love?

Awareness isn't about getting it right. It's about getting curious.

These questions aren't meant to make you second-guess every bite or turn eating into another exercise in self-monitoring. They're an invitation to recognize that different needs can exist within us at the same time. We may be physically hungry, emotionally overwhelmed, seeking immediate relief, or longing for comfort and connection.

And sometimes, what once helped us cope may no longer be serving us.

Awareness isn't about getting it right. It's about getting curious.

Curiosity Before Correction

Too often, conversations about changing eating habits begin with what needs to be fixed.

Eat less. Eat more. Stop snacking. Eliminate sugar. Follow the plan.

What if, before trying to change a behavior, we asked why it exists?

This is at the heart of my trauma-informed approach to culinary nutrition. Biology, experience, emotion, and environment all shape our eating behaviors—and the different functions they may serve.

We can acknowledge how these behaviors once helped us cope without shaming ourselves, while exploring whether they continue to serve us.

Through my 3R Framework, we begin by Recognizing what lies beneath the behavior. We then Reshape our responses by creating space for greater flexibility and choice. And ultimately, we Renourish by expanding the ways we care for ourselves—through food, connection, creativity, rest, and compassion.

Not every eating behavior needs to be analyzed or changed. Sometimes we're simply hungry. Sometimes food brings us joy. And sometimes our behaviors are telling us something that deserves a little more attention.

Perhaps the most meaningful question isn't whether you're eating the right foods, but whether the way you're eating is helping you feel nourished, connected, and supported.

Because sometimes changing our relationship with food begins not with learning what to eat differently, but with understanding what our eating behaviors have been trying to protect all along.

One nourishing moment at a time.