Last night, it was cookies.
The little Biscoff ones I’ve collected from flights, as if they were something rare or special (as if I couldn’t just buy them at the store). Still, there they were, and there I was, standing in front of the pantry, staring at them.
I wasn’t hungry. Not even a little.
I just wanted them. Or maybe more honestly, something in me wouldn’t let go of them.
There was this quiet but persistent banter in my head. Back and forth. You could have one. What’s one cookie? By the time I reached for the package, it didn’t feel like a thoughtful choice, it felt automatic.
I unwrapped the first one slowly, almost ceremonially. Then one became two, and then another. Somewhere in the middle, I realized I wasn’t really tasting them. I was chasing something I couldn’t quite name, trying to arrive at that moment where the voice in my head would finally say, okay, that’s enough.
This is what I’ve come to understand as “food noise.” It’s not just about wanting something, it’s the constant conversation, the negotiating, the mental tug-of-war that takes up so much space. And the more I sit with this, both personally and in my work, the more I see how universal it is.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how often people talk about quieting this noise. There are medications that can bring a kind of stillness. I understand the idea of relief, of peace, of not having to think so hard about food.
And still, I find myself wondering about another way.
What if the goal isn’t to silence the voice, but to change how we relate to it?
Because when I reflect on last night, the loudest part wasn’t the craving, it was the urgency. The feeling that I had to act on it, that I couldn’t just let the thought sit there.
Maybe that’s where the work lives.
Not in eliminating the thought, but in softening the reaction.
What if, instead of rushing to quiet the noise, I paused and got curious? What’s really going on right now? Was I tired? Yes. Restless? Probably. Looking for comfort? That feels true.
And what if the cookie could simply be an option, not the solution?
I don’t believe overcoming food noise is about willpower. It feels more like building a tolerance for the discomfort of wanting something and not immediately responding. Learning that the voice can be there without being in charge.
Last night didn’t feel like a success in the traditional sense. But this morning, it feels like insight. Like information. And maybe that’s where real change begins.
And if any part of this feels familiar, please know you’re not alone, and if you need support, I’m here.