If you’re on a journey towards food anxiety recovery, discussions around eating habits can be particularly intense. Look, if you want to witness actual human warfare in real time, just mention your thoughts about seed oils in a Facebook group dedicated to “clean eating.” I’m talking full-scale nuclear meltdown, complete with passive-aggressive recipe sharing and strategic unfriending campaigns that would make international diplomats weep.
But here’s the thing that’s been absolutely cracking me up lately: I used to be that person. You know the one. The food police officer who would show up to potlucks with my own mason jar of fermented sauerkraut and a lecture about why your grandmother’s green bean casserole was basically attempting to murder everyone at the church social.
Plot twist: I survived eating that casserole, and so did everyone else.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently because I keep seeing these intense food debates online, and honestly? It’s like watching grown adults argue about whether Batman or Superman would win in a fight, except instead of comic book characters, everyone’s passionately defending their chosen method of consuming vegetables.
Depending on who you talk to:
Alright, let’s play a fun game called “Everything You’ve Ever Eaten Is Apparently Trying to Kill You.” Ready? Here we go:
- Meat is bad (because apparently cows are plotting against us)
- Dairy products are bad (your morning coffee is basically poison now)
- Eggs are bad (chickens have been running a long con this whole time)
- Whole grains are bad (that oatmeal? Death in a bowl)
- White flour is bad (your sourdough starter just filed for unemployment)
- Actually, ALL grains are bad (bread is the devil, apparently)
- Legumes are bad too (beans have entered the chat as public enemy #1)
- Potatoes are bad (Irish people everywhere are having an identity crisis)
- Carbs are bad (your pasta is personally offended)
- Cooked food is bad (fire was humanity’s biggest mistake)
- But certain raw vegetables aren’t great either (even carrots can’t catch a break)
- Fruit is bad because sugar (apples are basically candy bars growing on trees)
- All sugar is bad, even the natural stuff (honey bees are now unemployment)
- Honey isn’t good either, especially if heated (your tea is having an existential crisis)
- Fat is bad (avocados are crying into their perfectly Instagrammable toast)
- Water is questionable unless it’s been blessed by mountain spirits and filtered through unicorn hair
By this logic, the only safe food left is… well, nothing. We should all just photosynthesize like plants and call it a day. Except someone would probably tell us that sunlight contains too much vitamin D and we’re doing it wrong.
My All-or-Nothin’ Journey to Real Food…
Buckle up, because this story gets embarrassing real fast.
I have what psychologists probably call an “all-or-nothing personality,” but what my husband calls “going completely insane about random things for months at a time.” When I first discovered the world of “real food,” I dove in headfirst like someone had just told me the secret to eternal life was hidden inside a sourdough starter.
One day I was happily eating processed cheese that probably wasn’t legally allowed to call itself cheese, and the next day I was throwing out everything in our pantry like I was conducting an exorcism. I went from zero to organic-everything so fast I probably gave myself whiplash.
I bought dairy goats because heaven forbid we drink milk that had been pasteurized (the horror!). I started making “healthy” desserts that were basically vegetable matter pretending to be brownies. I’m pretty sure my black bean brownies are what nearly ended my marriage—my husband still gets this haunted look in his eyes when he sees a can of black beans.
But it didn’t stop there. Oh no, that would be too reasonable.
I became the food equivalent of that friend who gets really into CrossFit and won’t shut up about it. I would obsess about restaurant meals weeks before we went out. I would panic about potlucks like they were potential crime scenes. I would spend three hours reading ingredient labels at the grocery store like I was decoding ancient hieroglyphics.
The stress was real, people. I was more anxious about eating a non-organic banana than I was about our mortgage payments.
What’s important to me:
After years of food-related therapy (kidding, but maybe I should have considered it), I’ve figured out what actually matters to me versus what I was just stressing about because the internet told me to:
- Fresh raw milk from our cow who has never read a diet blog and doesn’t care about your opinions on dairy
- Growing our own vegetables or buying from farmers who aren’t trying to sell me a lifestyle along with their tomatoes
- Free-range eggs from chickens who live their best life and probably judge my food choices less than humans do
- Cooking from scratch because homemade food tastes better and doesn’t come with a side of mysterious chemicals
- Preserving our own food like pickles, tomato sauce, and applesauce (canning is my therapy now)
- Avoiding processed garbage when possible, but not having a complete meltdown if I accidentally eat a Cheeto
- Quality fats like butter, coconut oil, and yes—lard (clutch your pearls, Internet)
- Raising our own meat so I know exactly what went into it and can apologize to the animals personally
These are the hills I’m willing to die on. Everything else? Negotiable.
Things That I No Longer Stress About
Eating out: I used to interrogate waiters like I was conducting a criminal investigation. “Excuse me, can you tell me the exact farm origin of this lettuce and whether the chef has ever used MSG in their entire culinary career?” Now I just order the burger and enjoy my life.
Potlucks: Church potlucks are where casseroles go to become legendary, and half of them contain ingredients that would make a food blogger weep. You know what? I eat them anyway, and somehow I’m still alive to tell the tale.
Convenience items that save my sanity: Sometimes I buy tortilla chips instead of spending two hours making them from scratch while my children destroy the house. Revolutionary concept: my mental health is worth more than perfectly artisanal corn chips.
Not buying 100% organic everything: My kids eat non-organic bananas, and I’m pretty sure they’re still going to grow up to be functional humans. The organic police haven’t arrested me yet.
And Grains… Don’t Forget the Grains…
Oh boy, here we go. Time to really ruffle some feathers.
Grains are apparently the most controversial topic in the food world right now, which is hilarious because wheat has been keeping humans alive for literally thousands of years, but somehow we’ve decided it’s public enemy number one.
I’ve seen every opinion you can imagine:
- Only eat whole wheat (white flour is the devil’s dandruff)
- Don’t eat whole wheat (it’s basically sandpaper for your intestines)
- White flour will literally kill you (dramatic much?)
- All grains are evil incarnate (cavemen are laughing at us from beyond)
- Only ancient grains are acceptable (because apparently wheat has trust issues)
- Spelt is the chosen grain (it’s the favorite child of the grain family)
- Einkorn wheat is the ONLY acceptable wheat (regular wheat didn’t get the memo)
- Everything must be soaked (grains need a spa day before consumption)
- Actually, soaking might not do anything (all that soaking was for nothing?)
- Sourdough is the holy grail (fermentation fixes everything, right?)
- Sourdough with white flour is somehow better (make up your minds, people)
- Remove the bran by sifting (fiber is apparently optional)
- Wait, keep the bran! (fiber is now mandatory again)
You know what all this contradictory grain advice did to me? It turned me into a carb-eating rebel. I use white flour sometimes, and I’m not sorry. I eat bread that hasn’t been fermented for 47 days, and somehow I’m still breathing.
I tried the whole “soaking grains” thing for months because the Internet convinced me I was basically poisoning my family if I didn’t. The results? Dry, crumbly bread that even our chickens rejected. Our chickens, people. They eat bugs and seem perfectly happy about it, but they turned their beaks up at my “properly prepared” grain products.
We felt exactly the same eating soaked versus non-soaked grains, except one required me to plan my baking schedule like I was launching a space mission.
Is My Way the Only Way?
Absolutely not, and anyone who says their way is the only way is probably trying to sell you something.
Here’s what I’ve learned after years of food drama: there is no perfect diet that works for every single human being on the planet. Shocking revelation, I know.
I’ve decided to eat quality, whole food as much as possible while maintaining my sanity and my sense of humour. If that means occasionally eating tortilla chips alongside my raw milk, I’m going to enjoy every crunchy, salty bite without an ounce of guilt.
The stress of trying to eat perfectly was probably worse for my health than any non-organic vegetable ever could be. Food anxiety is real, and it’s not helping anyone live their best life.
So here’s my revolutionary advice: eat good food when you can, don’t stress about the rest, and maybe stop reading so many conflicting articles about nutrition. Your mental health will thank you, and you might actually start enjoying your meals again.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat some bread made with regular flour while my chickens judge me silently from the yard. Because that’s apparently what my life has become, and I’m completely okay with it. Don’t judge me nowwww.
