Letting Go of Food Shame: My Journey Back to Balance

The Label I Wore with Pride

I still remember the day I made the big decision: I was done with meat, dairy, and gluten. It felt bold. Confident. I was going to be the healthiest, cleanest, greenest version of myself. Gluten-free vegan. That was my label, and I wore it proudly—like a badge of honor.

For a while, it felt like I’d cracked some magical life code. My days were filled with green smoothies, quinoa bowls, and kale chips. I preached the gospel of plant-based living to anyone who’d listen (sorry about that), and naturally, my family got dragged into the kale parade right along with me. My only rule was that I wasn't going to cook meat. So naturally, my family had to adjust.

The Man Who Packed Tofu to the Jobsite

Bless my husband. The man works for the trades and for four years, he carried his rice-and-tofu lunches onto job sites, where barbecues are practically sacred. The teasing was relentless. “Rabbit food?” was often the comment of the day. But he stuck it out because he loves me (and because, let’s be honest, he wasn’t about to cook for himself).

At home, the kids ate what I cooked because… well, what choice did they have? But food, labels, and rules don’t just stay at home.

When My Son Stopped Eating

It all came to a head when our 9-year-old—our sweet, sensitive oldest—started showing some unhealthy eating habits. At home, I was saying one thing: Eat this, don’t eat that. At school, kids and teachers were telling him something entirely different. Add in family members pushing him to “just try this, you’ll like it,” and the poor kid was overwhelmed.

And then… he stopped eating.

It happened quickly, and I was mad at myself for not catching it sooner. He had become noticeably smaller, nearly the same size as his younger brother, despite previously being significantly bigger. He was always bundled up in a jacket because he was cold, had less energy, didn't want to play—especially anything physical—and just wasn't himself.

Throwing Out the Rulebook

That’s when I said, fuck this. I threw the rules out the window. I bought books on childhood eating anxiety and followed their advice as best I could: let him eat whatever he wanted, without pressure. Ice cream for breakfast? Fine. No more “clean your plate” or “just one more bite.” Just… let him eat.

It took three months of patience and tracking calories. Three months of me biting my tongue every time I wanted to say, “Just finish your dinner.” Slowly, he started to eat again. Slowly, he put weight back on. He needed 1,900 calories a day, and we tracked every bite to make sure he got there.

Funny how, at one point, I was a full-grown adult eating 1,200 calories just to be “skinny”, while my growing child needed so much more just to function. The contrast was sobering.

Facing My Own Food Shame

And as I helped him heal, I realized I needed to heal my relationship with food, too.

There was shame in so many of my choices. Guilt for eating after 7 PM. Guilt for not eating enough greens, for wanting something fried, for not being “disciplined” enough. Somewhere along the way, food became moral. If I ate “clean,” I felt good about myself. If I didn’t, I spiraled.

When Fear Takes Over

And the fear? So real.

I genuinely thought everyone around me who was still eating meat or cheese or gluten was going to keel over from a heart attack at any moment. It sounds dramatic now, but that’s how deep I was in it. When you’re stuck in diet dogma, you see food as life or death—literally.

And no matter what diet you “think” is the right one, you can find endless research, experts, and influencers on the internet ready to back you up. Keto, raw vegan, carnivore, plant-based, paleo, Mediterranean… you name it. There’s data for all of it. And that just adds to the confusion and overwhelm. Suddenly, eating becomes this exhausting intellectual puzzle instead of a natural, nourishing act.

What If I Just Ate the Chicken?

My body was screaming at me. I was hungry all the time, craving things I wouldn’t allow myself to have. I felt foggy, heavy, and depleted. After years of juice fasts, raw cleanses, and elimination diets, I couldn’t pretend anymore.

I remember sitting in my kitchen, staring at my empty bowl of cauliflower rice, and thinking, What if I just ate meat? Even the thought felt like betrayal. Betrayal of my choices, my identity, the label I’d clung to for so long. But I was tired. Really tired.

So one day, I did it. I started with bone broth—half expecting my body to reject it entirely. Then I had a bite of chicken. Not a steak the size of my head, just tiny portions. I wish I could say my body threw a party and welcomed meat back like a long-lost friend. It didn’t. My digestion went on strike. I felt heavier and worse than before, and I wondered if I’d made a huge mistake.

It took supplements to help my body relearn how to process animal protein. It wasn’t pretty, but slowly—very slowly—things started to shift. My energy came back. My cravings eased. I felt stronger.

Funny, isn’t it? I went gluten-free vegan to be healthy, and 8 years later, I ended up coming back to meat for the exact same reason. Healing doesn’t always look like you think it will.

Finding My Middle Ground

These days, I’ve found my middle ground. Some days I eat meat, some days I don’t. Some days I eat gluten or dairy, some days I avoid them—just depending on how I feel. I try to buy local when I can, supporting farms where I know animals were treated well. 

And yes, sometimes I feel guilty. Knowing an animal gave its life to nourish me isn’t something I take lightly. I make a point to pray over every meal, to express gratitude for that sacrifice. It’s a small act, but it matters.

What If It Doesn’t Have to Be So Hard?

Through all this, I’ve realized something: we make food so hard. Diets become identities. Labels become armor. Shame becomes normal. But it doesn’t have to be.

Food isn’t good or bad. It’s not a test of your worth or discipline. It’s fuel. It’s connection. It’s medicine. And yes—sometimes it’s rice and beans. Sometimes it’s steak. Sometimes it’s ice cream for breakfast.

I sometimes wonder how good the stress we carry around what we’re eating is for us…

Our grandma lived until 91, and I don’t think she ever stressed about food the way we do now. I mean, sure, she did TOPS for years—so it was definitely on her mind—but she also lost and gained the same pound every week for a decade and laughed about it. She still ate the pie. She still showed up at the table.

Let It Be Simple

So what if we just… trusted ourselves more? Paid attention to how we feel after we eat something? Sometimes it hits right away. Other times, it’s the next morning when your body’s like, “Yeah, that didn’t sit well.” The more you tune in, the easier it gets.

What if we just had a little more awareness, and a lot more grace.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed, stuck, or questioning what’s “right,” here’s my advice: let it go. Listen to your body. Do what feels good. Eat in a way that nourishes you. That gives you energy. That makes you feel alive.

At the end of the day, food is simple—if we let it be.