I was sitting across the table from someone who had very quickly become a very important person in my life, a great friend, and a beautiful influence. The dinner was healthy- salmon and a huge salad- and the conversation was even more satisfying. We were getting to know each other, sharing things that we had only now decided to share after a year, finally moving into a friendship that would last a lot longer than our connection as coworkers. Without much thought, I found myself opening up about one of the most personal topics I own: my struggle with food. I told her “I am very satisfied right now. Tonight was amazing, I loved it, and I’m not hungry or thinking about food at all. But that won’t necessarily stop me from eating when you leave.” Her response came in the form of a question- “What is it that would make you want to eat again?” My answer in the moment wasn’t much, but it’s a question that I realize I need to answer. It’s a question that, on some level, I’ve been trying to answer for a very long time.

I pride myself on the fact that I am comfortable alone. It’s not something I always felt, but when that string of abusive relationships ended a few years ago, I realized that I needed to learn how to be happy alone before I was ever going to find true happiness with someone else. I needed to know who I was as “just me” before I could be anything to anyone. Today, I care very much about knowing how to take care of myself, and I often find myself telling others that, in my opinion, that’s the “missing piece” in their quest for true love.

I have never considered myself to be a lonely person. I have always been surrounded by great people, and I always seem to be doing something with my life that promises some sense of satisfaction. I am not lonely. I have amazing friends, a great family, I am smart, funny, and people like being around me. At any time, I always have a list of people I could call, and a handful of things I could go do. My life is not one of loneliness. The image of loneliness that exists in my mind is depressing, sad, heartbreaking, terrifying, and that is simply not my life. That’s not me.

Still, when my friend asked me point-blank what would make me want to eat again, the only thing that came to mind was the fact that once she left, I would be alone. It was as if I’ve convinced myself that eating is the natural thing to do when you find yourself alone. What else would I do? What else would be satisfying? I can’t just do nothing, right?

I realize this connection between a food addiction and loneliness may seem rather obvious, but it has been one I’ve easily dismissed for years. It’s just not me. Or, is it? As I’ve been thinking about this, I’ve realized that loneliness comes in all different forms. True, I am not physically lonely, but what about emotionally? Aha, there it is.

Emotional loneliness, in my opinion, is defined by the feeling that nobody really understands me, knows me, sees me, and simply gets me without me saying a word. People may like me, enjoy my company, and remember things about me, but how much do they really know about how I think, what a particular situation will make me feel, and the nonverbal cues that tell them exactly what I need in a given moment? And, if that’s true, if nobody understands me, then why?

Here’s where it all comes together for me. In order for people to understand you, you have to understand yourself. In order for people to learn how you feel, how you show it, and what you need, you need to actually feel, show your feelings, and communicate what you need. How can you possibly understand yourself- or give others the opportunity to understand you- if you’re constantly hiding all of the important feelings in food? How can they really know me if I have this entire secret life when I’m alone that they know nothing about?

I have been depriving myself of this connection because instead of trying to understand myself and sharing all of my feelings with people, I have been sharing all of my feelings with food. I have been telling myself that food comforts all of my negative feelings, but if I think about it, food does not do anything that I equate with comfort in the moments that I need it most. It doesn’t ask me how I’m doing, talk me through a problem, it doesn’t love me, it doesn’t offer advice, or tell me that everything will be okay, or pull me in and make me feel safe. And, it definitely doesn’t make me feel less alone. In fact, it is the decision to turn to food that makes me feel even worse about myself. If a person did what food does in those moments, i.e. sit there in silence and make you feel sick, we wouldn’t put up with it. It would be so easy to see that the relationship was bad for us and we would change it, wouldn’t we? Let’s stop making an exception here. Let’s set some expectations of the relationships we have in our lives and take back control.

I think this cycle goes beyond food. Food is my particular struggle, but I can see people doing the same thing with various addictions or self-destructive behaviors. On some level, we are all hiding from something when we do this. The question is- what? Shame? Vulnerability? Rejection? Failure? Those are valid fears, but if we give them the power, where are we? Where do we end up? For me, it’s sitting in my bed alone, eating a bunch of crap that will do nothing but satisfy me for the split moment that I eat it, and then immediately make me feel sick and hate myself, leaving the long-lasting effect of feeling alone and misunderstood. That is WAY worse than anything I fear, isn’t it? It’s not where I want to be.

Instead, I want my relationships to be with people, not food. I choose to take my power back. I choose to live in the moments when I’m alone at my house, and to stay in them without immediately running to food. I choose to feel my feelings, and not use food to stuff them down. I choose to build relationships- the relationship with myself, and those that I love. I choose to let the world see me. This is my new mantra and one that I want to commit to every single day. Because when the day ends, I choose to be understood.