When There's No More Food Noise

I see a lot of quotes on social media, but recently I saw one in a post that read the following:

Your new life will cost you your old one.

I wasn't sure how the negativity implied in that quote would apply to my life without food noise; I still live in the same apartment, I'm married to the same husband, I have the same parents, I have some new friends but haven't lost any old ones, I work the same jobs. I've heard GLP-1 influencers talk about losing friends once they've lost significant amounts of weight, and thankfully, that hasn't happened and I don't see it happening (subtext: my friends would NEVER).

All of that said, my life has changed drastically over the past seven months. And while most changes have been for the better, others are more complicated and require more understanding, especially if you've never experienced food noise yourself.

Let's start with the more complicated emotions:

My food noise is often replaced by other noise

With increased thought clarity, my thoughts feel deeper. I sometimes feel as though my brain requires an outlet. Binge eating disorder is not my only mental disorder, and without food noise to quell my brain, I crave constant stimulation. I live with my husband every day, but I feel more lonely than I used to (not his fault!). I've always been someone who prefers to sleep with background noise, but without food noise, I need constant media playing while I sleep. I am forced to confront fears and thought patterns that I have never been able to fully process before. Food noise protected me for so long; it protected my brain, and also built a physical shield around myself in the form of, to this point, 54 additional pounds. I am shedding the metaphorical prisons, both mentally and physically, but I wonder if my brain sometimes resembles a dog chasing its tail.

Confusing real, authentic hunger -- or an easily-satisfied craving -- for food noise, becomes scary

Now that I have experienced life without food noise... after living with food noise all my previous life, I never want to experience it again. Experiencing food noise to the degree that I once did, for as long as I did, is a trauma that I didn't even realize was a trauma while I was experiencing it. To be free of that trauma and be able to enjoy the food I want to enjoy, without any iteration of food noise-based thoughts screaming all at once in my head, has been the most liberating experience of my life. That said, any time that I am at a gathering and I want to eat two more pigs in blankets after I've already eaten two, sends me into a silent tail spin. Will I be "okay" after two more? Am I simply enjoying the pigs in blankets, or is food noise controlling me again? Am I just... still hungry? Mostly, I am indeed "okay" after two more (or whatever small amount of additional pigs in blankets). I had four pigs in blankets instead of ten, as I would have eaten seven months ago. In fact, I wouldn't even be able to tell you how many I would have eaten previously; I lost track every time.

Thinking of going off a GLP-1 and the potential return of food noise is also scary

My insurance has approved me to stay on Wegovy through September 2025. As such, I try hard not to worry about the possibility of being forced to lose my access to GLP-1 medication until I know I have to. However, there are moments when I am reminded of the previous trauma of living with food noise (having nothing to do with the separate trauma of my experience living life in a 300-plus pound body in a world tailored to thinness), and I'm scared. I hear stories all over social media of insurance plans no longer providing coverage for weight loss drugs, and I definitely have to remind my brain not to go there. I will be completely transparent for a second; I am lucky in that I come from a family with financial resources that can continue to provide me with access to Wegovy or other GLP-1 medication after September, should my insurance drop me from the coverage. But that's never what I want to happen. If my family is paying out of pocket for it, I will feel added pressure to succeed in losing weight that doesn't come from a place of "doing it for me." Also, want to add that everyone who suffers from the disease of obesity should have access to treatment for said disease, regardless of financial situation... but that's an entirely separate post.

What with all of the complicated emotions come the positive aspects of a life without food noise. And the positives far outweigh the negatives.

Eating less food no longer feels like Herculean emotional labor

My mother used to ask me why I couldn't just make "small" dietary changes, and my response was always that I had too many things going on in my life to "think so much" about every little piece of food that I put in my mouth. I was right, I couldn't "think so much" about it -- but my reasoning for why I couldn't "think so much" about it was incorrect. It would not have mattered how much or how little was happening in my life at any given time. I couldn't "think so much" because the food noise was too powerful to fight on my own. What looked like "small changes" to most people felt like true emotional labor to me. And the worst part was that I didn't understand why I felt like this -- I was just as frustrated as my mother was with the fact that even the thought of moving from a Venti to a Grande at Starbucks made me feel like I was going to have a meltdown. It felt like something was being stolen from me that I couldn't control, and that part I was right about; food noise was controlling me. Food noise was making me feel like that Venti was being stolen from me by some greater demon. With a GLP-1 helping me, I now drink a Tall or a very occasional Grande at Starbucks. And I don't have to think twice about it. The thought that I am getting jipped is non-existant. It's not good or bad. It's not emotionally charged. It's just a café mocha.

I can carry on a conversation at parties

Any time I attended an event with food present in the "before times," I would always be watching the food out of the corner of my eye. I would hunt down the waitstaff who passed out the aforementioned pigs in blankets at weddings. I would zone out, mid-conversation, to get a quick glimpse of the dais of food set out at many family gatherings to make sure that the goods I still wanted to eat hadn't disappeared. My version of food noise often involved the fear that there would be "none left" for me. Not that I was ever malnourished as a child, but I was restricted from eating many of the foods that I wanted to eat at home. When I was out, I took advantage of the situation and stocked up with reckless abandon, fueled by fear of not knowing when the "next time" would be. My mother would try to tell me that "dessert will always be there," but... would it? Food noise said was always there to whisper that doubt into my brain. I don't watch the dais anymore or zone out mid-conversation. I can talk to someone at an event without food noise screaming the fearful thoughts into my brain. I don't panic at the sight of waitstaff with passing appetizers on the other side of the room, knowing that they could run out of pigs in blankets by the time the tray reached me. Anthony used to joke about a family wedding we attended, where mozzarella sticks were wheeled out for guests at an exit station. Apparently, he never saw me move so fast as I did when I heard of the arrival of the mozzarella sticks. While funny at the time, I booked it over to the station just to be absolutely sure that I wouldn't miss out on one of my formerly favorite foods (formerly, because Wegovy plus anything fried is lethal for me). But now, I finally believe that the food that I actually want to eat will always be there. And my parents have definitely apologized for the restrictions I faced as a child.

Enjoyment of food

Believe it or not, I enjoy food overall even MORE than I did before -- because, eating when commanded to by food noise is not enjoyable. My dad would remark that I would look as though I was eating mindlessly -- and while that was true, it was actually my mind that was controlling me through food noise. Food noise led to me completely losing myself in the food, even when it didn't taste great, and especially when it did taste great. The food would be gone from my plate before I even realized I'd finished everything on it. It wasn't enjoyable. It was addictive behavior. In stressful situations and periods in my life, this addictive behavior was amplified; in the months leading up to my wedding as planning became more intense, I mindlessly ate myself into oblivion at every opportunity. Now, I get to truly enjoy the food I want to eat, I know the difference between restriction and avoiding foods that don't make me feel good (of course through some trial and error), I understand that I can enjoy food in smaller amounts than I did before, and I pass on food that I realize I won't enjoy after taking a few bites. I never wanted to lose my love for food in this process, and I know now that I never will. But we're going to take hard passes on food that we don't enjoy over here! I look forward to my morning Greek yogurt with dark chocolate chips that I eat as soon as I get to work every day, because I know I will enjoy it. At the same time, I will never eat yogurt with artificial sweetener, because I know for sure that I won't enjoy it at all!

The ratio of my life with food noise versus life without food noise is not even 35 to 1... it's 35 to less than 1. So, the complicated aspects of living without food noise are taking time to get used to. I don't always sleep well thanks to racing thoughts, and I tend to reach for food as a crutch -- especially in stressful situations -- only to realize that I don't want or need it in that way anymore. But being present in situations where food is also present, actual enjoyment of food, and the absence of emotional labor at the mere thought of "small changes" is more than I ever hoped I could experience. Losing weight is great, but life without food noise is even better.