I stopped eating intuitively when I was a kid. I can’t pinpoint one exact moment that my sense of hunger became more emotional than physical, but I remember lots of little moments that helped redefine my relationship with food.
I wonder why skinny girls stuff their faces at Chipotle and still get to be skinny (yes, “get to be,” because skinny equals privilege in our world) and I count my 1,500 cals every day while being denied that privilege that the weight loss industry says should come from doing so.
I'd estimate that at the end of the day, my diet consists approximately of 30% mooched work snacks and 70% congealed unsaturated fat covered with hot sauce, along with a couple of bunches of kale thrown in here and there. I carry around a lot of weird guilt about how unhealthy that is.
According to my doctor, a person with a broken bone needs as many calories as a “very active” person during the healing process -– and, at least in my case, my body has responded with a deep and abiding hunger. Smart move, body.