A BREAK UP I WAS EXPECTING

Food and I have always had a thing. Deep, complicated, emotional. I could count on it, when I was happy, I celebrated with food. When I was sad, I comforted myself with food. Lonely? Food. Achieving something? Definitely food. It’s been more than just fuel. It’s been a companion. A constant.

So when my body started reacting differently, I tried to ignore it. I told myself I was overthinking it. But deep down, I knew. Something was off. And like any breakup, the signs were there long before I wanted to admit it. The mind catches on first, but the heart always lags behind, still longing for how things used to be. Still begging, “Please… just one more time.”

Then came the doctor’s visit. The diagnosis: GERD: Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease. A condition where stomach acid flows backward into the esophagus, causing irritation, inflammation, and in my case, a whole new way of living. The solution? A bland diet. Not just for now, but for the foreseeable future.

I walked out of that appointment trying to hold onto hope. But it quickly turned into fear. What does life look like without spice, without comfort food, without the joy of eating freely? Can I really commit to this? I have to. Because the alternative is damage I can’t undo.

And that’s the part that stings, the betrayal. How could my body turn on me like this?

But maybe it didn’t turn on me. Maybe it’s trying to protect me. Maybe this isn’t punishment, it’s a hard, necessary call for change.

So I’m grieving, yes. But I’m also learning to listen more closely to the body I’ve spent years ignoring. This is a breakup I didn’t want, but it’s also an invitation into healing, into new rituals, into a version of myself that knows the difference between comfort and harm.

We’ve been through worse. We’ll get through this too.