My first addiction

Hey there ,

In this edition:

• Can food be an addiction?

• The science

• My story and a solution that’s worked

• Please reply — I’d love to hear your thoughts

I’ve been thinking a lot about addiction lately.

Not just the obvious kind—alcohol, opioids, gambling.

But the one that’s hiding in plain sight.

The one we celebrate, shame, manage, moralize, and many of us quietly suffer through every day.

Food.

“The brain chemistry that drives the addict to seek pleasure beyond the point of satiety is similar, whether the user favours Jack Daniels or Jack-in-the-Box.”
— Dr. Vera Tarman, Food Junkies

It’s not a metaphor. It’s brain science.

And it’s something we rarely talk about—because it’s too close. Too wrapped in family, love, comfort, and culture.

For so many of us, food was our first drug.
The way we soothed, numbed, escaped, and coped—long before we had language for our feelings.

Think about the messages we grew up with:

“Here, have some more.”
“Clean your plate, or else.”
“What a good eater.”
“Don’t be so picky.”
“Looks like you’ve put on a little weight.”
“You’re too skinny.”

Maybe you said these things. Maybe you heard them. Maybe you lived them.

When I was younger, the food problem didn’t affect me deeply.

I abused myself with a variety of other self-medicating substances and behaviors.

Then I hit some walls and started my recovery from substances and codependency.

But when my metabolism started to slow a bit, the weight came on, and the compulsive overeating increasingly became a thing. And I’ve had many physical consequences.

In families where emotional honesty wasn’t safe, food became the substitute. It was how we expressed care, how we filled emptiness, how we avoided the difficult stuff.

And eventually, for many of us, it became an obsession.

We plan it. Hide it. Feel shame about it. Obsess over controlling it. Break promises. Start over. Spiral.
All the hallmarks of addiction—just dressed up as “eating habits.”

But food addiction isn’t just real—it’s deadly.

Opioid deaths are called addiction.
Obesity-related deaths? Just a “health issue.”
But for so many, this is addiction. The medical community doesn’t label it that way — so it doesn’t get treated that way.

Instead, we throw diets at it.

We spend $76 billion a year on diets and programs that don’t address the root. That offer restriction and control instead of providing healing and support.

And anyone who’s been in recovery knows: Cutting back doesn’t work. At least not sustainably.

You don’t tell an alcoholic to “just have one drink.”
You don’t tell a heroin addict to “moderate.”

And yet we try to do exactly that with food.

It makes sense. We’re terrified of what might happen if we can’t have the freedom to have exactly what we want, when we want it. Or if we have to stop managing it so tightly.

But the truth is — control is not freedom. It’s just a more sophisticated prison.

In recovery spaces like Food Addicts Anonymous and Overeaters Anonymous, you’ll hear it clearly:

And the longer we stay in the food, the more it consumes our lives.

We don’t just lose our health—we lose time, peace, connection, and presence.
We lose ourselves.

Some people carry extra weight. Others don’t.
But the mental weight is always heavy: the planning, bargaining, judging, justifying, shaming, hiding.

And when the control breaks down, we try to earn our way back — through fasting, cleansing, biohacking, exercise, and even extreme sports.

But the problem isn’t discipline. The problem is pain. And fear. And isolation.

And the solution isn’t the latest popular diet, a protein shake, or a new form of willpower.

The solution is what works for all addictions:
Connection. Support. Surrender. A spiritual path.

We stop trying to fix it alone.
We stop trying to manage what’s unmanageable.
And we step into a different kind of recovery—a path that helps us feel what we’ve been running from, in a way that’s safe, supported, and real.

That means community.
That means a food plan — not a diet — but a clear structure that removes chaos and lets us live in the day we’re in.

That means giving up the false God of control.

And slowly, something else begins to take shape.

A kind of freedom we didn’t know existed.
A peace that’s not about weight or calories — but about presence.
A joy that isn’t bought with bingeing or punished with shame.

One day at a time, we return to sanity.
Around food. Around our bodies. Around our lives.

And that’s when the real nourishment begins.

These gifts are available for everyone, no matter what substance or behavior we’re chronically overusing to self-soothe.

Recovery is not for everybody — some of us can’t/won’t surrender.

Recovery is for everybody — if we have even a small willingness to show up and do the work.

There’s an effective program for everything from drugs to food to inner child healing.

Many say, “The program didn’t work for me.” But the programs don’t work for anyone.

We have to do the work if we want true freedom.

And, I don’t have this thing figured out. Recovery’s not a perfect process.

The food thing has been a struggle for me. That’s why I’m writing about it. I’ve tried many diets. I’ve been in and out of Food Addicts Anonymous (FA) for years, but I’m staying with it at the moment, and I’ve found some freedom again.

Here’s a list of support programs.

Stay Tuned: How about trying a large plate of support instead! Something very juicy is coming your way — the Inner Work Community. A warm and supportive gathering of people finding their most healthy and authentic life. Much more about that soon.

Thanks for reading,

Warmly,

Bob

PS. Let’s keep this healing movement alive:

• Inner Work Mastery - The 7-day healing program is closed for now, but you can get on the wait list here.

• Get my new book - Stop Doing Sh*t You Don’t Want to Do! Write an amazing review here. The Audiobook is now available on Audible, Spotify, Google Play, and Libro!

• Coaching/Therapy - I have a small practice for people deeply committed to the work. I also have a group of skilled colleagues with the same orientation. Reply if interested.

• Resources. You can go here for free and low-cost recovery and healing resources.

• Reply. I would love to hear your experience, strength, and hope. Just reply to this email. We publish a monthly roundup of reader responses.

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