“In the space between stimulus and response lies our capacity to choose our reaction.” ~Viktor Frankl
For many years, I sensed something was off with me.
Regardless of what I was engaged in—attending a meeting, walking the dog, or watching television—my mind was perpetually wrestling with thoughts about food.
Should I eat? Or shouldn’t I? Just one more bite, perhaps? What’s next on the menu? Have I already blown it for the day? I’ve failed once more. Should I just eat anything and reset tomorrow?
The mental noise was incessant, leaving me drained and embarrassed, convinced of my own frailty.
I blamed it on a deficiency in willpower. Surely, if I put in more effort, I could quiet it. But the more I struggled, the more it amplified.
The Evening Everything Altered
One evening, after a taxing day, I found myself in the kitchen with the fridge door ajar.
I wasn’t hungry. My stomach was satisfied from dinner, yet my mind insisted I reach for something, anything.
The noise felt overwhelming. It seemed impossible to relax until I succumbed.
For the first time, I halted and asked myself: What is it that I truly long for at this moment?
The response wasn’t food. It was solace, distraction, relief from tension.
It dawned on me that food wasn’t the core issue. The real problem was the mental noise surrounding food, now referred to as food noise.
What I Learned About Food Noise
Food noise is not the same as hunger. Hunger is physical: your stomach rumbling, your energy waning, your body requiring nourishment.
Food noise is psychological: persistent, repetitive, often specific. It propels you to eat even when you’re not hungry, persuading you it’s a method to cope or feel better.
Realizing this was crucial. I had labeled myself a failure for many years, but food noise wasn’t indicative of failure. It was about how the brain operates.
Every time I consumed food due to boredom, stress, or exhaustion, my brain perceived it as a “reward.” The next time I received the same signal, the noise intensified. This cycle repeated until it became habitual.
Recognizing this provided me with what I had been lacking: self-compassion. I wasn’t broken. I was human. If my brain could be conditioned into these cycles, perhaps it could be conditioned out of them too.
How I Started to Diminish the Noise
I didn’t suddenly wake up one day liberated from food chatter. It subsided gradually, through small, consistent practices.
Labeling it
As thoughts emerged, I would remind myself, “That’s food noise, not genuine hunger.” It may seem trivial, but labeling it created separation and reminded me I wasn’t defined by my thoughts.
Taking a moment before acting
At first, I felt powerless against the temptations. But I began to employ a brief pause. Just two minutes. During that moment, I would hydrate, stretch, or get some fresh air. Sometimes the craving persisted, but often it subsided. That pause reassured me of my ability to choose.
Challenging the noise
The hardest part wasn’t the food itself. It was the internal dialogue.
It would say, “You’ve already sabotaged the day; just keep going.” Or, “One more won’t make a difference.” I believed it every single time, and each binge concluded with guilt and shame.
I discovered assistance with a cognitive behavioral tool known as refutation.
A refutation is essentially responding to the thought—calmly, clearly, without criticism. It reveals the fallacy.
The first time I attempted it, I documented my food noise: “You’ve ruined today, so you might as well give up.” Then I wrote my counterargument: “One moment doesn’t ruin an entire day. If I cease now, I’ll feel better later. If I continue, I’ll feel worse.”
Initially, it felt unusual, like I was debating myself, but those written words gradually evolved into a voice I could tap into in real-time.
Now, when the chatter begins, I can hear both perspectives.