The Lemon Cake Wasn’t the Problem

It’s 4:30 in the morning.
I’m still full. I can feel the lemon cake — not in my chest, but deep in my belly. It’s heavy. Not just the food, but what it represents.

I ate three-quarters of it yesterday.
I also had McDonald’s for lunch.
And I don’t feel overwhelmed with shame — not like I used to. Just… present. Aware.
I know exactly why it happened.

I’ve been moving through something huge.
Facing the truth that I’ve never been loved consistently. Sitting in emotional pain that’s been simmering under the surface for years. That kind of reality doesn’t just land in the mind — it lands in the body.

So I reached for something soft. Something sweet. Something that wouldn’t leave.

And yeah, part of me still wants to lose weight.
Part of me wants to be healthy. Light. Grounded.
But I can’t shame myself there.

And the truth is, I’ve started noticing something else too:

When I’m not with my son, I tend to eat better.
When I’m with him, I often reach for comfort food.

It’s not his fault. Not even close.
It’s my nervous system reacting to the emotional weight of parenting — of being in the presence of someone who reminds me of everything I never got. His joy. His need. His innocence. It stirs grief I’m only just learning how to hold.

And instead of shaming that, I’m learning to accept it.
To sit with it.
To say: “This makes sense.”

There’s still a little shame. But it’s less. And that means something.

Because the lemon cake wasn’t the problem.
It was a message. A moment. A coping strategy that made sense at the time.

And the more I listen to my body without judgment,
the more I believe that change will come — not through willpower, but through kindness.

One gentle moment at a time.