Coming Home: How I’m Returning to Eat from a Place of Healing.

I used to be a vegan. It only lasted about a year and a half until sometime in 2023, I stopped. There was no dramatic exit or banner moment—just a quiet fading of a lifestyle that once felt like home. Life got complicated. My body grew weary. I was navigating a difficult season of treatment and recovery, and the strict routines and rules that had once felt empowering suddenly felt like burdens.

Food became less about values and more about survival. I didn’t have the energy to pore over labels or test every substitution. I wasn’t interested in proving anything to anyone—or even to myself. I simply needed to eat what would keep me going, whatever form that took. I let go of the label of “vegan” and gave myself permission to eat without scrutiny, without shame.

In the weeks and months that followed, I found tiny moments of relief in simple meals: a bowl of rice and beans, a handful of nuts on the go, and even toast and jam which weren’t Instagram‑worthy. They didn’t reflect any “brand” of healthy. They were just things that felt manageable, comforting, familiar

And then, almost imperceptibly at first, my appetite began to shift again. I noticed a craving for raw spinach tossed with citrus. Pulses and legumes started to feel satisfying in a new way. I wanted fruit juices—bright, verdant blends that tasted like sunlight. It wasn’t discipline calling me back; it was delight. My body was waking up, craving color and texture and life.

Rather than jump into another strict eating plan, I found myself listening. I paid attention to the pangs of hunger: Was it saying “I need protein,” or “I need hydration,” or simply “I want something crunchy”? I tuned into the way certain foods made me feel afterward: Did my energy plateau or soar? Did my mind stay clear, or did I feel foggy? Slowly, I am building a map of what truly nourishes me now.

Some mornings, that map leads me to a simple green juice—kale, cucumber, a slice of apple. Other days, it leads me to a warm bowl of oatmeal dotted with berries and a drizzle of nut butter. Sometimes, when I need comfort more than anything, it is a soft-cooked egg on whole‑grain toast. Yes, an egg—but only because my body whispered its desire, and I chose to obey.

I’m not calling myself vegan. I’m not calling myself vegetarian. I’m not chasing any trendy diet or public declaration. I’m simply returning—to a place where each meal is a dialogue, not a decree. I am choosing food with intention, not identity.

This way of eating reflects a deeper truth I’ve discovered: healing happens in cycles, not straight lines. Just as emotions ebb and flow, so do our nutritional needs. There are days when my body wants lightness—raw, crisp, and bright. There are days when it wants warmth, heartiness, and fat. There are days when it just wants ease, something familiar that doesn’t require planning or preparation.

Honoring these shifts has made me more attuned not just to hunger, but to my emotions, rhythms, and boundaries. I’ve become more patient with myself, more forgiving when I stray, more curious when I return. I’ve learned that rigidity often breeds rebellion, and kindness toward my own needs fosters the deepest kind of transformation.

In this season of return, I’m also discovering new rituals around food. I’ve started journaling my cravings and reactions—sometimes in a dedicated “food diary,” sometimes in the margins of my blogs. I slow down to savor the first few bites, noting how taste and texture land in my mouth. I breathe deeply before meals, reminding myself that eating is not just fuel, but a practice of self‑care.

The changes in my energy have been as striking as the changes in my menu. I’m sleeping less, not from anxiety, but from a sense of aliveness; my brain feels lit up, awake, ready. My days are more productive, not because I’m cramming in to‑dos, but because I’m operating from a clearer, more focused state. Connections with friends and loved ones feel richer—they’re infused with the same honesty and presence that I now bring to my plate.

All of this—every sip, every bite, every pause—reminds me that eating well isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about cultivating a relationship with ourselves that’s rooted in trust, not fear. It’s about recognizing that our bodies are wise, complex ecosystems deserving of curiosity and care.

So here I am, coming home. Returning to a way of eating that feels alive, responsive, and deeply my own. No labels needed—just listening. And in that listening, I find freedom, nourishment, and the next small step on my journey of healing.

Stay Connected.

If you enjoyed this content and want to explore more insights like this, consider subscribing to my page. Your support helps me continue creating meaningful content. If you feel led to, you can also leave a tip as a token of appreciation. Thank you for being part of this journey!