eating
Dispel judgement, debunk the myths and correct the misconceptions you hold about eating disorders.
The Speed of Life
We live in an age where speed is celebrated. Faster internet, faster success, faster replies, faster results. From the moment we wake up, life seems to press a silent accelerator. Notifications buzz, deadlines chase us, and comparison quietly sits in our pockets. The speed of life keeps increasing—but the quality of life often does not. This raises a powerful psychological question: Is moving faster actually helping us live better, or is it slowly draining the meaning from our lives?
By Alexander Mind8 days ago in Psyche
The Weight of Words Never Spoken: What Happens When We Bury Our Emotions Alive
For years, I smiled through the pain, convinced that silence was strength. It wasn't until my body started screaming what my mouth refused to say that I learned the true cost of swallowing my truth. The panic attack hit me in the middle of a Tuesday morning meeting. One moment I was nodding along to quarterly projections, and the next, my chest tightened like someone had wrapped steel cables around my ribcage. My hands trembled. The room spun. I couldn't breathe. Twenty faces stared at me as I mumbled an excuse and stumbled out, convinced I was dying. The ER doctor's words still echo in my mind: "Physically, you're fine. But your body is trying to tell you something." I wanted to laugh. My body had been screaming at me for years. I just hadn't been listening. The Art of Pretending I learned early that emotions were inconvenient. Crying made people uncomfortable. Anger made me difficult. Sadness was selfish when others had it worse. So I became an expert at the smile that didn't reach my eyes, the "I'm fine" that meant anything but. When my father left without saying goodbye, I swallowed my abandonment and wore a brave face for my mother. When my best friend betrayed my trust, I pushed down the hurt and pretended it didn't matter. When my boss belittled me in front of colleagues, I buried my humiliation under layers of professional composure. I told myself I was being strong. Mature. Rising above it all. What I was actually doing was building a pressure cooker inside my chest, adding more heat every time I chose silence over honesty, more tension every time I said "it's okay" when it absolutely wasn't. When the Body Keeps Score The human body is remarkably honest. It will express what the mouth refuses to say. My suppressed emotions didn't disappear—they just found other ways to speak. The chronic headaches that no medication could touch. The insomnia that left me staring at the ceiling at 3 AM, mind racing with thoughts I wouldn't let myself think during daylight. The digestive issues that doctors couldn't explain. The inexplicable fatigue that made even simple tasks feel mountainous. I visited specialist after specialist, searching for a physical explanation for what was actually an emotional rebellion. My body had become a museum of unexpressed feelings, each symptom a exhibit of something I'd refused to process. The panic attacks became more frequent. My immune system weakened. I'd catch every cold, every flu, as if my body was too exhausted from managing my emotional lockdown to defend against anything else. The Breaking Point The Tuesday morning panic attack was my breaking point, but it wasn't the beginning. It was just the moment I could no longer ignore what had been building for decades. That night, alone in my apartment, I finally let myself feel. Not just the fear from the panic attack, but everything I'd been storing in the vault of my chest. The grief. The rage. The disappointment. The loneliness. The hurt.
By Ameer Moavia9 days ago in Psyche
The Night I Understood Football
I didn’t go to the game expecting hope. It was a cold November Thursday. My brother had just lost his job. My nephew hadn’t spoken in days after a school incident. The world felt heavy, and the last thing I wanted was to watch a mismatch—our hometown team facing a dynasty that hadn’t lost in months.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Psyche
PAPER THIN. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Raffaelo learned the rhythm of cruelty before she learned its intention. It arrived dressed as humor, wrapped in familiarity, passed hand to hand at family gatherings like a shared inheritance. Buffalo. A word chosen not for meaning but for sound, because it rhymed, because it landed easily, because no one had to think before saying it. Her parents said it with smiles, squeezing her cheeks, proud of how unbothered they believed she was. They never noticed how her laughter came a second too late, how she began standing at the edges of rooms as if apologizing for occupying them.
By Designed by Romaisa11 days ago in Psyche
PAPER THIN. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Raffaelo learned the rhythm of cruelty before she learned its intention. It arrived dressed as humor, wrapped in familiarity, passed hand to hand at family gatherings like a shared inheritance. Buffalo. A word chosen not for meaning but for sound, because it rhymed, because it landed easily, because no one had to think before saying it. Her parents said it with smiles, squeezing her cheeks, proud of how unbothered they believed she was. They never noticed how her laughter came a second too late, how she began standing at the edges of rooms as if apologizing for occupying them.
By Designed by Romaisa11 days ago in Psyche
Unveiling the Hidden Science Why December Feels so Different
December is more than just a month in the calendar - there's a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. As the year and streets may quiet down or burst into celebration. The passage of time might feel like a flurry or a gentle descent, much like falling snow, and emotions turn into reflection, nostalgia, Joy or longing.
By José Juan Gutierrez about a month ago in Psyche
The Town That Forgot to Dream. AI-Generated.
Riverbank, population 387, had exactly one traffic light, two churches, and zero reasons for anyone under thirty to stay. Grace Holloway knew this because she'd watched ninety-two percent of her high school graduating class leave and never return. The ambitious ones went to college and found careers in cities with actual opportunities. The realistic ones took jobs in nearby towns with functioning economies. The unlucky ones stayed in Riverbank, working at the gas station or the diner, watching their dreams shrink to fit the town's limitations.
By The 9x Fawdiabout a month ago in Psyche
The Rise of Processed Food Addiction — And How to Break Free
For many of us, the day starts the same way. A quick breakfast bar on the way out, a flavored coffee for energy, maybe a midmorning snack from the office vending machine. Lunch becomes something convenient, something fast, something wrapped. By the time evening comes, we’re tired, hungry, and ready for something easy — a quick meal, a delivery, or a snack that requires zero effort. It feels normal. It feels harmless. But this rhythm has quietly shaped the way modern society eats, and we’re paying the price.
By Nangyal khan2 months ago in Psyche
