Rewriting the Script: How Food Became a Source of Joy, Not Control
Letting go of shame, embracing nourishment, and learning to live fully in the present moment.
A year ago, I wrote what I can only call a manifesto. It's not a poem, not quite an essay, but more like a bold demand for “more.” It resurfaced in my photo memories this week—one of those “One Year Ago Today” reminders. There it was, jotted in the margins of my work notebook, one of those stray thoughts I scribble when I’m supposed to be focused, but the zoning-out moments always seem to produce the best stuff.
We tend to think change happens in neat little 30-day windows, don’t we? Like if you just do the work, you’ll be a new person by next month. But real change is slow—it’s roots digging in deep before you even see the sprout. I don’t even remember writing those words (though the wonky left-handed handwriting is unmistakably mine). But there it was, stopping me dead in my tracks. A year ago, I knew I was holding myself back, though I couldn’t figure out the "why" or the "how." I had carved out space in my life, but it didn’t feel like *my* space yet. I was overbooked, burnt out from too many photography sessions, and yet, beneath it all, I realized I was hiding. Always behind the camera, always observing, never really in the moments I was capturing.
It took a lot of self-work to recognize it, but the final piece of the puzzle clicked: I didn’t know how to feel safe being still.
The last decade had been a chaotic swirl of peaks and valleys. Always moving, trusting the wrong people, grieving losses I couldn’t always name. Even jobs had this way of slipping out from under me. The peaks came when I was in control; the valleys, when I wasn’t. I had lived in survival mode for so long that I’d forgotten what it felt like to really *be* in my life. Not just checking boxes, but *present*. Like dancing with your hair all over the place, not caring who’s watching. Like laughing too loudly, speaking your mind without needing to apologize for it. Somewhere along the way, I lost that trust in myself. And that manifesto? It’s the day I decided to find it again.
I’ve never tied my confidence to my weight. Growing up bigger, I spent my childhood dodging comments from family—always something whispered just out of earshot but loud enough to sting. Christmases with my dad’s side of the family meant watching my two smaller cousins unwrap matching Aeropostale sweatsuits, while I got a bottle of room spray. I can still hear my aunt muttering to my dad, “I didn’t know her size,” as if that excused the casual cruelty.
Maybe it was because I heard people talk about my weight so much, but I just claimed it. I wore my body like armor and decided I’d be myself *despite* it. My weight was never the main story in my life, just a subplot that didn’t deserve the screen time everyone else gave it. And honestly? It wasn’t that I was *that* big—I just didn’t look like everyone else, and that was enough to make me a target.
But as I got older, I realized how deeply food had woven itself into my psyche. I didn’t just have a bad relationship with food; I had a *secret* relationship with it. I’d nibble on a carrot in front of guests, then sneak into the kitchen after midnight to dig out the Oreos my dad stashed above the fridge. I didn’t know how to indulge. I only knew how to *over*indulge. And after years of doing that, my body was screaming for help—thyroid issues, blood sugar spikes, the whole deal. It turns out that when your body’s out of whack, it throws your mental health off too.
Last summer, I started working out at the gym in my apartment complex. Early mornings, before the rest of the world even woke up, I’d be on the treadmill or lifting light weights. I liked the ritual of it, but no matter how consistent I was, the results just weren’t coming. Eventually, I went to a doctor and asked about GLP-1 compounds. After rounds of blood tests and jumping through insurance hoops, I was prescribed one in January. A week later, I walked into my first Cyclebar class.
Since then, I’ve lost about 50 pounds, but the real win is this: I found myself again. The version of me who doesn’t hide from the world or her own life, who isn’t just behind the camera but right there in the frame, fully alive.
The GLP-1 didn’t just teach me how I overate—it reshaped my entire relationship with food. Noom and Weight Watchers had their tips and tricks, but they couldn’t touch the deeper stuff. This wasn’t about logging points or calories; it was about getting to the root of why I ate the way I did. I realized I wasn’t hungry most of the time—I was bored. My body craved sugar because I had conditioned it to expect it. Being on the medication made me pay attention in ways I hadn’t before, like drinking enough water and recognizing when I was truly hungry. By month two, I started craving food differently.
But the real transformation didn’t happen because of some magic pill. It happened because I decided to change how I viewed food entirely. Pairing the medication with Cyclebar wasn’t about chasing a number on the scale. I wanted to shed the beliefs that kept me small—the ones that made me think I had to hide.
And that’s something we all deserve, isn’t it? To deepen our relationship with food in a way that feels freeing, not limiting. We’ve been trained to treat food like it’s this controlled substance, something to fear or manipulate to fit into a mold. We tie our worth to it—like if we eat “wrong” or weigh too much, we’re somehow less. But what if we flipped that narrative? What if food wasn’t the enemy? What if it was something to enjoy, to nourish ourselves, to connect with others? Food isn’t just fuel—it’s life. It’s culture, memory, pleasure.
We don’t need to punish ourselves for enjoying a meal. I still eat chocolate, but now it’s out in the open, without the guilt or shame. I’ve stopped hiding from food and from myself. Instead of sneaking snacks in the dark, I embrace the simple joy of a good meal. I don’t fear eating in front of others, and I don’t beat myself up when I indulge. Learning to view food as something to savor, rather than something to control, has deepened my connection to it. Cooking has become an act of love—feeding my body what it needs, not just what it craves.
We can all change that narrative. We can stop letting food and weight define us. The real goal isn’t to shrink ourselves to fit into some external expectation. The real goal is to live fully, to enjoy life without shame. Weight will fluctuate, but the ability to be present and unafraid—that’s what stays. So maybe it’s time we stop treating food like the enemy and start seeing it for what it is: one of the many ways we get to fall in love with life.
Speaking of changing our relationship with food, let’s get into our One Good Meal. (Buona Cena). I realized that I haven’t shared many of my appetizers and desserts on my Recipe Archive, so I’ve been slowly changing that. This week, I started developing an Espresso Brownie that is so light and gooey. I’m going to tweak it today, so it should be ready by next week’s dinner.
Fun fact, there is an ever-looming opportunity to help with a food truck, and over the summer, I came up with a loose concept of “Small Bites”. In that spirit, I’m sharing one of my favorite small bites.
You can find the Antipasto Here: When I worked in the restaurant, I always watched our Salad cook make the parmesan crisps that were used on the Caesar salad. She gently stack freshly shaved Parmesan in a mold, and watched them bake- never putting on a timer, just knowing when they were ready. I miss that Caesar Salad, so I decided to deconstruct it and re-create it. My parmesan crisps use a few different cheeses, and I season them to add extra flavor.
You can find the Secondo Here: I absolutely love putting herbs in my pasta dough. If you’re using fresh herbs, pop them in the oven at 325 for a few minutes to dry them out. They tend to make your dough moist if you don’t.
You can find the Il Dolce Here: My favorite part about these cookies is that you can freeze the dough and use it later. I’m not an overly sweet sweet person, and I love the touch of sea salt on these bad boys.
As always, I’m so grateful you’re here. If you have Instagram, be sure to follow me (Leannegelish), we’ve been chronicling my suspicions of an FBI surveillance truck outside my office: it’s riveting content.
My poetry book is almost sold out on Amazon, and I’d so appreciate your support. You can find it here.
Also, please let me know if we’re enjoying this new format. It’s a different cadence than what this was built on, but I’m enjoying it. Are you?
I’ll see you next week!