Overconsumption is a quiet thief. It often goes unnoticed because so many of us do it. It blends into the background noise of our lives—something normal, yet it quietly erodes our clarity and weakens our inner strength.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. After transitioning off thyroid medication, I found myself navigating a maze of hormonal imbalances, unexpected weight gain, and a metabolism that seemed to flat-out stall. My liver was struggling to keep up with the shifts in my biochemistry, and for the first time in my life, I started looking at everything I ate in new ways—not with guilt, but with curiosity.
Am I really hungry?
Nine times out of ten, when I paused long enough to ask the question, the answer was no. I’d find myself eating something you’d never find me eating in the past, not even sure how I ended up there. I started to notice more than ever how conditioned thoughts can drive us if we don’t pay attention—’It’s morning, I should eat breakfast.’ Or, ‘I’ve had a long day; I deserve this treat.’
What I’m discovering is that overeating isn’t really about food. It’s about the stories we tell ourselves. The story that food will fix fatigue, that a treat will soothe stress, or that a meal will fill some hole of need. And these stories? They quietly undermine what we intuitively know is best for us.
Research backs this up. Studies in esteemed journals like PubMed and ScienceDirect show that overeating, particularly with highly processed foods that are high in empty calories and low in nutrients, can lead to chronic conditions like heart disease, type 2 diabetes, and metabolic syndrome. It also disrupts brain chemistry, creating cravings that aren’t real hunger but echoes of old habit energy. And here’s an interesting twist: chronic overeating can lead to a kind of apathy—a numbed motivation and zest for life. It’s as if excess food weighs down not just the body but also the spirit. As spiritual teacher and philosopher Omraam Mikhael Aivanhov said, “When you eat too much, you exhaust your organism. You not only overload your stomach, but you also darken your soul.” It’s as if excess food weighs down not just the body but also the spirit.
In the wild, animals don’t do this. Research into animal behavior shows that most species naturally regulate their food intake. They eat to live, not the other way around. Unlike humans, they haven’t invented chefs or become ‘foodies’ to turn food into a source of constant temptation. They eat when they’re hungry, stop when they’re full, and go back to active living. But here’s where my curiosity kicks in—animals also demonstrate advanced survival intelligence by self-medicating with specific plants or substances to combat illness, improve health, and manage their environment. So, why do they have such discipline around food when, as humans, we often struggle with it?
When we slow down long enough to ask, ‘Do I really need this?’—whether it’s a meal, a snack, or a treat—we create a moment of clarity. It’s a chance to rewrite the story. To realize that what we often crave isn’t food at all—it’s presence, it’s a pause, it’s a breath. Michael Singer, author of The Untethered Soul and spiritual teacher, captures it well: “The truth is, you could eat once a day, or ten times a day, and still not satisfy the hunger inside. This is because the hunger is not for food, but for fullness, for wholeness.”
So, what if this isn’t about restriction at all? What if it’s an experiment—a chance to let a little hunger linger, not as punishment, but as an invitation to get curious about what we really need? Maybe, just maybe, it’s not more food, but more connection—to ourselves and to life itself.
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