Overcoming Eating Disorders & Anxiety in the Face of the Holidays

A Letter to Anyone Who Feels “Too Much” This Season

The holidays have a way of magnifying everything—

not just the beauty, not just the joy—

but the pain we’ve learned to hide so well. Or so we thought we were hiding it.

This season is supposed to feel warm and magical, filled with love and laughter and belonging.

But the truth?

Sometimes the lights feel too bright.

Sometimes the rooms feel too crowded.

Sometimes the expectations feel suffocating.

For me, one of the hardest places the holidays always hit… is food.

Not many people know the depth of that battle.

Not the way it twists my stomach hours before I walk into a gathering.

Not the way my brain races when a plate is set in front of me.

Not the way guilt attaches itself to every bite like a shadow.

Not the way I’ve looked in the mirror—angry, ashamed, confused—and whispered,

“Why can’t I just be normal?”

Eating has never been simple for me.

It’s been a battlefield.

A place where fear and control fight for dominance.

A place where anxiety sinks its teeth in the hardest.

I’ve had seasons where restriction felt safer than nourishment.

Seasons where I punished myself for eating too much and punished myself again for eating too little. And punished myself again for making myself sick to avoid the mind causing me more pain.

Seasons where holiday meals weren’t celebrations—they were gauntlets I prayed I’d survive without falling apart.

You may know that feeling too—walking into Thanksgiving or Christmas with a knot in your stomach,

trying to hold your smile together with shaky hands,

hoping no one notices how uncomfortable you are in your own skin.

Hoping no one asks why you are eating so much or why you aren’t eating enough.

Hoping no one comments on your plate.

Hoping no one comments on your body.

Hoping no one gives you that look—the one that tells you they don’t understand at all.

So if you’re in that place, let me say this clearly:

You are not crazy.

You are not weak.

You are not broken.

And you are not alone.

If You’re Struggling This Holiday Season

I want to speak to you gently, as someone who has been there in the quiet, heavy moments. From the heart of someone who has battled to be where she is. Hear me in this:

You do not have to earn your seat at the table.

You do not have to apologize for what’s on your plate.

You do not have to hide the war happening inside your body.

You do not have to shrink yourself to deserve love.

Recovery isn’t tidy.

Recovery isn’t a single victory.

Recovery doesn’t always look inspiring.

Most of the time, it looks like survival.

Like finishing a meal even though your anxiety is screaming.

Like calling a friend when you can’t keep pretending.

Like letting people see the cracks instead of hiding them.

Like taking a shaky breath and reminding yourself, “I’m still here. I’m still trying.”

And that counts. Every small step counts.

There have been moments where I’ve sat across a table, hands shaking under the napkin,

and felt tears burning behind my eyes.

Moments where I whispered, “God, I can’t do this. Not today.”

And somehow, He didn’t walk away.

He didn’t shame me.

He didn’t tell me to pull myself together.

He sat in the anxiety with me.

He breathed in the fear with me.

He stayed when I felt unworthy of anyone staying.

Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

I have been crushed in spirit more times than I can count.

And every time, God didn’t leave—He leaned in closer.

Being thankful in the thick of pain isn’t denial.

It’s quietly noticing that you aren’t completely alone.

It’s softly reminding yourself that even here, you are seen.

A Gentle Reminder

You don’t have to fight this alone.

You don’t have to have it all together.

You don’t have to apologize for existing.

The holidays don’t define you.

Your disorder doesn’t define you.

Your anxiety doesn’t define you.

Your courage does.

Your fight does.

Your refusal to give up does.

This season, let yourself take up space.

Let yourself breathe.

Let yourself feel your fear without judgment.

Let yourself reach for help when you need it.

Healing doesn’t need to be heroic.

Most days, it just needs to be honest.

You are doing sacred, brave work simply by surviving, by showing up for yourself, by holding on when it feels impossible.

You are not too much.

You are not invisible.

You are not alone.

And I see you.

I am you.

And I’m cheering for you with every part of my bruised, healing heart.