The Lie of Comfort Food

What the hell are we even talking about?

Let’s just start with this — comfort food is a lie.

I don’t know who came up with that phrase, but they must’ve been full when they said it. Because I’ve never been comforted by food a day in my life.

People talk about comfort foods like it’s therapy.

Mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, ice cream, lasagna — like these things are supposed to heal something deep inside you.

But what are we really saying? That if you eat enough butter and sugar, your heartache will move out and leave a thank-you note?

Every time I hear “comfort food,” I think of Thanksgiving — everybody half-asleep, stuffed beyond reason, pretending that discomfort is tradition.

Or those nights I told myself I deserved something sweet, and ten minutes later I’m sitting in the car, stomach twisting, head spinning, wondering what the hell just happened.

I’ve done that drive-thru dance more times than I can count. Dunkin’ Donuts at sunrise — me and the little speaker box having church. Forgive me, Father, for I’m about to order six of the Boston Cremes.

The Big Book calls that insanity.

I call it the Drive-Thru Dunkin’ Booth — like some cheap carnival setup where you pay to get splashed with regret. Step right up, folks! For just $8.99, you can take your best shot at temporary happiness! No winners, no prizes, just sticky fingers and a stomachache.

That’s not comfort. That’s madness with frosting on top.

Everybody thinks they get a pass because “comfort food” is supposed to be normal. But nobody feels good after eating a whole tub of ice cream. Your body’s wrecked. Your brain’s fogged. You’re half-asleep and full of shame.

Where’s the comfort in that?

You want to know what real comfort looks like? Take your favorite meal, eat a normal portion, and enjoy it with people you love. Talk. Laugh. Be present. That’s comfort — connection, not consumption.

For the food addict, “comfort food” is an oxymoron. For everybody else, it’s just a softer word for escape.

So yeah, the Big Book calls it insanity.

I call it Tuesday morning at the Dunkin’ Booth.

And I’m done pretending it ever brought me comfort.

Comfort food never comforted me.

It only numbed the ache that truth was meant to heal.

Still here.

Still learning what real comfort feels like.
Still showing up for the kind that lasts.
Still done with the frosting and the fog.
Still here — awake, honest, and hungry for truth.

With much gratitude and love ~ DeeBo