If you had asked me at age seven what I wanted to become later in life, I would have answered: Pippilotta Victualia Rullgardina Krusmynta Efraimsdotter Långstrump.
And I trained for that. I built a raft with friends to float down the “river.” I cooked, even though I could barely read the recipe. I did everything I thought a girl like me should do to become someone like her.
But that was a misunderstanding. And I was quickly shown: this was just fiction.
Just a tale.
I Was About to Build the Biggest Hidden Trigger for Emotional Eating: Playing Small to Be Liked
“If you act like that, no one will ever marry you.” (My stepfather, when I clearly articulated what I did and didn’t want.)
“Why do you need to do that?” (My best friend, when I tried sprinting up a mountain.)
“You’re way too thin now.” (Same friend, after I lost weight.)
“Why do you even need a high school diploma?” (Everyone.)
“Don’t act like it’s something special.” (Many people.)
“Andrea should be more moderate.” (2nd grade teacher.)
And the list goes on. And probably, if you’re like me, you have your own list. Things you experienced when you were little. Things someone told you to do or not do, think or not think, in order to fit in.
But why? And for what – if we hadn’t done anything wrong?
What was so threatening about being wild, brave, curious, and bold?
Why were we told not to be like Pippi?
The reasons others wanted us to shrink are less important than why we eventually agreed to do it. I can’t tell your story. I can only tell mine. And sadly, I only realized I had made myself small very late.
And it nearly cost me my life.
I wanted to be loved. Desperately. I didn’t want to be alone. I had experienced that even my own parents didn’t want me – and that shaped most of my behavior without me even knowing it.
I thought I was tough and smart and socially capable. But I wasn’t. I adapted to every rude comment, every inappropriate email, every customer complaint.
And of course – I adapted myself right out of my relationship. It wasn’t that I didn’t fight for my truth. I just didn’t have the idea that I was allowed to leave environments where I wasn’t allowed to become big.
Or strong. Or visible.
And I used food to cope.
If that sounds familiar, this piece helps you respond somatically – not with shame.
It didn’t feel like self-betrayal. It felt like adaptation.
I didn’t set out to make myself small. I set out to survive.
It didn’t feel like I was giving up parts of myself – it felt like I was being strategic. Reasonable. Kind.
I smiled when I was overlooked. And I helped even when I was exhausted. I shut up when something felt off. Most times I listened more than I spoke. I made myself useful – and invisible.
That did not meant I was weak.
I was simply trained.
By a family that confused control with care. By a mother who couldn’t tolerate individuality. By a world that rewards women for self-erasure – and then calls them crazy when they disappear.
And more importantly: Ridiculous when they don’t.
I thought I was easy to love. I was just easy to handle.
I didn’t demand. I didn’t take up space. I didn’t cause trouble.
And I thought that made me lovable.
But now I see: it just made me safe – for other people. Not for me.
Because the more I dimmed my own light, the more I attracted people who felt better in the dark.
People who didn’t want to meet me. Only manage me.
That voice in my head? It wasn’t mine.
You know the one:
“Don’t get too loud.”
“That’s not a big deal.”
“Who do you think you are?”
I thought I was being modest. Humble. Considerate.
But I wasn’t being thoughtful. I was being afraid.
That voice wasn’t caution. It was programming.
And it was never mine.
Healing doesn’t just mean feeling better. It means seeing the truth and not running this time.
When I started to wake up, I didn’t feel empowered. I felt ashamed.
Because suddenly, I saw it:
- All the rooms I’d made myself smaller in.
- The many people I’d over-served, hoping to be seen.
- All the times I’d swallowed my voice, then punished my body later.
But shame isn’t the end. Shame is just clarity with a sting. It means your body is finally letting the truth in.
And once you see it – you get to choose again.
How I’m choosing now – and what it still feels like
I speak before I feel ready. When you live fully, you don’t avoid mistakes – you collect them.
I rest before I earn it.
And I eat before I deserve it.
I name things that used to scare me.
And I do them when they scare me.
I still hear the old voice: “This is too much.”
But now I know: “Too much” is a measure invented by people who couldn’t hold me.
I don’t want to fit anymore. I want to belong – in a life that includes all of me.
Or, as Jane Fonda said:
“It’s never too late – never too late to start over, never too late to be happy.”
A note if this is you too
I’m sure you’re not broken – like me you were just well trained.
Maybe your “playing small” wasn’t a flaw – it was your first nervous system strategy.
And maybe now, it’s time for a new one.
A strategy that doesn’t make you disappear.
One that lets you stay.
Please stay visible.
And real.
Stay with yourself.
Because who you are is not too much.
And who you could become – is exactly the kind of woman the world needs more of.
Final thoughts
This piece is not meant to make you feel bad for the choices in your life. Because most of us didn’t even realize we had a choice.
But if your biggest trigger for emotional eating is playing small, you can do something about it. Just like me. No matter your age. No matter your shape.
Start with something that doesn’t feel totally scary or out of reach. Start small.
For me, it was decorating my room.
Then it was driving again.
It was saying no to things that didn’t feel smart.
Just try one thing and see how it feels.
It’s possible that you’ll find something that gives you more of you than you ever thought it could. And that’s a good thing.
