Binge eating and loneliness—they go hand in hand, don’t they? Like these old friends that show up uninvited, but once they’re inside, they make themselves way too comfortable. It’s that feeling of emptiness, but not just in your stomach. It’s deeper, like there’s this big gaping hole that food seems like it might fill, just for a minute.

The Deafening Silence of Being Alone

You’re home alone, maybe it’s nighttime, the house is quiet, and there’s no one around to see you, to hear your thoughts. And that loneliness? It feels so loud. It’s like, sure, you have friends, you have people, but when you’re sitting there on the couch, it’s just… you. And sometimes that silence is deafening.

Like: “Why don’t I feel closer to people?” or “Do they even really like me, or do they just tolerate me?” That old tape that plays, saying “You’re not enough. You’re too much.” Or maybe, “You’re always going to be alone like this. Get used to it.” And then there’s that nagging one, “If people really knew this part of me, they’d walk away.”

Then the guilt..

Sometimes, it’s the guilt, too. “Why can’t you just be normal around food?” “You shouldn’t have eaten that today.” And then it spirals—“You’ll never get it together.” “You’re failing at this just like you fail at everything else.”

And then there are the worries that creep in, those fears that you don’t even want to admit out loud: “What if this is just who I am? What if I’m stuck like this?” or “What if I keep feeling this way forever?”

These thoughts—they’re relentless.

They pile up in the silence, like waves crashing against you, each one a little heavier than the last. And the thing is, food becomes a way to drown them out, just for a little while. To quiet the noise. Because at least while you’re eating, you’re not sitting there, alone with those thoughts, letting them pick you apart.

Finding Comfort in Food… For a Moment

So, you wander to the kitchen. Maybe you’re not even hungry, but the food is there. And at first, it feels like comfort, like an old sweater you pull on when you’re cold. The chewing, the crunching—it’s distracting. It’s something to do, something to focus on that isn’t just that ache in your chest.

But then, it’s like the food isn’t enough. A few bites turn into a whole bag, and suddenly, it’s like you’ve gone into autopilot. You’re not tasting anymore; you’re just… eating. You’re eating to feel something other than that nagging sense of being alone. Or maybe you’re eating to feel nothing at all.

“Why did I do that again?”

It’s like your brain shuts off, like all that loneliness gets muted for a bit, and you can finally breathe. But then it’s over. The food’s gone, and the loneliness is back, but now it’s mixed with shame.

“Why did I do that again? What’s wrong with me?” “You have no self-control. You’re such a failure.” It’s that voice that cuts deep, reminding you of every time you’ve promised yourself you’d do better. “You’re never going to change.

“You’re just weak.”

“No wonder you’re alone—who would want to be around this?” “You can’t even get this one thing right.” The thoughts pile on, turning what started as comfort into a gut punch. It’s like you’re not just disappointed in yourself—you’re disgusted.

“You always mess everything up.” “You’re hopeless.” It’s this weight that feels heavier than the food in your stomach, this sense that you’ve let yourself down, that you’ve proven every harsh thing you’ve ever thought about yourself.

You sit there, feeling stuffed, feeling worse than you did before. And that moment of relief? It’s like a bad joke—fleeting, leaving you feeling more isolated than ever. Like, “Great, now I’m alone and I feel terrible about myself.”

Binge Eating Isn’t About The Food

This is what I mean when I say binge eating isn’t just about food. It’s about this feeling that you’re somehow separate, disconnected from others, from yourself. Like there’s this wall between you and the rest of the world, and the only time it feels a little less high is when you’re reaching for that pint of ice cream or that bag of chips.

You can be surrounded by people and still feel so, so alone. You can go to work, hang out with friends, even have a partner—and still, feel alone. Because it’s not about having people around you; it’s about feeling seen, feeling understood. It’s the difference between talking to someone and feeling like they get you, versus just going through the motions, nodding, smiling, but inside, feeling like you’re speaking a different language.

The Invisible Barrier

It’s those moments when you’re at a party or a family gathering, and you should feel connected, you want to feel connected, but it’s like there’s this invisible barrier between you and everyone else. Like you’re watching life happen from behind glass. It’s hearing the laughter, the chatter, but somehow still feeling like you’re on the outside looking in.

Or maybe it’s sitting next to your partner, sharing the same space, but feeling like there’s this distance between you that you can’t quite close. Even in the best relationships, loneliness can sneak in—like when you’re trying to explain how you’re feeling, but it comes out jumbled, messy, and you just end up feeling misunderstood. And that’s even lonelier, right? Being close to someone but feeling like they don’t really see what’s going on inside you.

So yeah, you can have friends, family, even love in your life and still feel this ache of loneliness. Because loneliness isn’t just about being physically alone—it’s about feeling like there’s a part of you that no one can reach, no matter how much they care.

Working Through The Loneliness

But here’s what I want to say—the loneliness, it’s not a flaw in you. It’s not a sign that you’re broken or unlovable. It’s human. It’s part of being alive, of wanting connection so badly that when it’s not there, it feels like this gaping wound. And binge eating? It’s just a way of trying to patch that wound, even if it’s only temporary.

Getting Curious About Loneliness

What if, instead of trying to stuff it down, you just sat with the loneliness for a minute? I know, it sounds terrifying. It feels like it’ll swallow you whole. But maybe, if you stop running from it, and start to get curious about it… you might notice something different. Maybe you ask yourself, “Why does it feel so big right now? What am I afraid of?” And yeah, that might bring up things you’d rather avoid—those memories, those feelings you’ve tried to bury under piles of chips and cookies. But maybe there’s a reason those feelings are still there, waiting for you to acknowledge them.

What if that loneliness is trying to tell you something? Like a little voice inside saying, “Hey, I need a little attention here. I need a little compassion.” What if, instead of treating that loneliness like an enemy, you treated it like a part of you that’s just… hurting? Like a friend who’s feeling left out, a part of yourself that’s aching for a little warmth, a little understanding.

What Do You Need?

I’m not saying it’s easy. Hell, it’s the hardest thing in the world. It’s messy and uncomfortable, and sometimes it feels like the ache might never go away. But maybe the next time you find yourself standing in front of the fridge, you ask yourself, “What am I really hungry for right now?” Connection? Comfort? A sense of being seen? And if it’s not food, maybe it’s time to try and find those things somewhere else—piece by piece, little by little.

Maybe it’s calling a friend, even if you don’t know what to say. Maybe it’s writing down all the things swirling in your mind, letting them spill out onto a page instead of burying them in a bag of chips. Maybe it’s just sitting with your feelings—letting yourself feel the sadness, the ache, the need for connection—without immediately reaching for something to numb it.

Loneliness Is A Sign

You deserve to feel connected—not just to others, but to yourself, in a way that doesn’t leave you feeling emptier than before. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? You’re not just hungry for food—you’re hungry for understanding, for a sense of being heard, for love that doesn’t come with conditions

So maybe, just maybe, you acknowledge that this loneliness is telling you that there’s a part of you longing to be seen, heard, and held. And that part? It’s worth listening to. It’s worth holding space for, without needing to fill it with food. Because you deserve more than just temporary comfort—you deserve real connection, real peace, and the chance to feel truly seen.

Stopping Lonely Binges

It won’t change overnight. It might feel clumsy and awkward, like trying to comfort yourself in a language you’re just starting to learn. But each time you pause, each time you let yourself feel instead of run, you’re showing that part of you a little more love, a little more understanding. And when you work on the loneliness, the binge eating starts to fade. Because the problem isn’t the binging; the problem is the loneliness. The binging is just a symptom, a way to cope when that emptiness feels too big to bear. But when you begin to address what’s really underneath—when you start to fill those lonely places with connection, even if that connection is with yourself—the urge to numb with food loses its power.

You’re teaching yourself that you don’t have to numb your way through life—you can live it, even the hard parts, and still come out stronger on the other side.

And who knows? Maybe, over time, you’ll find that the emptiness isn’t quite as deep as you thought. Maybe you’ll find that you can sit with your loneliness without it defining you. And maybe you’ll discover that, at the end of the day, you’re not alone—you’ve got you. And that’s a connection worth building, worth nurturing, worth showing up for, even when it feels like the hardest thing in the world.