Food as a Love Letter to Yourself
(Introduction to: Eating with Intention: A Love Letter Series)
Reframing Food as a Form of Self-Love
A gentle beginning for those reclaiming nourishment as care, not control.
The Weight and Wonder of Food
For many of us, but especially for chronically-ill, neurodivergent, or marginalized folks, struggles with eating go far beyond just “picking the right food.” Our relationship with nourishment is often entangled with layers of trauma, access, and systemic harm. Sensory sensitivities can make certain textures or smells unbearable, while chronic fatigue or nausea can turn mealtime into a daunting task. Executive dysfunction might mean the idea of planning, prepping, or even deciding what to eat feels like climbing a mountain. Many of us have experienced shame, restriction, or moralizing around food—sometimes from family, culture, or even the medical system—leaving behind patterns of disordered eating, perfectionism, or body mistrust. Add to that financial barriers, cultural erasure, and being constantly judged for what’s on our plates, it’s no wonder that eating—something meant to nourish and sustain—can become loaded with grief, guilt, or disconnect. Naming these realities is a way of reclaiming care and reminding ourselves that our bodies deserve love, not punishment, and that every meal can be an act of gentle resistance and remembrance.
So, while recognizing the things we have control over and the things we don’t, how can we bring more ease and comfort into these food dynamics?
In my practice, I draw on frameworks like mindful eating, Sasang constitutional medicine (which I will expand on below), and the practice of intention—always rooted in the realities of the body in front of me. Together, we explore how to eat in ways that nourish not just cells, but spirit.
Because food can be moments of connection: to our bodies, our lineage, our past.
It can be a return home.
A ritual.
A love letter.
Let’s explore what it means to write yourself a love letter—one meal at a time.
Co-Writing the Love Letter: Gentle Food Practices
If food is a love letter, then you and your body are co-authors.
We don’t start with rigid meal plans. We start by listening:
What sensory textures or experiences feel good today? Do you need crunch, warmth, softness, stimulation, or simplicity?
What cravings might be communication, not guilt?
What cultural or seasonal foods resonate with your heart? What tastes feel like home, even if you’ve never cooked them yourself?
What meals can you realistically make on low-energy days?
A food plan becomes a living poem, co-written with your nervous system, your intention, your circumstances.
It could look like:
Three rotating breakfasts to reduce decision fatigue.
Prepped broth and noodles for flare days.
A bedtime snack that embodies the playfulness of your five year old self.
Hands wrapped around a warm bowl, listening to music that feels like a hug.
There’s no “perfect way”—only the way that feels possible, kind, and connected to you.
We honor the real conditions of your life: fatigue, executive dysfunction, flare-ups, burnout, grief, joy.
We make space for what’s possible today, and hold hope for what could feel good tomorrow.
Eating with Intention: A Return to the Body
We start with intention—not performative, but a real, honest pause.
Intention sounds like:
“What does hunger feel like in my body today?”
“What would truly nourish me right now?”
“What am I craving—not just in taste, but in comfort, ease, belonging?”
For one person, this might mean eating slowly, in silence, with a candle lit.
For another, it might look like warm leftovers in bed, pajamas on, watching a comfort show.
Both are sacred. Both are care.
Intention is not about eating “perfectly.” It’s about listening honestly.
In my work, I support people in building this kind of relationship with food. One that is flexible, tender, and rooted in curiosity. We strip away the performance and come back to the body, again and again.
Nourishment as Ritual, Not Restriction
In our sessions, I help folks reimagine food choices as acts of self-compassion rather than control. We build rituals that reflect the real constraints and capacities of your life.
We ask:
What foods are accessible to you—financially, physically, emotionally?
What foods carry the memory of your ancestors?
What textures feel safe or comforting?
What can we prep that works with your energy, your executive function, your flare days?
Do you have people that depend on you for care like children, pets, etc.? How can you integrate their needs in relation to your own?
I used to have a teacher tell me when it comes to food, “If you’re going to eat something that you know isn’t good for you, eat it with joy and not with guilt, your body will process the joy better than the guilt.” Sometimes medicine is simply letting yourself eat something joyful—for taste, for memory, for delight (within reason of course).
I support people in creating food rituals that work with their bodies, not against them—a soft daily ceremony, not a punishment. Small, sacred acts of tending.
Because food—when offered with intention—can become a daily poem written in tastes and textures.
Listening Through the Lens of your Sasang Constitution
Sasang constitutional medicine is a traditional medicine system that originated from Korea and views each person as a unique constellation of patterns that provide insight into your body and mind. Your Sasang constitution can be viewed as your body’s unique landscape in nature. I utilize your Ba Zi (chinese astrological birth chart) to help determine what your specific constitution is according to the five elements (fire, earth, metal, water, wood). Your landscape is created from the combination of those elements.
There are four types, each with different characteristics:
So-eum – inward, thoughtful, warming foods
So-yang – energetic, kind, cooling foods
Tae-eum – gentle, warming foods
Tae-yang – passionate, cooling foods
Knowing your constitution is like getting a snapshot into what susceptibilities, strengths and weaknesses you have at birth. If your landscape was similar to a frozen lake in the arctic tundra…you can get a good depiction into the types of foods that would be most ideal for you—warming foods to help nourish your cold.
These aren’t temporary diets. They’re maps or guidelines. Maps that help you understand why some foods energize you while others drain you. Why one person feels clear after raw salads, and another feels worse. Why skipping breakfast feels fine for your friend but leaves you dizzy and fatigued.
When I bring the Sasang chart into my work, it’s not to restrict—it’s to get curious.
I give people a framework to see themselves. The main focus is to question what things resonate and let go of what doesn’t.
I just hope for more people to feel more ease and more connection to the wisdom that lives inside themselves.
An Invitation
If you’re still reading, I want to offer you a small invitation.
Try asking yourself:
What is my body asking for—not just to survive, but to feel held?
What would a meal taste or look like if I made it with love, not fear?
What’s one food that reminds me I belong to something older, wiser, softer?
If you’re ready to explore this path more deeply, I offer:
Food isn’t just fuel—it’s relationship.
And every meal can be a line in the love letter you are writing to yourself.