Food Safe: Somatics and Mindful Eating

Recently, I completed a 60-hour training in somatic healing practices led by Trista Davis from Above Average Yoga and Wellness. In this training, I learned a variety of tools and practices that can help improve nervous system regulation, support the processing of trauma and other emotions, and facilitate a deeper connection with the body.

One of the reasons I believe so many of us struggle with movement and exercise, eating, and self-care is because we approach them from a place of disconnect. In some instances, we go through the motions, but we aren’t present with our actions or sensations until they become too loud to ignore. In others, we simply react in whatever ways feel safe or familiar, based on our past experiences, traumas, and mental or physical health challenges–regardless of whether those reactions are helpful or not. The desire to support my clients in reconnecting with their bodies, emotions, and experiences is what drove me to learn more about somatics.

Somatics is a body-based approach to healing. Using practices that ask us to tune into the sensations and subtle cues that show up in our bodies, we can foster a deeper connection with ourselves. This connection helps us create space to feel and process our emotions, and to be more present and intentional with our responses and actions.

Going into Trista’s somatic training, I knew I already had a handful of tools and strategies that helped ground me in my body, but my biggest ah-ha moment from the course was noticing how often, and how easily, I still become disconnected.

As a self-described “anxious person,” I’ve spent a lot of time in my head ruminating, overthinking, and preparing for every possible outcome. It has been one of my biggest roadblocks when I’m trying to relax, focus, or be present. I’ve gathered many tools throughout my tenure in the fitness and wellness space, and in the pursuit of my mental wellbeing, that have helped me manage anxiety and live my life fully and intentionally…but I would be lying if I said that I no longer get swept up in anxious thoughts.

When a wave of anxiety overtakes me, it pulls me from my body and sends me swimming through my mind, and I’ve never been a good swimmer. In these moments, somatic practices are like a life jacket. They help me keep my head above water so that I can survey the situation and guide myself back to shore. Over time, those same practices make me a stronger swimmer overall.

Anxiety is just one of many emotional experiences that can be supported by somatics, and there are a number of different somatic tools and practices we can use to help regulate our emotions and care for and connect with ourselves. Instead of trying to cram a crash course in somatics into one little blog post, I’m going to share a specific example of how I use them in a moment of food-related anxiety.

As I mentioned, somatics is a body-based healing modality–but oftentimes, it’s not my body that I notice first. It’s my thoughts.

They start racing, or more accurately I realize they’re racing, and have likely been doing so for a while. But when I become aware of my thoughts, it creates an opportunity to interrupt them and space to observe my body.

I was eating lunch at home the other day when my thoughts started to run wild. If you’ve dieted for a long time, or experienced disordered eating patterns, you probably know the feeling. My thoughts bounced from judgment to justification and back again, questioning my food choices, should-ing and shouldn’t-ing all over them, and myself.

Consumed by these thoughts, I was completely disconnected from my body.

When I finally noticed and interrupted my racing thoughts, I didn’t rush to reframe them. Instead, I named them.

Anxiety. My familiar foe. My long-time frenemy.

As I named the feeling, I turned my attention to my body and realized I had nearly inhaled my lunch, barely tasting it. My heart was racing. My body was tense. My posture was hunched.

My body was showing clear signs of stress as I sat there, inhaling, but not truly experiencing, a meal I had originally been looking forward to.

Once I noticed my thoughts and brought awareness to what was happening in my body, this is what I did:

I put my fork down. I adjusted my posture into a more comfortable position. I placed my hands on my body–one on my heart, feeling its racing rhythm, and one on my belly, offering it kindness in a difficult moment.

Closing my eyes, I took deep inhales through my nose and gentle exhales through my mouth. As I breathed, I simply observed my body.

I felt my belly and chest expand and contract with each breath.

I noticed my heart beating against my hand.

I slowly scanned my body for other sensations, like tenion in my jaw, or the feeling of my last rushed bites making their way down to my stomach.

My simple intention was to notice without judgement, not to fix or change anything.

As I sat with my breath and body, my heart rate slowed, I felt my anxiety dissipate, and I repeated a simple affirmation:

It is safe for me to eat and enjoy all food.

It is safe for me to eat and enjoy all food.

It is safe for me to eat and enjoy all food.

I spent a few more moments with my eyes closed, observing my breath, observing my body, and absorbing the meaning behind my words before returning to my meal.

When I opened my eyes again, I felt more grounded and present, and I was able to enjoy my meal mindfully.

If you experience anxiety around food, give this a try. And if you’d like to learn more about somatic practices, reconnecting with your body, and incorporating mindful, sustainable self-care practices–I’m your girl.

Tea with my Mother: New Year, Old Rituals

The last year or so of my life has been about habits, routines, and creating structure. It's been about implementing systems, collecting information and insights, taking what works, and leaving what doesn’t. I committed my energy to working with my ADHD, and finding ways to make the biggest parts of my life run more smoothly so that I could care for the things and people who are important to me.

Truth be told, 2025 was an enormous success when I look at it from that standpoint. I streamlined my business, expanded my offerings, and had more opportunities than ever before to speak and share my passion. This success continued outside of work with the purchase of our first home, and subsequently, a commitment to better work-life balance with a more sustainable schedule. But as the year came to a close, I realized that something has been missing…and it’s been missing a long time. 

In late December, as I considered the task of holiday baking, I pulled out my mother’s recipe box, the one I only open at that time of year. Seeing her handwriting on the recipe cards, and making a childhood favourite, inspired another craving in me. 

I have blurry, yet warmly lit, memories in my childhood kitchen of baking cookies with my mom. Whatever the occasion, or cookie, there was almost always a pot of tea on the counter, steeping for us to enjoy as we baked.

My grandma, on my Mom’s side, came from two, very English parents, and she brought their traditions into her family and ultimately mine. Our house was always well stocked with Twinnings, Earl Grey Tea, and both my mom and grandma had collections of elegant teacups and saucers. Tea parties were a normal part of childhood, for many little girls, I assume, certainly for me. But somewhere along the way, after losing my mom, I lost track of these rituals as well.  

It’s not that I stopped drinking tea all together, but I stopped sharing in it. Tea became nothing more than a single bag soaking in a mug. I drank it because it was cold out, because I wasn’t feeling well, because I didn’t need another coffee. I drank it alone. So when I began my baking this year, my desire to brew up a pot of Earl Grey was not just a craving for tea, but a craving to share in this ritual once again. 

I was reminded of childhood lessons on how to pour from a hot tea-pot without spilling or dropping the lid, and being instructed to first add milk to the teacup to protect the china from the heat. I remembered the big, quilted, tea-cozy, hand made by my grandma, that kept our pot warm while we baked or when company joined us for tea. I remembered dunking oatmeal chip cookies in hot, milky tea, trying not to drop chunks into the delicate cups.

Tea holds an important place in cultures around the world. From traditional Japanese tea ceremonies, to Indian chai’s, to British high tea, these rituals are meant to be shared and enjoyed. Though I don’t recall any mention of how, or why we came to take part in tea-time traditions, I can’t help but feel the significance of its loss. 

Throughout this year, while so many things have come together to make my life easier, this ease of being also allowed me to feel the full weight of all that I have been missing. With success, growth, and even joy, comes new waves of grief, and new layers of understanding. I miss my mother, always, but I never quite realized how many other things were lost with her.

2025 has given me so much. Most notably, it has given me safety, security, and space in which I can finally recognize, and begin to reclaim and share that which had otherwise been forgotten. This year, instead of routines, I’m calling in rituals, both old and new-to-me. I’m calling in the rituals of my mother and hers, the rituals of women long lost, and the rituals of those who now fill my life with love. 

2026 is not a year for resolutions, but for reconnection, and I am so grateful for my community, my family, both blood and chosen, and the chance to share and create traditions with them. 

Whatever Comes

This time last year, I started writing about my experience getting an ADHD diagnosis, treatment, and all the emotions and realities that came with it. A full year later—and nearly two since my ADHD diagnosis adventure began—it’s hard to believe how much has happened.

It took far more time, effort, and frustration to get my prescription sorted out than I ever imagined. I’m not going to pretend I’m not still bothered by how convoluted the whole process felt. But eventually, with time, the help of my pharmacy, and finally speaking to my doctor, I decided to stick with my 30 mg dosage and have, for the most part, been able to get my prescription filled when needed.Between that and the many audiobooks, articles, therapy appointments, and support from the people who love me, I think I’ve settled into something that’s working.

This process has been hard, and it continues to be, but I’m navigating it the best I can, with as much support as I can gather. That’s really all I can ask of myself.

The most surprising part of coming to understand and accept my ADHD has been the immense grief and anger that surfaced once I finally had a diagnosis.I grieve for little Andrea, who worked so hard to be good, to excel, to be liked, to be “normal,” and whose struggles went unnoticed by the adults around her.I grieve for twenty-something Andrea, who fought to meet the demands of adult life, who felt left behind by her peers, who couldn’t understand why being a straight-A student hadn’t translated into feeling successful as an adult.

Despite the grief, I feel validated in my struggle. I’ve already built a lot of strategies that help me create more ease in my life, and my toolkit keeps growing with me. Since starting medication, I’m able to focus on my work and organize my thoughts and time a bit more effectively, and I’ve found ways to regulate my emotions and my nervous system when difficult circumstances come up.

Unfortunately, no strategy is foolproof, and shit still happens. I still glitch, forget, lose things. I still wrestle with anxiety and grief. But with a better understanding of myself and my ADHD, I can offer myself more compassion when I do, and ultimately, get myself “unstuck” sooner.

For so long, so many things in life felt out of reach because I didn’t feel capable or worthy of them. It’s hard to believe you deserve anything nice when you constantly lose or break things. It’s hard to trust yourself with big decisions when making any decision at all feels impossible.

But over the last year, I opened myself up to receiving things I never believed were meant for me, yet when I speak them out loud, they sound so simple.

I bought my first new car

My partner and I bought our first home.

I planned and hosted a nearly sold-out workshop.

I applied for—and was offered—new opportunities to speak and share my work.

My business is growing in new and exciting ways, and I continue to grow along with it.

I’m in a place where life feels safe and comfortable and still full of possibility. And for the first time I can remember, I believe those possibilities are meant for me.

I don’t know for sure what’s next, and I’m sure it won’t be easy. In fact, it will probably have moments that are absolutely terrible. But I’m prepared to take the bad with the good, and I’m confident that I can handle whatever comes.