About the Time I Had Nothing to Eat at Home

There are certain rock bottoms in life.

Crying in the shower.
Calling your ex while drunk and surrounded by red wine and candles like you’re in a low-budget Lana Del Rey video.
Wearing a swimsuit as underwear because laundry didn’t happen.

But there’s one that doesn’t get talked about enough:

Opening your fridge and realizing you have absolutely nothing to eat.
Not “nothing” like ugh, only this boring salad.
I mean nothing.
Like: there is a bottle of soy sauce, one limp lime, one ancient carrot that’s seen war, three olives in brine, a shriveled tortilla, and existential dread. That’s it. That’s the menu.

I stood there like I was expecting new food to materialize through sheer disappointment. I blinked. I closed the fridge. I opened it again.
Still no food.
Just shame and condensation.

At this point, the hunger turns feral.
You stare at the cat food for a beat too long.
You eat one dry cracker and call it dinner.
You consider texting your ex just so he’ll bring over a burger.
You Google “can depression cause scurvy” and “emergency pasta delivery near me.”

So I did what any tired, slightly unhinged woman would do.
I air-fried half a tortilla, dipped it in mustard, and called it “deconstructed quesadilla.”
Michelin star, but for the emotionally unstable.

I would love to say this was a one-time thing.
But it wasn’t.
This happens constantly because I’m an adult in theory but an unsupervised raccoon in practice.

This isn’t just about the food. It’s about self-respect.

Yes, I work (a lot!).
Yes, I’m busy (with what? Who knows!).
Yes, I had every intention of grocery shopping, but then a nap happened (I didn’t sleep well).
And then Netflix (just one more episode).
And then I convinced myself I’d just “order something healthy,” which is always a lie (McDonald’s is cheaper and faster).
You don’t order health. You order fries.

Turns out, eating is self-care. (And self preservation). Because every time I skip groceries, or push off meal prep, or decide “I’ll just eat crackers and pray”, what I’m really saying is: my needs don’t matter right now.

You can't meditate your way out of low blood sugar.
You can’t manifest magnesium.
You need food. Real food. With nutrients. Not just caffeine, sarcasm, and hope.

Feeding yourself is saying:

"Hey, I see you’re tired. Let’s make sure you don’t crash and burn on caffeine and crumbs."

And this is your reminder (mine too) that taking care of yourself isn’t always deep and glamorous and healing crystals.
Sometimes it’s making sure you have rice.
Sometimes it’s buying the damn groceries before you spiral into “three olives and a dream” mode.
Sometimes it’s setting your future self up to NOT be a gremlin at 9:42 PM eating peanut butter off a spoon and calling it tapas.