I Have an Unhealthy Relationship with Food

How I Gave Fear Neural Sovereignty in My Life

There’s not enough food in the world for me. Or at least that’s what my brain tells me. You might find this hard to believe, but I have always looked at food through the eyes of fear, fear that there might not be enough food tomorrow. This provision anxiety has forced me to overeat all my life, giving me a decidedly unhealthy relationship with food. And though the original reason doesn't matter anymore—because I honestly don't know where the notion came from—I do know that at some point, I said to myself, "I might not get enough food to survive,” and my mind believed me.

The First Surrender

At some point, I told myself that I better eat as much as I could because hunger would destroy me, and then I said it again. And again. And again, until it became as natural to me as breathing, and as scary as suffocating. And so I ate. I ate more than I needed, more often than I needed it. I developed food-related ailments, allergies, and illnesses. I became weak and fragile, and it all came down to surrendering my mind to the fear of hunger.

That first surrender—that initial moment when I let fear overrule faith—created a tiny pathway in my brain—a neural pathway.

I imagine it came to life in the manner of a meadow path:

• The first time you cross, you barely leave a mark

• The second time, you might see a faint trail

• After ten times, there's a visible path

• After a hundred times, it's a well-worn route that's easiest to follow

• After years, it becomes so established that taking any other route feels unnatural and requires conscious effort

This well-worn path reveals the story of surrendering neural sovereignty, whether to substances, behaviors, or even thought patterns, and it begins with a single thought, a thought that promises hope, joy, peace, and protection, in a more solid form than faith—in taking action.

Maybe you tell yourself seemingly small thoughts like these giving away your neural sovereignty:

- You’re just being realistic—hope is for naïve people. Don’t get your hopes up.

- You need control—and worrying is the only way to stay prepared for what’s coming.

- You don’t have to forgive—you need revenge.

- You’re overwhelmed—you don’t have time to read your Bible today.

- You need to be heard—go ahead, vent your frustration to anyone who will listen.

- You’re exhausted—why push yourself to be kind? Let people see how hard you have it.

- You’re only human—everyone complains. You’re just processing.

- You deserve comfort and binge-watching, doom-scrolling, or overeating is just self-care.

- You need validation—go check how many likes, comments, or messages you’ve received.

- You can’t change—this is just how you are. Why even try?

Each of these whispers a false promise of self-protection, but in reality, each time you talk to yourself like this you weaken your self-governance and subtly train your brain to give away neural sovereignty to impulse rather than wisdom. Eventually, these impulses gain sovereignty—not just influencing you, but mastering you (Romans 6:16). You become a person who blindly follows commands without even realizing it, like me with food.

If someone had told me that my brain was designed to make frequently repeated behaviors—especially ones tied to strong emotions like perceived survival or self-protection—automatic and effortless, even if those behaviors were self-destructive, I would have taken a more active role in the forming of my habits. I would have attempted to make sure that my most repeated and frequent behaviors involved trusting my God, hoping in Him, and resting in His love.

The unfortunate truth is that once these neural pathways become deeply established, and neural sovereignty is handed over, they don't just suggest behavior—they demand it. And they get what they demand. So, what began as a conscious choice becomes a subconscious imperative.

This explains why rational knowledge just isn't enough to break entrenched patterns. I've known for decades that I don't need to eat as if there will be no food tomorrow. I live in a country of abundance. I have financial stability. My refrigerator is full. Logically, I know the premise driving my behavior is false.

But knowledge alone couldn’t change the neural pathways. The fear-based eating pattern continued in spite of my intellectual understanding because the pathway itself had become the problem.

For me, recovery began with the simple fact that I was sickened by the idea of having given away my neural sovereignty to anyone or anything other than God. The question wasn’t "What's wrong with me that I can't control my eating?” but “Do I want to continue to give neural sovereignty to fear, anxiety, and worry?” The answer was a resounding no.

This confrontation with my surrender to the wrong thing was enough to help me recognize the pathway that had become as natural to me as breathing and so to stop myself before I beat that path any longer.

That meant that each time my neural sovereignty was highjacked by a thought on the dangers of not getting enough to eat, I had to recognize it for what it was—fear based on some imaginary life I worried I was living in which I was often without food leading to malnourishment and ultimate starvation.

So, I decided to better understand the role of food and hunger from a biblical perspective. I recognized my fear of starving as irrational not only because I never went without food, but also because times of not eating is a biblical concept. Not only that, but I found out that intermittent fasting, at least 12 hours a day, is good for you, allowing your intestines to do a thorough cleaning that they never got the chance to do when I never went longer than eight hours without eating.

I recognized that the belief fueling my addiction was solidly fear-based and that a child of God need not live in fear—ever!

I took back my neural sovereignty by refusing to be sovereigned by fear any longer. This refusal meant I took other paths than fear.

The Path to Freedom

Turns out, reclaiming neural sovereignty is not a one-and-done event. It’s an ongoing process of retraining the brain to side with truth rather than fear, with health rather than temporary relief.

For me, the journey continues to this day. Each meal presents an opportunity to either strengthen the old pathway of scarcity-based eating or to reinforce the new pathway of eating from a place of security and sufficiency. Some days I succeed; other days I don't. But my neural sovereignty grows stronger with every conscious choice.

The most powerful realization has been this: The same neuroplasticity that created my addiction can also be harnessed for my healing. The brain that learned to overeat can also learn a healthier relationship with food. What was once given away can be reclaimed, one choice at a time.

My neural sovereignty wasn't lost forever in that first surrender. It was simply redirected. And now, with awareness and intention, I can redirect it again—this time toward freedom rather than bondage.

The first step into addiction may have been giving away neural sovereignty, but the first step into recovery is taking it back.

Whether your struggle is with food like mine, with anxiety, with substances, or with any other compulsive behavior, know this: Your brain's current patterns are not your destiny. They're just the result of repeated thoughts and behaviors that can be redirected.

So, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.” (Romans 12:2)

The pathway to freedom begins with recognizing that you didn't lose your sovereignty—you temporarily surrendered it. And what has been surrendered can be reclaimed.

One conscious choice at a time.

You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. (Isaiah 26:3)