A Quote, a Pill Box, and a Bowl of Food

Staying fed is a radical act right now. Plus: why body shame narrows our world, the distraction of thinness, pantry staples, and random acts of self-care.

Jan 30, 2026

On a personal note: I wrote today’s newsletter a few days ago, and was planning to send it out yesterday, but life had other plans (doesn’t it always?). On Wednesday morning I reluctantly took myself to the ER, and was having my appendix out by Wednesday night. These few sentences are all I’m going to “accomplish” today (recovering in bed with ice cream is an accomplishment!!!!), but just wanted to give a little life update in the midst of everything else. More to come on this, because it stirred up a lot for me on eating and resting and body-ing through this world. It especially has me reflecting on disordered eating recovery—funny how these things continue to reveal themselves in layers, with time, and at the strangest moments.

Bigger picture: It’s been a hard week in the world, and I’m hoping you’ve found—even if just brief—moments of softness and safety. We’re witnessing state-sanctioned murder and families torn apart all while being expected to carry on as usual. What is usual?

I spent the beginning of the week doing what I could via 5 calls. If you’re overwhelmed about how to help and where to help, I’ve joined my friend Savala Nolan in donating to the Immigrant Law Center of Minnesota (her kid had such a brilliant idea for raising money, and shoutout to Virginia Sole-Smith and Oona Metz for also being part of this.)

Alright, on to “regularly scheduled programming” (???)…

Due to my brain being all over the place on a rollercoaster of grief and rage, I have three random things for you today.

First, a quote.
Second, an unsexy act of (self) service.
And third, a three minute meal I thought I’d share in case you’re in need of something warm and easy.

The quote.

“When you raise every woman to believe that we are insignificant, that we are broken, that we are sick, that the only cure is starvation and restraint and smallness; when you pit women against one another, keep us shackled by shame and hunger, obsessing over our flaws rather than our power and potential; when you leverage all of that to sap our money and our time—that moves the rudder of the world. It steers humanity toward conservatism and walls and the narrow interests of men, and it keeps us adrift in waters where women’s safety and humanity are secondary to men’s pleasure and convenience.” — Lindy West, Shrill

This is a passage from Lindy West’s Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman—one I’ve shared often with participants in my group programs. It feels especially alive right now. To me, it captures something essential about how the pursuit of thinness and restriction doesn’t just harm individuals; it quietly, efficiently siphons our power. It keeps us busy, weak, small, and even competing with one another—right when we need collective clarity and resistance the most.

Hungry bodies are more compliant bodies.

Not just physically, but psychologically—less resilient, less creative, less able to imagine alternatives. Think about it: being gaslit (for the majority of our lives) into believing that we need to eat less than our bodies require? That kind of under-eating shrinks our physical resources, but it does more than that. It narrows our world. Only real, shame-free relief—real nourishment, real rest—can widen it again.

There’s research here, too: caloric restriction is associated with increased food obsession, rigidity, and reduced cognitive flexibility—exactly the opposite of what social change requires.

This is exactly why diet culture always feels louder during moments of collective crisis.

When things are unstable, the message to control your body gets more insistent and more seductive. It offers a false sense of order while quietly robbing us of the very fuel we need to push back. Because the truth is, thinness isn’t just an aesthetic ideal—it’s a device for distraction.

Lately, I’ve had moments—real, angry, tearful ones—where I think: What would we be able to accomplish if all the energy, money, and emotional bandwidth we’ve been told to spend at war with our bodies was redirected toward dismantling fascism? Seriously. What could be fixed? What could be built?

Beauty standards are not neutral—they shape how we show up, what risks we take, and what futures feel imaginable. They alter the trajectory of our lives.

Ultimately, Lindy’s words ask essential (and devastating) questions:

What might become possible if our energy wasn’t funneled toward making ourselves smaller?
What could we build if our bodies were fed, our minds resourced, and our worth no longer up for debate?

When you read the quote again, notice what you feel in your body as it lands. Tightness? Recognition? Grief? If it’s overwhelming, remember: the most radical response might be simpler than you realize. It might be…to go get something to eat.

A note on body liberation and incredible writers: the ever-wise and wonderful Savala Nolan has a book coming out soon that I think may change your life. And if you haven’t read The Body Liberation Project by the brilliant Chrissy King, please go get on it!

The unsexy act of (self) service.

My love language is “acts of service.” It’s both how I want to be loved and how I love others. Lately, I’ve been thinking about little things I can do to practice self-compassion—accessible ways of finding glimmers and pockets of ease. And it occurred to me that perhaps little acts of service are the best way to love myself right now, since apparently I believe others deserve the same.

One example—deeply mundane, profoundly grounding:

Every Sunday, I fill my AM/PM pill box for the week.

My beloved pill box. Plus… I just started that book in the background!

Yeppp…that’s it. No transformation arc or aesthetic reveal. Just the quiet reassurance of knowing that future-me is taken care of (essentially, that I can chaotically grab for my pills in the dark, and take them without worrying about counting or double-checking the label). I guess it’s a reminder that support doesn’t have to be dramatic to be meaningful. Sometimes it’s just about removing one small decision from an already overloaded brain.

The three-minute meal.

I’m the self-proclaimed queen of throwing a bunch of shit together and somehow creating a really delicious meal. It’s a gift. A skill. Perhaps a calling? I’m laughing at myself as I type this. I promise, I rarely take myself seriously.

One of the ingredients I often keep on hand is canned soup (or I’ll buy it packaged in the refrigerated section of the grocery store) because it’s easy to doctor up with other things.

This week, I was craving really cozy, cheesy, warm foods…but also, convenience.

So, here’s what I did:

I took a big container of chicken soup (this happened to be from Trader Joe’s),
combined that with two packages of 60-second microwaveable white rice (one of my favorite pantry staples),
added a can of corn,
a good pour of olive oil (any type of oil or butter would work!)
then mixed in lots and lots of parmesan cheese,
and topped with more cheese and some avocado.

It was delightful, ready in 3 minutes, and full of so much flavor (thanks to the broth, plus some extra salt and pepper).

Not a great photo, because I wasn’t planning on sharing about this chaotic concoction. But here we are!

I ate it with tortilla chips as delightful little crunchy vessels, which felt…correct?

You could riff endlessly here depending on what you have: white beans, black beans, frozen spinach, peas, goat cheese, scallions, chives. Also, you could use shredded rotisserie chicken instead of the chicken soup—I just happened to like that the broth and cheese mixed together into something saucy.

But bottom line, it’s flexible. It doesn’t ask much of you. It just feeds you.

Obviously…none of this is revolutionary. A quote, a pill box, and a bowl of pantry stuff. And yet—this feels like the work right now. Staying fed. Staying resourced. Refusing the systems that want us hungry, distracted, and convinced our bodies are the problem. And, as Christyna spoke about last week on the podcast, doing the same for our neighbors.

Despite what social media would have us believe, true care is chosen in small, repeatable ways. It is prioritizing nourishment—of the literal and existential variety—so we have the energy to keep showing up, helping, asking questions, and imagining something better.

If the world feels like too much this week, I hope one of these small offerings meets you where you are.

And I’d love to know:

What’s your love language? What is an example of a way you practice it for yourself, not just with or through others?
Do you have a quote you’d want to share with us?

Grateful to have you here. I really mean that.

Full Plate by Abbie Attwood

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