What I’m Learning About Autism and Eating

Welcome to my Unmasking Autism series. This is where I share what I’m learning as I begin to understand my autistic experience and gently come home to myself. These posts are personal, honest, and written with tenderness for the parts of me that have spent years surviving.

I have struggled with my relationship with food for my entire life.

For most of my childhood, I was overweight and carrying so much shame about it. I struggled with my body image early. I was labeled as the kid with the “healthy appetite,” and I can still feel the embarrassment of certain moments that I don’t even need to spell out to remember. The comments. The jokes. The looks. The way food became emotional before I even understood what emotions were.

I could go on forever.

As I got older, I tried to fix it the ways most of us are taught to fix it. More discipline. More workouts. More rules. More guilt. But the harder I tried to control it, the more I felt stuck in a cycle that didn’t make sense to me.

By my late twenties and early thirties, it had gotten so hard that I went to my doctor for help. I was struggling with binge eating and I didn’t understand what was driving it. It didn’t seem to matter how much I worked out or how determined I was to “get it together.”

I was exhausted.

I remember crying for help. Literally. Because when food feels like a battle happening inside your body and mind every single day, it starts to feel like you’re trapped.

At the time, I didn’t have language for what was underneath it all. I just knew I was in pain, I was spiraling, and I needed support.

Then I learned I’m autistic.

And that changed the way I understood everything.

Because autism doesn’t just affect communication or sensory processing. It touches the whole person, including how we relate to food. And once I started learning about autistic sensory needs, nervous system regulation, and burnout, I began to see how food had been part of my survival for a long time.

Not because I was weak.

Because I was regulating.

I started noticing patterns.

Why I eat the things I eat. Why certain textures and smells feel impossible. Why “just try it” has never been simple for me. Why I gravitate toward specific foods when I’m overwhelmed. Why restriction makes my nervous system panic. Why I can eat past fullness when I’m dysregulated, because my body is chasing comfort, dopamine, grounding, safety.

And I also realized something that hit me hard.

A lot of the time, I wasn’t just craving food.

I was craving what my body actually needed.

Nutrient rich foods. Enough protein. Steady meals. Foods that support my energy and mood.

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Foods that keep my blood sugar from swinging and my nervous system from spiraling. I didn’t understand how much what I ate could affect how I felt mentally and emotionally and sensory-wise.

I was trying to regulate a dysregulated nervous system with whatever was easiest, fastest, and most comforting in the moment.

And sometimes, that meant “crap,” like I used to call it, because it was accessible and it worked quickly… until it didn’t. Until it left me feeling worse. Until it added to the shame. Until it became another loop.

This is where I have to give credit where it’s due.

I have my private chef to thank for so much of what I’m learning now.

Not just because he cooks, but because he helped me understand food as support instead of punishment. He helped me build a relationship with meals that feels safer, more realistic, and more nourishing. He helped me see that my body isn’t a problem to conquer.

It’s a system to care for.

Sidebar / Private Chef in DFW

If you’re in the DFW area and interested in private chef services, you can reach out to Chef Sloan here.

He’s been a huge part of helping me build meals that support my sensory needs and overall wellness.

I’m still learning. I’m still unraveling old beliefs. I’m still healing the parts of me that learned early to connect food with shame, comfort, control, and survival.

But I’m finally able to look at my story with more compassion.

My relationship with food has never been just about willpower.

It has been about sensory needs. Regulation. Routine. Stress. Safety. Burnout. Support. And the long, slow work of learning how to meet my needs without hating myself for having them.

If you’ve struggled with food in similar ways, I want you to know you’re not alone. And you’re not “crazy” or “broken” for needing help. It’s okay to talk to a doctor, a dietitian, or a therapist who understands eating struggles and nervous system regulation. Support doesn’t mean you failed. It means you’re choosing care.

xo,

jd

Thank you for being here. If any part of this resonated, I hope you feel a little less alone. I’m still learning, still unmasking, and still choosing compassion over shame one moment at a time.

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If you’re new here, welcome. I share honest, lived experience posts on unmasking autism, including signs of autistic burnout in adults, regulating sensory overload, safe foods and picky eating, noise sensitivity supports, and what it looks like to unmask as an adult woman.