Food for the Soul: What I Eat on Self-Care and Mental Health Days

This post is my story. A look into what I eat on self-care and mental health days—not from a nutritionist’s lens, but from the heart of a woman who’s learning to feed her spirit, even on the hardest days.

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There are days when nothing helps. Not journaling. Not long walks. Not even the usual pep talk I give myself in front of the mirror.

And on those days, when the world feels too loud and my body too tired, there’s one thing that never fails to show up for me: Food.

Not just anything on a plate, but comfort food—meals that feel like hugs, flavours that taste like home, and textures that remind me I’m still here, still surviving.

For someone living with endometriosis, food isn’t just nourishment. It’s a negotiation. It’s knowing what might soothe my soul could stir up my body. But some days, I give in. I let my heart choose—because healing isn’t always strict; sometimes it’s soft, warm, and served in a bowl of garlic fried rice.

Food for the Soul: What I Eat on Self-Care and Mental Health Days

When the world feels overwhelming and emotions run heavy, some people turn to sleep, others to silence—but for me, I turn to food.

Not just any food. Food for the soul.

The kind that hugs you from the inside out. That whispers, “You’ll be okay.”

Food has always been the way to my heart. It’s comfort, luxury, and love all rolled into one. It’s the balm for a broken heart and the calm after a stormy day. After long hours at work, when I return home mentally drained, there’s often a warm home-cooked meal waiting for me, lovingly prepared by my mom.

But some days, even those meals can't quiet the ache inside me.

On such days, I turn to my comfort orders:

Garlic fried rice with gravy, Thai prawn curry with steamed rice, a simple divine plate of vegetarian thali, or hot plates of momos.

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These are flavours that hit like home when home doesn’t feel enough. These meals aren’t just indulgent—they’re emotional lifelines.

When Food Becomes a Balancing Act

Living with endometriosis means my relationship with food is complicated and sometimes painful. One wrong bite, and I can trigger a painful flare-up. So, dairy, gluten, and most processed indulgences are a big no. But here’s the thing: even on the days I know the food might cost me comfort later, I still go for it.

Because in those fragile moments, my heart wants what it wants.

Sometimes that looks like a plate of homemade pani puri—not the street-style version, but the kind my mom makes from scratch. I get the puris, and I’m free to add my own twist. The process is healing in itself. The freedom to play, assemble, and serve myself is as therapeutic as the food itself.

My Self-Care Food Rituals: A Day in My Life

Mornings: Just Hot Water and Hustle

My mornings are bare. A simple glass of hot water to start the day—and then I'm off. It’s less about indulgence and more about function. I don’t eat much in the morning, partly due to time, partly because that’s just how I’ve conditioned myself.

Afternoons: Canteen Choices and Home-Cooked Warmth

At work, I usually order something from the canteen for lunch. But when I’m home, it’s my mom’s warm dal, sabzi, rice, or roti. There’s a certain unexplainable calm in knowing someone cooked for you. In a world that asks so much of us, that small act feels like love.

Evenings: Cravings, Temptations & Rituals

Evenings used to be my danger zone. I had a habit of overeating, using food to fill emotional voids. I still crave vada pav—especially the ones sold by a group of women near my society. Their spice, crunch, the garlic chutney, and simplicity are unmatched.

My sweet tooth often craves ice cream, but I’ve become selective. Amul and Naturals are my go-tos. And yes, I know these aren’t ideal for someone with endo—but I pick my battles. 

One thing that’s become a consistent part of my evenings is green tea. It’s grounding, calming, and feels like a reset.

On Really Hard Days: My Go-To Soul Foods

When I’m emotionally drained, I crave two things:

• Thalis
• Indo-Chinese

I don’t cook. I don’t reheat. I order in.

A good veg thali can turn my whole day around. It’s nostalgic, indulgent, and deeply fulfilling.

I still remember those overnight bus rides to Karnataka during school holidays. We’d leave from Mumbai late in the evening, the roads humming beneath the wheels, the air thick with a mix of excitement and exhaustion. 

Around dinner time, the bus would halt at a modest roadside dhaba or one of those old-school highway restaurants that somehow served the most soulful food.

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My parents always ordered one large vegetarian thali, a colorful steel platter overflowing with simple yet hearty dishes: a couple of sabzis, soft chapatis, dal-rice, spicy curry, tangy pickle, kachumber salad, crispy papad, and sometimes, a small sweet tucked in the corner. 

We’d sit together—three of us around one plate—eating quietly, soaking in the warmth of the food and each other’s presence.

Back then, sharing a thali wasn’t just about splitting a meal. It was about belonging, about finding comfort in the familiar. We didn’t need to talk much. The food spoke for us.

Even today, when I step into a veg restaurant and spot a thali on the menu, my heart leaps. It’s more than a dish—it’s a memory, a feeling, a reminder that sometimes the simplest meals, shared with love, can be the most fulfilling.

Continental food is okay. But a thali? That’s love on a plate.

Eating with Endo: Listening to My Body

I’ve had to get creative with food because of my health. High-fiber meals are a must, so I experiment with salads a lot. The internet is my recipe book.

While I don’t stock up on freezer meals or follow a strict prep routine, I listen to my body. Some days, it screams for warmth and spice. Other days, it just wants peace in a bowl.

Food restrictions are mentally exhausting, but what choice do I have? I do what I must to keep my body from rebelling. And sometimes, I indulge knowing the cost. That’s part of the journey, too.

Food is healing. Food is love.

The Healing Power of Home-Cooked Love

Food in my house is more than survival—it’s an expression of love.

When I have a hard day at work and come home to a meal waiting for me, it reminds me I’m not alone. Someone thought of me. Someone made something with their hands for me.

It’s not just about eating. It’s about being seen, cared for, and nurtured.

Those who move away from family often say they miss home-cooked meals. But what they really mean is—they miss being loved without having to ask for it.

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Gentle Food Affirmations I Hold Close

Here are some gentle food affirmations that are close to my heart (and my tummy)! You can recite this in the mornings, before meals or whenever you like.

• “Feeding myself is an act of self-love.”
• “Even small meals are a big deal.”
• “Comfort food doesn’t need a reason.”
• “I deserve to feel nourished—body and soul.”
• “It’s okay to eat what makes me happy sometimes.”

Final Thoughts: Food as Emotional First Aid

Food for the soul isn’t about how expensive or Instagrammable it looks. It’s about how it makes you feel.

For me, food is memory, emotion, medicine, and therapy. Whether it’s my mom’s dal rice, a street-style vada pav, or a self-assembled thali, what I eat on self-care days brings me back to myself.

So the next time your heart feels heavy, ask it what it wants to eat. It just might lead you home.

Key Takeaways

• Food can soothe mental and emotional heaviness.
• Comfort meals like thalis, fried rice, or momos are grounding.
• Endometriosis makes food tricky, but listening to your body helps.
• Family and home-cooked meals offer spiritual nourishment.
• Eating is emotional self-care—don’t underestimate its power.

What’s your comfort meal on a rough day?

Whether it’s your mom’s dal-chawal, greasy street-style noodles, or a fancy slice of cake, share it in the comments.

This post was created for the Blogaberry Creative (Monthly) Challenge with the theme word: Day

This post is a part of the Blogchatter Food Fest