When I was thirteen, a classmate wrote in my friendship book, “You would actually be quite pretty if you only lost five kilos, but you just keep eating chips.” She even drew a picture of me stuffing my face. That moment marked the beginning of a long, complicated relationship with food.

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Through my teens, I turned to food for comfort as my parents went through a difficult divorce. When fast food chains opened nearby, I was a regular. Later, while studying in the United States, I was not just amazed by the portion sizes and food options. I embraced them. Everything looked irresistible: warm cinnamon buns, oversized blueberry muffins, endless refills of sodas. I often ordered pizza as a fourth meal and tubs of Ben & Jerry’s at midnight, convincing myself it was for energy while studying. My weight soared, my skin broke out, and I was frequently tired, sick with tonsilitis, and on yet another diet. Nothing worked, and I felt constantly ashamed.

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Everything changed by chance, not through willpower or a plan. After university, I moved to Liguria in Italy to live with my then boyfriend’s family. They were humble, kind people who grew much of their own food. Every day, we ate together at the table:  three meals, no snacks in between and definitely no conversation around dieting. Extra virgin olive oil replaced butter. Beans simmered slowly with tomatoes and soffritto (finely chopped onion, celery, and carrot).  We had pasta with simple sauces like salsa di noci (walnut sauce) or pesto alla Genovese (with potatoes and green beans). At weekends, Mama Bordo baked torta di pinoli (pine nut cake), and on Sundays we bought a family tray of paste dolci (small sweet pastries) from the local pasticceria (bakery).

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Without trying, the weight melted away. My skin cleared, and for the first time I felt well, not restricted. Living by the sea near Genova, I walked often, breathing the salt air and admiring the snow peaks on the distant Apuan Alps. I felt well, alive, and most importantly, I was no longer preoccupied by my weight. I lived healthy habits long before I understood the science behind them.

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Those habits stayed with me. They carried me through raising children, demanding work, and the transitions of midlife. I still love chocolate and cake. Sometimes I eat them, sometimes I make healthier versions, but I no longer feel guilt. I trust myself to return to the foods and habits make me feel and look good.

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After two decades of living these habits, I formalised my passion. I completed a Master’s in Clinical Nutrition, graduating top of my class with distinction. My studies gave me the scientific framework to understand what my lived experience had already shown me: that sustainable weight and health is not about restriction, but about understanding biology, behaviour, and the rhythms of real life.