My famine brain is a fearmonger and worry wart—completely convinced that I was going to faint on the way home from the gym, wreck my car, and DIE. I ate when I got home and it’s saying “well, good, but let’s make sure that never happens again.”

A few weeks ago I was hungry in the middle of the night one night and my famine brain was sure I needed to have a snack before bed every night to prevent that from happening again. Because, what? I was going to starve to death in my sleep?