Hungry for Healing: Navigating Eating Disorders in Cajun Country
In Cajun country, food is more than just nourishment- it’s celebration, connection, identity. We gather around crawfish boils, pass down recipes like heirlooms, and show love with second helpings. But for those struggling with eating disorders, this food-centered culture can feel like a double-edged sword- one that cuts deep into body image, shame, and silence.
As a therapist and Louisiana native, I’ve sat with many clients whose disordered eating hides in plain sight- masked by cultural norms, family dynamics, and a reluctance to speak openly about mental health. In a place where you’re expected to let the good times roll, there’s not always room to say, “I’m not okay.”
I really hope to help fellow Cajuns unpack this reality and to explore how culture, trauma, and tradition collide in our relationship with food. Diet culture has really done a number on us by reinforcing negative body image and thinking food is the enemy. This is particularly complicated for Cajuns; how can something that is so culturally ingrained in us be the very thing causing issues in our life?
In South Louisiana, food isn’t just part of the culture- it is the culture. Our holidays, Sundays, and even grief are seasoned with memories of delicious food and time with family. There’s a deeply rooted belief that comfort can be cooked and shared around a table.
My father was a chef, and his motto was simple: “All things can be healed with good food, good music, and good people.” It was more than a saying, it was how he showed love, how he processed pain, and how he made sense of the world. Our kitchen was often alive with the sounds of meals being prepared and good music playing in the background. Hospitality was sacred. Second helpings were expected, And saying no to food often meant saying no to connection.
How Culture Shapes Recovery
For someone in recovery from an eating disorder, treatment often involves learning to reconnect with food in a safe, intentional way. But in Cajun culture, food isn’t typically measured or planned- it’s abundant, spontaneous, and shared. This can make recovery feel isolating, like you’re breaking unspoken family rules or stepping outside of tradition.
As a therapist working in this region, it’s important I remain culturally sensitive to how food relates to disorder. It’s not just about helping clients eat again- it’s about helping them navigate a world where refusing food can be misread as rude, and where food-centered gatherings are the heartbeat of community.
Healing in this context requires more than a meal plan. It requires cultural competence, family involvement, and permission to grieve our complicated relationship with of food as comfort- at least for a little while. It means finding new ways to celebrate that don’t compromise recovery. It’s learning to set boundaries, and having them be respected.
I often encourage clients to see a dietician who is HAES (Health at Every Size) aligned. Local dieticians are often culturally sensitive when it comes to being Cajun, and can not only encourage clients to nurture their love of food and family, but also educate on what the body needs in regards to nutrients. Their focus is often learning to enjoy the things we love (I’m looking at you, king cake) in a way that feels safe to the client.
Finding a different kind of full
Recovery in Cajun country is possible, but it requires us to acknowledge that while our love of food is sacred and unique, it can also be a painful reality for some. It asks us to listen to the quiet struggles behind the loud crawfish boils, and to make room for a different kind of fullness that is fueled not only by a traditional meal but by time with the people we love. It’s realizing that balance exists, and it’s up to us to follow our own hunger and fullness cues to decide what’s right for us.
My dad believed in the healing power of good food, good music, and good people. I still believe in that, too. Whether we’re cooking shrimp pasta in my kitchen or frying fish on our back patio, I strive for my home atmosphere to be one that allows people to open up. As parents, it is so important to create that space for our kids. Add in the perfect Spotify playlist and teach your kids how to stir the roux, and you’ve created magical family memories that will last a lifetime.
All that being said, I now know that healing and recovery sometimes means stepping away from the table, reevaluating our relationship with food, and learning to hear your body’s voice over everyone else’s, and trusting that you can return when you’re ready.
