Why Some Food Feels Safe and Others Don’t (A Neurodivergent Perspective on Eating)

For most of my life, I thought I was just really picky with food. People would ask why I didn’t like certain foods, and I never really had any answer beyond, “I don’t know, I just don’t.” It wasn’t until much later in life, after learning about my neurodivergence, that I began to understand there was more going on underneath it all.

Sometimes it wasn’t just the taste, the texture, or the smell. Sometimes it was simply that a food felt unpredictable, and my brain wanted something familiar instead.

Growing up, I remember celebrating Easter dinners at my aunt’s house. Each year, my grandma would make fresh ham with a pineapple glaze, a somewhat creamy white rice, green beans, salad, and Hawaiian rolls. Sounds delicious, right? Well, I didn’t think so at the time.

I remember just staring at my plate, picking at the ham, trying to get a bite down of something I genuinely didn’t like in order to appease my family. But I just couldn’t eat it no matter how much I tried. I think one time I subtly spit it out in my napkin—something I used to do when I didn’t like something.

I’m not sure what it was about the ham. The flavor reminded me of something unpleasant. The texture wasn’t what I expected it to be. It just didn’t thrill me. And it was always cold, which is a temperature I don’t like when it comes to hot meals.

I remember feeling embarrassed about it, too. Everyone else seemed to enjoy the meal, and I couldn’t understand why I was struggling so much. I didn’t have the language for it back then. I just knew something about it felt wrong, and I couldn’t force myself past it.

So, I’d be the one to leave a full plate of food—something my grandpa (an Italian) couldn’t stand. You know Italians, they love to feed, and nothing makes them happier than an empty plate. I’d try to eat the sides, but I’m never satisfied if something on the plate is off. Like the star—the protein.

Personally, I would’ve much rather had our usual family meal—spaghetti and meatballs. That was my comfort. That was my safe food.

Spaghetti and meatballs were predictable. I knew exactly how they would taste, how the sauce would smell, and what the texture would be every single time. There were no surprises.

That was the difference for me. With spaghetti and meatballs, I never had to second-guess a bite.

Food is More Than Taste

When people think about food preferences, they often assume it comes down to flavor. But for many neurodivergent people, food is a full sensory experience.

Texture can completely throw you off balance. The smell of food can be overwhelming. Temperature can matter. Consistency can matter. Even the way foods touch each other can matter.

Even outside of meals like that, I noticed I had patterns with food.

I remember I always used to eat one thing at a time. I had my own little routine—eat the veggies first (to get them out of the way), then the second side, and eventually the main. My meals generally always consisted of a protein, a side, and a vegetable. And I just preferred to eat one thing at a time. My mom would often tell me that I should mix it together, but that sounded gross to me.

I was very sensitive to textures, smells, and flavors. If it was something chunky, forget about it. Creamy and crunchy, no way. If something smelt too strong, like the rather putrid stench of steamed broccoli, I’d become so turned off to eating that I’d skip a meal entirely because of how it smelled. And if it wasn’t right to me, I’d nearly get sick.

Sushi is one of those meals for me. I’ve never been a fan of seafood. And when it comes to sushi, it’s raw fish, wrapped in seaweed and rice—it tastes purely like the ocean. I of course wanted to try it as an adult, because everyone seemed to love it. It was “trendy,” so I tried the California roll. I couldn’t stand the smell, the taste, the texture. But it’s honestly one of those “cute” foods, so I still keep trying, even though it honestly makes me gag every time.

The foods I crave are comfort foods. Meat with mashed potatoes. Pasta with marinara sauce. Salty and sweet snacks. It’s hard to leave that comfort zone because these foods make me feel secure. I know exactly what to expect, and I know I’ll enjoy it.

Comfort Foods Become Safe Foods

I’ve noticed that during stressful periods of my life, I gravitate toward foods that feel like home. When life gets overwhelming, it’s those predictable meals that comfort me most.

There’s a reason I return to the same snacks and meals over and over again.

Every evening, I’ll cut up a Honeycrisp apple with a dollop of peanut butter. It’s something I used to eat as a kid, and something that has stayed with me into adulthood.

I notice I never get sick of it. I eat it night after night, and you’d assume I’d never want to touch it again, but that’s never been the case. The crunchiness, the juice, the flavor. I love anything apple—pies, crisps, strudels.

It’s still one of those snacks I reach for when I’m feeling overwhelmed. And for some reason, my anxiety increases a bit at night, so I need that familiarity and comfort.

The Comfort of a Slow Cooker Meal

One of my favorite sensory-friendly meals is a simple slow cooker chicken and rice recipe.

It’s soft. The flavors are gentle. The preparation is easy. And it’s deeply satisfying in a way that makes you feel held when you need it most.

Why I Love This Recipe

The texture is soft and comforting. The flavors are simple and familiar. There aren’t a lot of competing tastes or textures, which can sometimes feel overwhelming.

On days when my brain is tired, overstimulated, or just looking for something predictable, meals like this feel less like food and more like comfort.

There Is No Wrong Way to Eat

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that food doesn’t need to look a certain way to be valid. It’s more than okay to have safe foods.

Instead of asking, “Why am I so picky?” I ask, “What do I need right now?” And that has made all the difference.

Conclusion

Food is deeply personal. And for many neurodivergent people, it’s about far more than hunger. It’s about comfort, predictability, sensory regulation, and feeling safe in our own bodies.

The older I get, the more I realize there’s nothing wrong with honoring those needs.

Sometimes healing looks like trying new things.

And sometimes healing is letting yourself return to the foods that have always felt like home.

What foods make me feel safe, and what might that be telling me about my needs right now?

“We are what we eat, but we also become what we allow ourselves to feel.” — Unknown

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