Snacks as a Life Strategy

Some people meditate. Some people journal. Some people run marathons when life gets heavy. My toxic trait? I require snacks for literally everything.

Happy? Snacks.

Sad? Snacks.

Bored? Snacks.

Spiraling into existential dread while doomscrolling at 2 a.m.? Double snacks, preferably with cheese.

I tell myself it’s quirky and harmless, but let’s be honest: it’s pathological. I cannot commit to any serious event — conversations, errands, minor catastrophes — without knowing there’s a cracker or carrot stick within arm’s reach. My purse isn’t a purse; it’s a traveling charcuterie board.

And yes, while I love my salty crackers like they’re emotional support carbs, I also genuinely love fruit and actual vegetables. (Not “veggies.” I’m not a toddler with a dinosaur plate. Call them vegetables like a grown-up, please and thank you.) Hand me an apple, some snap peas, or a pile of strawberries, and I’m good. But also: hand me Goldfish, and I will love you forever.

The point is, I don’t just eat snacks. I strategize them. I’m not packing “just in case” snacks. I’m packing “if the world ends and the zombies get me, at least I’ll have hummus” snacks.

So yes, snacks are my toxic trait. But they’re also my love language. I don’t need a knight in shining armor — I need someone who knows when to bring me a tray of grapes and crackers before I lose my sanity.

My love language is snacks. Fight me.