If you’ve ever said, “I just need something to help me get through the day,” this episode is for you. Because food isn’t your friend. And neither is quitting on yourself in the name of comfort.
Hey everyone! Welcome to The Arm Coach podcast, episode 79!
How’s your summer going?
I just got back from Iowa. I was visiting family and friends, no big trip or holiday this time. Just that Midwest kind of summer where the humidity hits you like a wet blanket and every night smells like grilled meat and bug spray. You know the vibe.
And I’ve gotta tell you, it felt really good to be back. I saw my longtime friend Robin—we go way back—and she’s one of those people who’s known me through every version of myself. The messy years. The trying-too-hard years. The start-and-stop-over-again years.
She was there when I used to say things like, “I just don’t have the body type for toned arms,” while grabbing a second plate of potato salad. She watched me make all the excuses, skip workouts, complain about my arms but do absolutely nothing consistent to change them.
And honestly? That kind of friendship is rare. You know, when someone’s seen the behind-the-scenes footage and still shows up for the highlight reel.
It’s easy when you go through a big change—like deciding you’re done with quitting on yourself every Monday morning—to want to erase the past. To pretend the old patterns and half-starts never existed. But I think it’s powerful to have people in your life who know the whole you. The soft version. The strong version. The scared version. The version that said, “This summer I will wear tank tops” and the version that said, “Maybe next year.”
And speaking of staying connected—Robin and I started this new thing last year that has totally changed our friendship. We leave each other short voice memos. Nothing big. No pressure. Just those little 30-second real-life updates. “Hey, just walked out of the gym. My arms are shaking.” Or, “I just ate a salad the size of a dinner plate and I’m still hungry. Is this what progress feels like?”
And I live for them. It’s not some big text chain or social media highlight. It’s private. Personal. Honest. And I swear, hearing her voice in my headphones while I’m unloading groceries or walking the neighborhood—it feels like getting a handwritten note from the universe. Like someone still sees me. Still gets me.
So why am I telling you this? What do voice memos have to do with toned arms?
Because today I want to talk to you about what makes for a good friend. And more importantly—why we keep trying to treat things like food or skipping workouts or comfort as if they are friends.
I’ve had so many women tell me, “Ugh, giving up that nighttime snacking feels like saying goodbye to an old friend.” Or “I know I should do my arm workout, but staying on the couch feels like a warm hug I can’t walk away from.”
And I want to challenge that.
Is it really a friend… if it’s holding you back?
So let’s break this down.
What is a friend?
A friend is someone you know and share a mutual bond of affection with. That word—mutual—is key. It goes both ways. That’s what makes it a relationship, right? Not just you giving all your energy and emotion to someone (or something) that gives nothing back.
That’s why I told you about the voice memos Robin and I send each other. I don’t just pour out my heart into thin air—she sends something back. We’re both invested. We both care.
Now here’s the part that might sting a little:
When you tell yourself that late-night snacking is your “comfort”...
Or that skipping your workout is “just being kind to yourself”...
Or that giving in to every craving is “self-care”...
I want you to stop and ask:
Is this mutual?
Is this thing I’m calling a friend actually giving anything back to me?
Because here’s the truth:
That pint of ice cream you call your emotional support?
That comfy couch you never get up from?
That bowl of salty snacks that feels like a hug after a long day?
They don’t love you back.
They don’t care how hard your day was.
They don’t care if you’re trying to change your life.
They don’t even notice you.
If someone else came along and ate your comfort snack, took your spot on the couch, or skipped your workout for you, none of those things would rise up and protest. They’re inanimate. They’re not friends. They’re not rooting for your stronger, more powerful version.
You might have feelings for them.
But they have zero feelings for you.
So why do we keep calling these things friends?
Because they’ve become our go-to way to cope.
Because when we’re bored, lonely, frustrated, tired, or overwhelmed—we’ve trained ourselves to reach for something that will give us just a little hit of dopamine. A tiny break from the discomfort. A numbing moment of relief.
And most of the time, we don’t even realize we’re doing it.
For me, that pattern started young. Probably around 10 or 11, food became my fix-it button. And I see it now in the women I work with—so many of them learned early on that a snack was easier than a feeling. That rest was easier than recommitment. That comfort was easier than consistency.
But here’s what no one tells you:
Every time you reach for something that doesn’t love you back, you reinforce a belief that you’re not strong enough to handle your life as-is.
Now if you’ve been around this podcast for a while, you already know:
Using food, rest, or avoidance to soothe yourself over and over again?
It’s not a sustainable solution.
It does two things.
First, it builds dependency.
Not on pills or alcohol in this case—but on skipping.
Skipping the workout. Skipping the plan. Skipping the discomfort of showing up.
It becomes your default setting every time a negative emotion shows up—stress, overwhelm, insecurity, loneliness, frustration. Instead of confronting those emotions, you silence them with a snack or a scroll. And because that coping strategy numbs what you feel, you never get the chance to actually look at what’s causing it in the first place.
Remember the think-feel-act cycle we talk about inside Arms By Kristine?
Your thoughts create your feelings. Your feelings drive your actions. So if your action is “snack on peanut butter while standing in the pantry,” you can bet it’s tied to a feeling like boredom or anxiety—and that’s being generated by a thought you probably haven’t questioned yet.
That’s one reason we trick ourselves into thinking comfort habits are our friends.
They temporarily take the edge off—but never get to the root.
But there’s another reason that’s even sneakier.
We reach for these things because they don’t require vulnerability.
And listen—I know that word might make you cringe. Vulnerability gets a bad rap. But vulnerability is not weakness.
Vulnerability is that moment when you're open. When you're real. When you're exposed. It’s the moment when you say, “Hey, I’m not okay right now.”
Or, “I’m tired of feeling like a stranger in my own body.”
Or even, “I haven’t followed through on anything in weeks, and I feel like a failure.”
Asking for help? Vulnerable.
Sending your coach a message instead of ghosting? Vulnerable.
Showing up for a workout when your brain is yelling, “You’re too far gone for this to matter”? Extremely vulnerable.
But here's the thing—vulnerability comes with risk.
You don’t know how it’ll be received. You’re exposing something soft, something real.
And that feels scary. So instead, we grab the easy option.
A snack won’t judge you.
Your couch won’t question you.
Your skipped workout won’t ask why you didn’t show up.
Food doesn’t say no. Skipping doesn’t reject you.
But you also get nothing real in return.
That’s the trap.
We bypass the harder route—the one that actually leads to transformation—because the easy route feels emotionally safer in the moment.
But it’s keeping you stuck in the same cycle:
Want more. Try a little. Quit quietly. Blame life. Numb out. Repeat.
So yeah—those are the two big reasons we end up fooling ourselves into thinking that food, or comfort, or skipping the plan is somehow our friend.
First, it becomes a habit. You reach for it when you're overwhelmed, when you’re stressed, when you just don’t want to feel what you’re feeling. And second, it’s just easy. There’s no risk involved. You’re not putting yourself out there. You’re not having to explain anything to anyone. You just quietly reach for whatever soothes the discomfort in the moment, and no one—not even yourself—has to know what’s really going on.
And the thing is, that feels really safe. Food doesn’t ask you to be vulnerable. The couch doesn’t question your commitment. The skipped workout doesn’t challenge you to grow. These things don’t talk back. They don’t require anything from you. They just sit there, waiting to be chosen. And we tell ourselves, “Well, this is my comfort. This is my relief. This is the one thing that doesn’t let me down.”
But let’s be honest—does it actually support you? Or does it just numb you?
And listen, I’ve talked before about how alcohol lights up your brain with dopamine, but the same thing is true with food. Especially certain kinds of food—highly processed, sugary, salty, fatty foods. The stuff that’s designed to make you want more. It’s not random. There’s science behind it.
And that’s why no one’s ever said, “You know what makes me feel really safe and comforted? Steamed cabbage.” Right? You’re not standing in front of the fridge in tears looking for a hug from a bowl of broccoli. That’s not how it works.
But chocolate? Ice cream? Chips? The peanut butter spoon you sneak when no one’s looking? That’s the stuff that gives your brain that little rush. That momentary pleasure hit. And because it’s easy and reliable and always available, it starts to feel like a friend.
Except it’s not.
It’s not loving you back. It’s not helping you become the version of you that you keep telling yourself you want to be. It’s just helping you avoid the truth of what you're feeling.
And when we really slow down and look at that, it’s kind of sobering. Because we’ve built this little relationship with something that doesn’t actually care about us. It’s not lifting us up. It’s not cheering us on. It’s just keeping us stuck.
So here’s the question I want you to think about next: if something helps you avoid vulnerability, never challenges you, and requires nothing from you—can we really call that a friend?
And if not... what does a real friend look like? What are the actual qualities that define friendship, especially when it comes to showing up for yourself and becoming the kind of woman who keeps her word?
So let’s talk about what actually makes someone a good friend.
I came up with five qualities I think are non-negotiable. And later on, I want you to come up with your own list. You might have more to add, or you might want to swap some out. But these five? These are the ones I come back to again and again—not just in the people I choose to have in my life, but in the way I show up for myself too.
The first one? A real friend pushes you to be kinder to yourself.
And I don’t mean in a “treat yourself” kind of way. I mean the voice of someone who actually cares about how you’re speaking to yourself when no one else can hear you.
You’ve heard me say this before—your self-talk is everything. It’s the foundation of all the work we do with the think-feel-act cycle. And if you’re walking around all day with a brain that’s whispering, “You’re behind. You’re failing. Your arms are hopeless. You always quit…”—then it’s no wonder your actions aren’t matching your goals.
Now when I start working with clients and we really start paying attention to that internal dialogue, most of them are shocked. Because once you become aware of the thoughts that are on repeat all day long, it’s like—wait a minute. I would never talk to a friend like this. I would never say, “You’re lazy. You’re disgusting. You’ll never change.” So why do we say those things to ourselves?
That’s why having a real friend—someone who models self-kindness and reminds you that growth doesn’t require cruelty—is so powerful. It changes how you talk to yourself. It softens you. It shows you what’s possible.
And let’s be clear: food can’t do that. Skipping your workout can’t teach you how to speak to yourself with compassion. Eating to avoid your feelings doesn’t lead to self-respect. Those things can only teach you how to disappear. How to zone out. How to go numb.
That’s not kindness. That’s avoidance.
Now, here’s the second quality of a true friend: they tell you the truth—even when it’s uncomfortable.
This one hits deep. Because we all want support, but not everyone wants to be called out. And yet, real friendship? It’s not afraid of awkward conversations. It’s not afraid to say, “Hey, I love you, but I think you’re avoiding something.” Or, “You keep saying you want this, but your actions aren’t lining up.”
That kind of honesty is rare. I can count on one hand the people in my life who are brave enough to say, “Kristine, you’re off here. You’re making excuses. You’re better than this.”
And even though hearing it is never fun, I treasure those people. Because I know they’re not trying to shame me—they’re trying to wake me up. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need. Not another spoonful of peanut butter. Not another excuse to skip today and try again Monday. We need someone to lovingly, firmly say, “This isn’t working. You deserve more than this.”
Okay, the third quality of a real friend—and this one might be my favorite—is that they support you through adversity because they’re fully present. They’re not just physically there; they’re emotionally and mentally tuned in. They’re listening. They see you.
Now think about that. To really be present with someone, you have to be conscious. You have to be grounded in your body. You can’t be checked out or distracted or numbing. You have to feel your own emotions and stay open enough to hold space for someone else’s.
That’s why relying on food—or that habitual “I’ll just rest instead” choice—doesn’t work the way we wish it would. It doesn’t tune you in. It tunes you out. You’re not connecting, you’re disconnecting. You’re not being present with yourself—you’re slipping into autopilot.
And I think when you’re going through something hard—when life feels heavy, or your motivation is gone, or your progress has stalled—what you need most is someone who can just be there. They don’t need to fix it or give you the perfect pep talk. They just need to hold space and really listen. No advice. No judgment. Just presence.
That’s real friendship. And no amount of snacking or scrolling or snoozing through your goals is ever going to replicate that feeling.
Now, the fourth quality is this: a real friend accepts you exactly as you are—no conditions, no performance required.
And that kind of unconditional acceptance is rare. Most of us go through life constantly wondering if we’re enough. If we’re doing it right. If we’re too much or not enough or falling behind. But a true friend quiets all of that. They don’t need you to be perfect or polished or “back on track.” They just love you for you.
I think about my friend Robin when I say this. We can go months without talking and pick up like no time has passed. There’s no pressure to prove anything. We’re just fully ourselves. No pretending. No filtering. We just meet each other exactly where we are.
That’s what acceptance feels like. It’s this deep comfort, this sense of being seen and safe at the same time.
And again—food can’t do that. Skipping a workout can’t love you unconditionally. That bag of chips? It doesn’t care who you are or how you’re feeling. It’s just there. It’s not accepting you. It’s not seeing you. It’s just letting you disappear for a little while.
And finally, the fifth quality of a true friend is this: they help you grow. Not by pushing or preaching—but by holding space for your full, messy, beautiful self.
A real friend gives you permission to be imperfect. To make mistakes. To be in-process. And when someone gives you that kind of space—when they see all your flaws and they still stick around—it becomes so much easier to start showing up as the real you, not just with them, but in the rest of your life too.
That kind of presence and acceptance—it’s how we learn to grow. Not by being shamed into changing, but by being loved into expansion.
So those are the five qualities I come back to when I think about what real friendship looks like: kindness, honesty, presence, acceptance, and growth.
Now I want you to hold that list in your mind—and ask yourself, when you’re turning to food to numb out, or zoning out on the couch instead of moving your body, or telling yourself you’ll “start again Monday”… do any of those qualities show up?
Because I know how I show up in those moments.
When I’m disconnecting—eating more than I want, mindlessly scrolling, tuning out instead of tuning in—I’m not in my body. I’m not in the room. I’m just… checked out.
I’m not connected to my hunger, to my emotions, to my environment. I’m not noticing how I feel or what I need. I’m not being kind to myself—I’m avoiding myself.
And if I go back to the old version of me, the one who used food as her go-to emotional comfort? I know exactly what that looked like. I'd be zoning out while snacking, not tasting, not enjoying, just escaping. I’d end up uncomfortably full, sometimes even feeling sick, and not just physically—but emotionally. Like, “Why did I do that again?”
It wasn’t soothing.
It wasn’t empowering.
It wasn’t growth.
It was unconsciousness. A way to disappear from what was hard. And when you really think about it, that’s the opposite of friendship. That’s not someone helping you rise—it’s something keeping you stuck.
So that’s how I used to show up when I believed food or comfort was my “friend.”
But looking back… that version of me? That behavior? That was a terrible friend.
There was no mutual support. No real kindness. No presence. No growth. Just me, checking out. Me, disconnecting. Me, trying to convince myself that zoning out in the pantry or quitting halfway through my goals was somehow “supportive.” That’s not friendship. That’s avoidance.
So I want you to really think about how you show up when you’re eating more than you want to… when you’re skipping the plan again… when you’re using food or rest or comfort to escape your feelings. Are you actually supporting yourself? Or are you avoiding vulnerability?
Because food will never say no. Skipping the workout will never tell you the truth. That dopamine hit from overeating won’t ask you to look deeper or get honest with yourself. It just lets you float away from the discomfort—but nothing actually changes.
So here’s what I want you to sit with this week:
If stepping into a new routine—or stepping out of a comfort pattern—feels like you're losing a friend… then maybe the question to ask is: What kind of friend do you actually need right now?
Maybe that’s a real person in your life.
Or maybe—maybe it’s you.
Maybe the next layer of your transformation comes from learning how to be a better friend to yourself.
And that starts with the way you speak to yourself when no one else is listening. Pay attention to your self-talk this week. Would a real friend say those things to you? Would they call you lazy, undisciplined, or hopeless—or would they remind you that progress isn’t always pretty, and you’re still worthy in the process?
If you’re not quite ready to reach out to someone else yet, that’s okay. You can begin by reaching inward. Start practicing the kind of friendship you want—not with food, not with avoidance, but with your own inner voice.
You can even make a list of what you value in a friend—what qualities matter most to you. Then ask yourself honestly: is food offering me any of these things? Is skipping my workout helping me become the version of me I’ve said I want to be?
Because I’ll say it again—comfort food doesn’t care about you. You might care about it, but the relationship is one-sided. It just sits there, waiting. It never gives back.
And you?
You deserve more than that.
All right, that’s it for today. If you want to share your own list of friendship qualities—or if there’s a topic you’d love me to cover on the show—you can email me anytime at
[email protected]. I love hearing from you.
And until next time, be kind to yourself. Show up. And remember, you don’t need to numb your life to enjoy it. You’re allowed to feel it all—and still get strong.
I’ll see you next week.
