Guest Contributor As Penelope Mazzetti
As Penelope Mazzetti, I write about the intersection of eating disorder recovery, body dysmorphia, trauma, and neurodivergence.
Dopamine, Not Discipline: The ADHD–Eating Disorder Link I Was Missing
"As ADHD brains like mine are chronically low in dopamine — which we all need for motivation, pleasure, and focus — we are wired to seek stimulation. And food just happens to be fast, legal, and always available."
Growing up, food was never neutral. It was moralized, restricted, praised, shamed, and sometimes used as punishment long before I had words for it. By age 8, I was already trapped in a restrict-binge cycle. My family had long told me I wasn’t allowed to have food that would “make me fat.” So I resorted to hiding sweets and sneaking foods in an act of rebellion.
I felt out of control around certain foods and completely uninterested in others. I chased diets, lost and gained hundreds of pounds, and eventually landed in eating disorder treatment as an adult for atypical anorexia and binge-eating disorder. (I can’t be classically diagnosed with anorexia because I live in a large body, even when I am in a calorie deficit)
Convinced I was the problem, I blamed myself for what I now understand was my nervous system desperately trying to regulate itself.
Chasing Dopamine
One day in eating disorder treatment, a clinician noticed that I was adding chips to the inside of my sandwich, something I had been doing for as long as I could remember. When she asked me why I did that, my response was simple: “I like my food to crunch.”
But I didn’t just like the crunch. I needed it. Chips. Crackers. Extra crunchy bacon. Anything with resistance. Anything loud. Anything that gave my brain a sharp sensory hit.
The truth is that crunchy things ground me. The crunch focuses me and cuts through the constant chitchat in my brain in a way soft foods never could.
That’s when it clicked. For the first time, I began to see that my eating behaviors weren’t just about taste or hunger. My “out-of-control eating” wasn’t an issue of willpower; it was partly sensory-seeking behavior, a well-documented ADHD trait.
My Eating Disorder Is About More Than Food
People with ADHD are significantly more likely to develop eating disorders, especially binge eating disorder and anorexia. Dopamine is thought to play a role in that connection. As ADHD brains like mine are chronically low in dopamine — which we all need for motivation, pleasure, and focus — we are wired to seek stimulation. And food just happens to be fast, legal, and always available.
ADHD symptoms explain much more than the sensory-seeking aspect of my eating behaviors. Hyperfocus means I can forget to eat for extended periods. Poor interoceptive awareness means I can’t reliably feel hunger or fullness. Emotional dysregulation means feelings hit hard and fast, and food becomes the farthest thing from my mind.
So it’s not that I lack self-control. I’m chasing dopamine. And I realized that recovery from disordered eating is going to be so much harder for me and my neurospicy brain.
In treatment, I also learned that my eating disorder had very little to do with food and everything to do with coping. Control, dopamine, sensory input, grief, trauma; my brain needed more support than it was ever given.
Traditional eating disorder advice assumes a neurotypical brain: Just eat regularly and plan ahead. Listen to your body. But for someone with ADHD, this advice feels impossible. I know, as I spent decades believing I was failing my body. Shame rushes in when we fail to follow through, which only adds fuel to the eating disorder.
Recovery That Honors My Brain
Recovery, for me, doesn’t come from rigid meal plans or white-knuckling urges. It comes from understanding my ADHD and working with it instead of against it. It comes from building structures without punishment, allowing sensory accommodations without shame, and learning that “healthy” does not always equal small.
If you have ADHD and struggle with food, you are not broken. You are not weak. You are not doing recovery wrong. You are neurodivergent in a world (and in a treatment system) that still doesn’t fully understand how our brains work.
Understanding the connection between ADHD and eating disorders didn’t erase my past, but it gave me language and a framework for my brain and body that finally allowed me to begin healing.
Penelope Mazzetti: Contributor
Penny writes at the intersection of eating disorder recovery, body dysmorphia, trauma, and neurodivergence.
Penelope Mazzetti is a writer, memoirist, and late-diagnosed ADHDer who spent most of her life believing she was simply “bad at being a person.” Long before she understood her ADHD, she underwent a vertical sleeve gastrectomy in pursuit of “skinny,” convinced that shrinking her body would solve every problem in life.
In 2022, after the devastating loss of someone she loved sent her into a severe restrict-binge cycle, Penny admitted herself to The Renfrew Center, terrified of what her body and her mind were enduring. That turning point forced a reckoning: The problem was never a lack of willpower. It was unresolved grief, untreated ADHD, and a nervous system stuck in survival mode.
A graduate of Temple University now living in Baltimore, she is writing a memoir that braids together the impact of late-identified ADHD, her lifelong battle with disordered eating body dysmorphia, the aftermath of bariatric surgery, and the quiet devastation of dreams deferred by capital-T Trauma. Her stories dismantle the lie that smaller is better, asking instead what happens when a woman refuses to disappear.
Some of her early work has appeared in the Renfrew Connections Alumni Newsletter and Voyage Baltimore online magazine. She lives with two cats, a restless mind, and an unwavering belief that telling the truth, especially the uncomfortable kind, can set people free.
Guest Contributor As Penelope Mazzetti
As Penelope Mazzetti, I write about the intersection of eating disorder recovery, body dysmorphia, trauma, and neurodivergence.
Dopamine, Not Discipline: The ADHD–Eating Disorder Link I Was Missing
"As ADHD brains like mine are chronically low in dopamine — which we all need for motivation, pleasure, and focus — we are wired to seek stimulation. And food just happens to be fast, legal, and always available."
Growing up, food was never neutral. It was moralized, restricted, praised, shamed, and sometimes used as punishment long before I had words for it. By age 8, I was already trapped in a restrict-binge cycle. My family had long told me I wasn’t allowed to have food that would “make me fat.” So I resorted to hiding sweets and sneaking foods in an act of rebellion.
I felt out of control around certain foods and completely uninterested in others. I chased diets, lost and gained hundreds of pounds, and eventually landed in eating disorder treatment as an adult for atypical anorexia and binge-eating disorder. (I can’t be classically diagnosed with anorexia because I live in a large body, even when I am in a calorie deficit)
Convinced I was the problem, I blamed myself for what I now understand was my nervous system desperately trying to regulate itself.
Chasing Dopamine
One day in eating disorder treatment, a clinician noticed that I was adding chips to the inside of my sandwich, something I had been doing for as long as I could remember. When she asked me why I did that, my response was simple: “I like my food to crunch.”
But I didn’t just like the crunch. I needed it. Chips. Crackers. Extra crunchy bacon. Anything with resistance. Anything loud. Anything that gave my brain a sharp sensory hit.
The truth is that crunchy things ground me. The crunch focuses me and cuts through the constant chitchat in my brain in a way soft foods never could.
That’s when it clicked. For the first time, I began to see that my eating behaviors weren’t just about taste or hunger. My “out-of-control eating” wasn’t an issue of willpower; it was partly sensory-seeking behavior, a well-documented ADHD trait.
My Eating Disorder Is About More Than Food
People with ADHD are significantly more likely to develop eating disorders, especially binge eating disorder and anorexia. Dopamine is thought to play a role in that connection. As ADHD brains like mine are chronically low in dopamine — which we all need for motivation, pleasure, and focus — we are wired to seek stimulation. And food just happens to be fast, legal, and always available.
ADHD symptoms explain much more than the sensory-seeking aspect of my eating behaviors. Hyperfocus means I can forget to eat for extended periods. Poor interoceptive awareness means I can’t reliably feel hunger or fullness. Emotional dysregulation means feelings hit hard and fast, and food becomes the farthest thing from my mind.
So it’s not that I lack self-control. I’m chasing dopamine. And I realized that recovery from disordered eating is going to be so much harder for me and my neurospicy brain.
In treatment, I also learned that my eating disorder had very little to do with food and everything to do with coping. Control, dopamine, sensory input, grief, trauma; my brain needed more support than it was ever given.
Traditional eating disorder advice assumes a neurotypical brain: Just eat regularly and plan ahead. Listen to your body. But for someone with ADHD, this advice feels impossible. I know, as I spent decades believing I was failing my body. Shame rushes in when we fail to follow through, which only adds fuel to the eating disorder.
Recovery That Honors My Brain
Recovery, for me, doesn’t come from rigid meal plans or white-knuckling urges. It comes from understanding my ADHD and working with it instead of against it. It comes from building structures without punishment, allowing sensory accommodations without shame, and learning that “healthy” does not always equal small.
If you have ADHD and struggle with food, you are not broken. You are not weak. You are not doing recovery wrong. You are neurodivergent in a world (and in a treatment system) that still doesn’t fully understand how our brains work.
Understanding the connection between ADHD and eating disorders didn’t erase my past, but it gave me language and a framework for my brain and body that finally allowed me to begin healing.
Penelope Mazzetti: Contributor
Penny writes at the intersection of eating disorder recovery, body dysmorphia, trauma, and neurodivergence.
Penelope Mazzetti is a writer, memoirist, and late-diagnosed ADHDer who spent most of her life believing she was simply “bad at being a person.” Long before she understood her ADHD, she underwent a vertical sleeve gastrectomy in pursuit of “skinny,” convinced that shrinking her body would solve every problem in life.
In 2022, after the devastating loss of someone she loved sent her into a severe restrict-binge cycle, Penny admitted herself to The Renfrew Center, terrified of what her body and her mind were enduring. That turning point forced a reckoning: The problem was never a lack of willpower. It was unresolved grief, untreated ADHD, and a nervous system stuck in survival mode.
A graduate of Temple University now living in Baltimore, she is writing a memoir that braids together the impact of late-identified ADHD, her lifelong battle with disordered eating body dysmorphia, the aftermath of bariatric surgery, and the quiet devastation of dreams deferred by capital-T Trauma. Her stories dismantle the lie that smaller is better, asking instead what happens when a woman refuses to disappear.
Some of her early work has appeared in the Renfrew Connections Alumni Newsletter and Voyage Baltimore online magazine. She lives with two cats, a restless mind, and an unwavering belief that telling the truth, especially the uncomfortable kind, can set people free.
Guest Contributor As Penelope Mazzetti
As Penelope Mazzetti, I write about the intersection of eating disorder recovery, body dysmorphia, trauma, and neurodivergence.
Dopamine, Not Discipline: The ADHD–Eating Disorder Link I Was Missing
"As ADHD brains like mine are chronically low in dopamine — which we all need for motivation, pleasure, and focus — we are wired to seek stimulation. And food just happens to be fast, legal, and always available."
Growing up, food was never neutral. It was moralized, restricted, praised, shamed, and sometimes used as punishment long before I had words for it. By age 8, I was already trapped in a restrict-binge cycle. My family had long told me I wasn’t allowed to have food that would “make me fat.” So I resorted to hiding sweets and sneaking foods in an act of rebellion.
I felt out of control around certain foods and completely uninterested in others. I chased diets, lost and gained hundreds of pounds, and eventually landed in eating disorder treatment as an adult for atypical anorexia and binge-eating disorder. (I can’t be classically diagnosed with anorexia because I live in a large body, even when I am in a calorie deficit)
Convinced I was the problem, I blamed myself for what I now understand was my nervous system desperately trying to regulate itself.
Chasing Dopamine
One day in eating disorder treatment, a clinician noticed that I was adding chips to the inside of my sandwich, something I had been doing for as long as I could remember. When she asked me why I did that, my response was simple: “I like my food to crunch.”
But I didn’t just like the crunch. I needed it. Chips. Crackers. Extra crunchy bacon. Anything with resistance. Anything loud. Anything that gave my brain a sharp sensory hit.
The truth is that crunchy things ground me. The crunch focuses me and cuts through the constant chitchat in my brain in a way soft foods never could.
That’s when it clicked. For the first time, I began to see that my eating behaviors weren’t just about taste or hunger. My “out-of-control eating” wasn’t an issue of willpower; it was partly sensory-seeking behavior, a well-documented ADHD trait.
My Eating Disorder Is About More Than Food
People with ADHD are significantly more likely to develop eating disorders, especially binge eating disorder and anorexia. Dopamine is thought to play a role in that connection. As ADHD brains like mine are chronically low in dopamine — which we all need for motivation, pleasure, and focus — we are wired to seek stimulation. And food just happens to be fast, legal, and always available.
ADHD symptoms explain much more than the sensory-seeking aspect of my eating behaviors. Hyperfocus means I can forget to eat for extended periods. Poor interoceptive awareness means I can’t reliably feel hunger or fullness. Emotional dysregulation means feelings hit hard and fast, and food becomes the farthest thing from my mind.
So it’s not that I lack self-control. I’m chasing dopamine. And I realized that recovery from disordered eating is going to be so much harder for me and my neurospicy brain.
In treatment, I also learned that my eating disorder had very little to do with food and everything to do with coping. Control, dopamine, sensory input, grief, trauma; my brain needed more support than it was ever given.
Traditional eating disorder advice assumes a neurotypical brain: Just eat regularly and plan ahead. Listen to your body. But for someone with ADHD, this advice feels impossible. I know, as I spent decades believing I was failing my body. Shame rushes in when we fail to follow through, which only adds fuel to the eating disorder.
Recovery That Honors My Brain
Recovery, for me, doesn’t come from rigid meal plans or white-knuckling urges. It comes from understanding my ADHD and working with it instead of against it. It comes from building structures without punishment, allowing sensory accommodations without shame, and learning that “healthy” does not always equal small.
If you have ADHD and struggle with food, you are not broken. You are not weak. You are not doing recovery wrong. You are neurodivergent in a world (and in a treatment system) that still doesn’t fully understand how our brains work.
Understanding the connection between ADHD and eating disorders didn’t erase my past, but it gave me language and a framework for my brain and body that finally allowed me to begin healing.
Penelope Mazzetti: Contributor
Penny writes at the intersection of eating disorder recovery, body dysmorphia, trauma, and neurodivergence.
Penelope Mazzetti is a writer, memoirist, and late-diagnosed ADHDer who spent most of her life believing she was simply “bad at being a person.” Long before she understood her ADHD, she underwent a vertical sleeve gastrectomy in pursuit of “skinny,” convinced that shrinking her body would solve every problem in life.
In 2022, after the devastating loss of someone she loved sent her into a severe restrict-binge cycle, Penny admitted herself to The Renfrew Center, terrified of what her body and her mind were enduring. That turning point forced a reckoning: The problem was never a lack of willpower. It was unresolved grief, untreated ADHD, and a nervous system stuck in survival mode.
A graduate of Temple University now living in Baltimore, she is writing a memoir that braids together the impact of late-identified ADHD, her lifelong battle with disordered eating body dysmorphia, the aftermath of bariatric surgery, and the quiet devastation of dreams deferred by capital-T Trauma. Her stories dismantle the lie that smaller is better, asking instead what happens when a woman refuses to disappear.
Some of her early work has appeared in the Renfrew Connections Alumni Newsletter and Voyage Baltimore online magazine. She lives with two cats, a restless mind, and an unwavering belief that telling the truth, especially the uncomfortable kind, can set people free.