My 'Failure' Journal: How I Tracked My Triggers to Finally Break the Relapse Cycle

Hi, I'm Sarah, and if you're reading this, chances are you've been caught in the exhausting loop of weight loss and relapse just like I was. For years, I thought of my setbacks as failures—harsh, unforgiving proof that I lacked willpower. But what if I told you that documenting those so-called failures became the key to my freedom? This is my story of turning relapse into recovery, not through some magic pill or overnight miracle, but through honest self-reflection, tracking my triggers, and rebuilding my habits one step at a time. It's raw, it's real, and it's a reminder that you're not alone in this. Let's dive in.

Part 1: The Struggle (The 'Before')

Oh, where do I even begin? My weight loss journey started like so many others—full of hope and determination. I was in my mid-30s, a busy mom juggling a full-time job and two energetic kids. The extra pounds had crept on over the years, a mix of stress eating, late-night snacks, and skipping workouts because life just got in the way. At my heaviest, I weighed 220 pounds, and I felt it everywhere: in my aching joints, my low energy, and the way my favorite clothes no longer fit. I remember staring in the mirror, tears streaming down my face, promising myself this time would be different.

My first attempt was a classic crash diet. I cut out carbs entirely, hit the gym five days a week, and tracked every calorie like my life depended on it. The scale moved—down 25 pounds in two months! I felt invincible, posting progress pics on social media and basking in the compliments. But then, life happened. A stressful week at work led to a skipped workout, which snowballed into ordering takeout instead of cooking. Before I knew it, the cravings hit hard. I'd tell myself, "Just one cheat day," but it turned into a cheat week, then a month. The weight came back, plus a few extra pounds, and with it came the shame. Why couldn't I stick to it? Was I just weak?

This cycle repeated itself more times than I care to count. I'd lose 15-20 pounds on a new plan—keto, intermittent fasting, you name it—only to relapse when triggers like emotional stress or social events derailed me. Each failure chipped away at my self-esteem. I'd avoid mirrors, cancel plans with friends, and hide in oversized clothes. The emotional toll was brutal; I felt like a fraud, someone who could start strong but never finish. Nights were the worst—lying awake, replaying my "mistakes" and wondering if I'd ever break free. I didn't realize then that these relapses weren't random; they were patterns driven by deeper triggers I hadn't yet uncovered.

The physical side was no picnic either. My energy levels plummeted during relapses, and simple tasks like playing with my kids left me winded. I dealt with constant fatigue, mood swings, and even some health scares, like elevated blood pressure that my doctor warned could lead to bigger issues. It wasn't just about the number on the scale; it was about feeling trapped in a body that didn't feel like mine anymore. I tried therapy briefly, but it felt too vague. What I needed was a way to connect the dots between my emotions, habits, and those inevitable slip-ups.

Part 2: The Turning Point (The 'Solution')

The real shift came during what I now call my "rock bottom" moment. It was a rainy Tuesday evening, and I'd just polished off an entire pizza after a particularly rough day—argument with my spouse, deadlines piling up, and the kids being, well, kids. As I sat there, bloated and defeated, I grabbed a notebook instead of beating myself up. For the first time, I decided to journal not about my successes, but about my "failures." What led to this binge? What was I feeling? What patterns could I spot?

That notebook became my 'Failure' Journal—a safe space to track triggers without judgment. I started simple: date, time, what I ate (or didn't), my emotions, and any external factors like stress or lack of sleep. Over weeks, patterns emerged. Stress from work often led to skipping meals, which triggered intense hunger and overeating later. Social gatherings made me anxious about food choices, pushing me toward comfort foods. Even hormonal fluctuations during my cycle played a role, amplifying cravings.

As I dug deeper, I connected this to some science I'd read about. For instance, chronic stress was messing with my cortisol levels, that hormone that can ramp up appetite and fat storage, especially around the belly. Managing cortisol through stress reduction techniques can help regulate appetite and support weight loss, as I learned from reliable sources. It wasn't just in my head; my body was responding to these stressors in predictable ways.

Another eye-opener was understanding leptin resistance. Leptin is the hormone that signals fullness, but after years of yo-yo dieting, my body wasn't responding to it properly. This explained why I felt constantly hungry even after eating. Research showed that leptin resistance can be improved by consistent healthy eating and exercise habits, which motivated me to focus on sustainability over quick fixes.

Then there was habit formation—turns out, our brains love routines, but breaking bad ones takes deliberate effort. I stumbled upon the concept of cue-response-reward loops from habit science. By tracking triggers (cues), I could interrupt the cycle before it led to relapse. For example, instead of reaching for snacks during stress, I'd go for a walk or call a friend. Building new habits through small, consistent changes can rewire neural pathways for long-term success, which became my mantra.

Armed with this knowledge, I revamped my approach. No more all-or-nothing diets. I focused on mindful eating, incorporating balanced meals with veggies, proteins, and yes, even carbs in moderation. I added daily walks, not intense workouts, and prioritized sleep to manage cortisol. The journal was my anchor—reviewing it weekly helped me anticipate triggers and plan ahead. It wasn't easy; there were slip-ups, but now I viewed them as data, not defeats. Slowly, the relapses grew less frequent, and I started building momentum.

Part 3: The Success (The 'After')

Fast forward 18 months, and I've lost 60 pounds—not in a rush, but steadily, at about 1-2 pounds per month. More importantly, I've kept it off for over a year now, breaking the relapse cycle that haunted me for so long. The physical changes are incredible: I have energy to chase my kids around the park, my blood pressure is normal, and I fit into clothes I haven't worn since college. But the real transformation is mental. I no longer dread social events or beat myself up over a single indulgent meal. Food is fuel, not an enemy, and I've learned to listen to my body's signals.

Life feels lighter in every sense. I sleep better, my moods are more stable, and I've even taken up hiking as a family activity—something I never thought possible. My relationships have improved too; without the constant self-doubt, I'm more present with my loved ones. It's not perfect—triggers still pop up, like during holidays or high-stress periods—but my journal helps me navigate them. I've even shared my tracking method with friends, watching them find their own breakthroughs.

The lessons? They're hard-won but life-changing. Tracking triggers turned my "failures" into stepping stones, proving that recovery from relapse is about understanding yourself deeply, not punishing yourself harshly.

Key Lessons for Your Journey

1. Start Your Own 'Failure' Journal: Track not just what you eat, but why—emotions, stressors, and patterns. Review it weekly to spot triggers early and adjust. This builds self-awareness without judgment.

2. Prioritize Stress Management: Incorporate simple practices like walking or deep breathing to lower cortisol. Remember, consistency over intensity is key to avoiding appetite spikes and emotional eating.

3. Build Habits Gradually: Focus on one small change at a time, like adding a veggie to every meal, to rewire your brain. Celebrate progress, not perfection, to make sustainable weight loss a reality.

If my story resonates, know that your "failures" aren't the end—they're the map to your success. You've got this.