I Tried to Write About Healthy Pantry Staples and Had an Existential Crisis Instead

First, can I just say this out loud?

Some mornings feel heavier than they should.

Today is one of those mornings for me.

I woke up with what I can only describe as a serious mental block. The kind where your brain feels like it’s buffering… and the little spinning wheel is just mocking you. I didn’t work out. I haven’t done anything that feels physically meaningful in months. And somewhere between the coffee and the quiet, this whisper crept in:

You’re kind of failing at this.

Failing at being disciplined.

Failing at being consistent.

Failing at being a person who “has it together.”

Failing the people who believe in you.

And maybe this is the part where I’m supposed to pivot into a triumphant monologue about how I crushed a workout and solved world hunger before 9 a.m. But no. This is the part where I tell you I sat there, staring at a blank screen, feeling like I was a failure.

Because I love writing pieces that help someone who’s scared. Someone who just wants honest information so they can make a better decision. That has always been the goal. If you’re standing in your kitchen overwhelmed, I want you to feel less alone.

And yet this morning? I couldn’t even convince myself to write about healthy pantry staples.

I thought, “Okay, let’s do something practical. Healthy pantry basics. Simple. Helpful.”

And immediately got stuck on… beans and tuna.

Beans. Tuna.

Two foods the internet insists are superfoods. Affordable. Packed with protein. Budget-friendly. “Meal prep friendly.” Words that make social media swoon.

There’s just one tiny issue.

I don’t like tuna.

And my family acts personally betrayed by beans.

So now I’m staring at the screen thinking, How am I supposed to inspire anyone to eat beans when I can’t even sell them to the people who share my last name?

This is where the spiral usually deepens.

“If you were really good at this, you’d already have a solution.”

“If you were disciplined, you’d love tuna.”

“If you were consistent, you’d have worked out.”

“If you were inspiring, you wouldn’t feel this way.”

It’s amazing how quickly our brains go from “I skipped a workout” to “I am a global disappointment.”

Honestly, if mental gymnastics burned calories, I’d be in phenomenal shape.

But somewhere between my dramatic inner monologue and my infusion of caffeine filled liquids, something shifted.

I realized maybe the problem isn’t that I don’t love tuna.

Maybe the problem is that I keep trying to convince myself I should love tuna.

Because the internet says it’s good for me.

Because fitness influencers eat it straight from the can like they’re on a survival show.

Because “serious” healthy people apparently adore beans.

And here’s the honest truth: forcing yourself to like something because it’s healthy is exhausting.

So instead of trying to become the kind of person who wakes up craving a tuna salad, I started thinking about what I do love.

Southwest flavors.

Mexican rice.

Pulled pork.

Warm, filling, slightly messy bowls of food that taste like comfort.

Suddenly beans weren’t a moral obligation. They were just… an add-in.

I searched online for Mexican rice with beans and corn. I remembered I had some left-over frozen pulled pork. And just like that, dinner transformed from “Ugh, we should eat healthier” to:

Rice + beans + corn + pulled pork = filling, cheap, high-protein meal that no one complains about.

Beans aren’t the star of the show. They are just quietly making everything more nutritious.

And maybe that’s the direction today’s article was always meant to go.

Stop trying to force yourself to love something healthy because someone on the internet said it’s a superfood.

Instead, start with what you already love.

Love tacos? Add beans to the meat.

Love pasta? Blend white beans into the sauce.

Love rice bowls? Toss in black beans and corn.

Love sandwiches? Okay fine, maybe we’ll circle back to tuna someday. I’m not ready for that kind of personal growth before noon.

The most loving thing you can do for yourself on a nutrition journey isn’t to overhaul your entire identity.

It’s to gently ask:

“What flavors do I already enjoy?”

“Where could I add something nourishing?”

“What could I swap without ruining the whole experience?”

You don’t dramatically change everything about a dish. You don’t strip it of joy. You don’t punish yourself into health.

You gradually exchange. You experiment. You let your taste buds adapt. You add the good here and remove the not-so-great there.

And maybe the same is true for how we talk to ourselves.

Instead of trying to force myself into being the perfectly disciplined, high-performing, always-motivated version of myself, maybe I start with what I already am. Someone who cares. Someone who tries. Someone who wants to do better.

That counts.

Skipping a workout doesn’t erase character. Feeling stuck doesn’t cancel a calling. Struggling doesn’t make me a failure.

It makes me human.

We all have mornings where the weight feels heavier than the circumstances justify. We all have quiet moments where we wonder if we’re letting people down. We are not uniquely broken for feeling that way. We are not dramatic. We are not weak. We are not alone. And if today all we do is add one small good thing instead of burning everything down around us and starting over, that’s enough.

Maybe today the “workout” is just taking a short walk or maybe no walk at all. Maybe the “healthy eating” is adding beans to rice instead of forcing some awful canned tuna down. Maybe the “progress” is simply not quitting when the voice in our head gets loud.

This morning I felt like I was letting myself down. But maybe what I’m actually doing is showing something more honest: even the person writing about growth still has days where he feels stuck.

And that’s okay.

We don’t need to be perfect to be helpful. We don’t need to love tuna to eat better. And we definitely don’t need to have it all together before we show up. We can figure this out together.

One imperfect, slightly bean-filled meal at a time. (I’m still not here for the tuna.)