I'm in the empty-nester phase of this whole thing, and I kept eating like I was still cooking for a family of four—except nobody was at the table, so I'd graze while standing up. This month I started making a pot of something on Sunday and packing it into four containers before I put groceries away.
That one move meant lunch stopped being a scavenger hunt. I also set out my walking shoes by the back door and did 20 minutes after dinner on 18 of the last 22 days, usually with a podcast and no pace goals.
The medication helped quiet the background chatter, but the containers and the shoes gave my evenings a shape. The scale moved a little, sure, but the bigger difference is that I'm not ending every night rummaging for something to make the day feel finished.
Has anyone else had to relearn cooking for a smaller house?