The first time I really noticed it, I was standing in front of the open fridge at 11 p.m., wrapped in my old blue dressing gown. My sixtieth birthday had passed a few months earlier. My life looked the same. My appetite did not.
I wasn’t exactly hungry, not exactly full either. I just felt a kind of buzzing emptiness. A restlessness that seemed to live in my stomach and my throat at the same time.
There was half a cheese, a slice of cake, some yogurt. I stared at them all like they were going to answer a question I hadn’t understood yet.
Something in me wanted… something else.
I just didn’t know what.
When hunger stops meaning what you think it means
Around 60, my appetite started behaving like a stranger. Old reference points slipped. Breakfast didn’t appeal every morning. Some days I could go until 3 p.m. on a coffee and a biscuit, then suddenly raid the kitchen like a teenager after school.
The signals were mixed.
Sometimes my mouth wanted food but my body felt heavy. Other times, my stomach was calm, yet my hands automatically reached for the biscuit tin as soon as the evening news started.
That’s when I began asking myself a simple question: “Am I hungry in my stomach, or somewhere else?”
One afternoon, after an argument with my son on the phone, I found myself in front of the breadboard. I had made two slices of toast, then four, then six. Half a stick of butter disappeared without me really tasting any of it.
Half an hour later, I wasn’t comforted.
I was just tired and slightly disgusted. The problem hadn’t moved an inch, but the scale had.
A week later, different scene. I came back from a walk in the park, cheeks flushed from the cold. Same kitchen, same bread, same butter. This time I made a single slice, ate it slowly, and felt deeply satisfied. That day I understood: the context around my appetite changed everything. The bread was the same. I wasn’t.
I started reading, listening, asking questions. Doctors were talking about hormones that shift after 50, about ghrelin and leptin, about sleep that fragments and changes our hunger signals. Psychologists talked about “emotional eating”, about loneliness that dresses up as an urge for chocolate or crunchy chips.
It began to click. My appetite wasn’t “broken”. It was trying to speak a new language. Sometimes it said, “I’m low on protein.” Sometimes it said, “I’m bored.” Sometimes it whispered, “I’m sad and I don’t know what to do with that.”
Once I stopped treating every signal as a call for food, I could start listening differently. And that changed everything in front of the fridge.
Learning to translate what the body is really asking for
The small habit that helped me the most is ridiculously simple. Before eating, I pause. Ten seconds, not more. One hand on my belly, one sentence in my head: “What kind of hunger is this?”
I run through a quick little checklist. Stomach: does it actually feel empty, warm, slightly hollow? Mouth: am I craving a specific taste, salty, sweet, crunchy? Head: is there a worry looping in my brain, a silence that weighs more than usual?
If the hunger is mostly in my mouth and my head, I don’t forbid myself food. I just tell myself the truth: “This is comfort, not fuel.” The food stops being an automatic pilot. It becomes a conscious choice.
The trap at our age is to either ignore appetite completely or treat it like the enemy. Some friends go from strict diets to total give-up mode, depending on the week. Others push through the day with two coffees, then wonder why they eat the whole cheese in front of the TV.
We’ve all been there, that moment when the packet of biscuits is suddenly empty and you don’t even remember the taste of the last three.
Blaming yourself doesn’t help. What helps is getting curious. Did you sleep badly last night? Did you drink hardly any water all afternoon? Have you spoken to someone today or was it just the radio? So often my “mysterious appetite” was just thirst, fatigue, or plain old loneliness disguised as a craving for something sweet.
Sometimes in the evening, when the urge to snack got loud, I tested a strange experiment: I didn’t open the cupboard. I opened my notebook. I wrote the sentence, “Right now my body is asking for…” and finished it quickly, without thinking too much.
The answers surprised me. “A hug.” “Five minutes of silence.” “A good cry.” “A hot shower.” Almost never: “Four biscuits.”
- When my body wanted safety, I tended to crave warm, soft foods: mashed potatoes, bread, sweet tea. I learned to also offer it a phone call with a friend or a blanket and a book.
- When my body wanted stimulation, the cravings were crunchy and salty: crisps, nuts, crackers. Sometimes what helped more was a walk around the block or a podcast that woke up my brain.
- When my body wanted rest, I wasn’t actually hungry. I was just exhausted. Going to bed 30 minutes earlier calmed my appetite more than any yogurt ever did.
Giving appetite a new place after 60
With time, I stopped seeing my changing appetite as a problem to fix and started treating it like a message board. Some days, the note said: “Eat more real food.” Other days, it said: “You haven’t laughed with anyone in three days.”
I began planning my meals a bit, not like a strict program, more like a kindness to my future self. Simple plates, real ingredients, some protein at each meal, a bit of color. When those bases were there, the wild, confusing cravings calmed down.
*Let’s be honest: nobody really does this every single day.* But the days I managed it, the fridge at 11 p.m. lost a lot of its power.
I also allowed myself genuine pleasure. A square of dark chocolate eaten slowly on the balcony. A slice of cake at my granddaughter’s birthday without the usual mental spreadsheet of calories.
What changed was not the food, it was the contract. Food was no longer my only response to stress, boredom, or sadness. It became one tool among others. Sometimes I still eat emotionally. I’m human, not a robot.
Yet more often, when my appetite confuses me now, I pause and ask: “What are you really asking for?” And surprisingly often, my body answers clearly, if I give it enough silence to speak.
Around me, friends of the same age are starting to spot their own patterns. One feels “hungry” every time she sits alone on Sunday evenings. Another has sugar cravings that explode on the days she skips her afternoon walk.
These are not failures. They’re clues. They tell us where life pinches, where something wants to be recalibrated: sleep, movement, connection, meaning.
Maybe that’s one of the secret gifts of passing 60. The body stops whispering and starts raising its voice. Appetite becomes less about discipline and more about dialogue. And the question stops being “How do I control myself?” and turns into “How do I listen better?”
We are not just hungry for food, after all.
We are hungry for a life that still tastes of something.
| Key point | Detail | Value for the reader |
|---|---|---|
| Different kinds of hunger | Distinguish physical, emotional, and sensory hunger with a 10-second check-in | Helps reduce mindless eating and guilt |
| Context shapes appetite | Sleep, loneliness, stress, and routine shifts after 60 change signals | Explains “strange” cravings and normalizes body changes |
| Small rituals, big impact | Pauses, simple balanced meals, alternative comforts (walk, call, journal) | Offers practical tools instead of strict diets |
FAQ:
- Does appetite always decrease after 60?Not necessarily. Some people feel less hungry, others snack more, especially in the evening. Hormones, medications, activity level, and emotions all play a role. The key is to notice your personal pattern, not fit a stereotype.
- How do I tell real hunger from emotional hunger?Physical hunger grows gradually, is felt in the stomach, and any real meal sounds appealing. Emotional hunger appears suddenly, is often tied to a specific food, and doesn’t disappear easily after eating. A short pause and a glass of water often clarify which one it is.
- Is it bad to eat for comfort at my age?Eating for comfort from time to time is human. The problem starts when food becomes your only way to soothe yourself. Adding other comforts—calls, walks, hobbies—reduces the pressure on food without banning pleasure.
- What should a “good” meal look like after 60?Think simple: a source of protein (eggs, fish, beans, yogurt), some vegetables or fruit, a bit of good fat, and something satisfying like whole grains or potatoes. No need for perfection. Regular, real-food meals calm chaotic appetite.
- When should I talk to a doctor about appetite changes?Consult a professional if you lose your appetite for several weeks, drop weight without trying, feel full very quickly, or if eating becomes painful or stressful. Sudden or extreme changes deserve medical attention, not self-blame.
