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I have a therapist. I have weekly meetings with this therapist and am fortunate that they are covered by my insurance. However, I don't generally have anything to talk about or that I need to talk about for 45 minutes every week. So my therapist and I talk about television - he watches True Blood, Mad Men  and Rachel Maddow, and, if I know you, we probably talk about you and your problems. There was one day, though, that I was actually talking to him about something that bothered me. Really bothered me. It was a betrayal that had to do with my family and the television show The View, and one that I am not likely to forget. I left his office that Wednesday at 1:00 in both a huff and in a serious depression.

His office is on the Upper West Side of Manhattan and I started walking down Central Park West, not sure where I was going, but I had two hours before I had to pick up my kids from school. I mark the buildings on CPW by the celebrities that live there. I walked past Jerry Seinfeld's place, past Marvin Hamlisch's building, past where Madonna used to live, and past where Sting lives now. Before I knew it, before I was even aware where I was going, I had entered the Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle, gone down the escalator to Whole Foods and was standing in front of what they call the "Comfort Foods Bar."

Still both fuming and feeling like crying I stared at the mashed potatoes, the meatloaf, and the macaroni and cheese all gooey and crusted over like my heart. I looked up, because honestly, I didn't want to eat the stuff in that bar. I wanted to grab a fruit salad or a bag of organic Goji Berries, but have you ever had Goji Berries? They're awful. I was torn. I needed comfort. I looked up through the steam rising from under the warming trays and to my horror, saw someone that I know.

I am no stranger to judgmental people weighing in on my food choices. Once, when I had broken up with a boyfriend and gone to the Key Foods on Avenue A to purchase emergency Salisbury Steaks, a hipster standing in front of me on line turned and said with a sneer, "Processed meats?" I bought them, but wrapped them in a newspaper. Like porn. And so, back at Whole Foods, I was not keen on being found shoveling macaroni and cheese into a to-go container.

But there was something about him. The way he was wistfully gazing down, occasionally sighing, looking wistfully into the same tray of mac and cheese that had beguiled me. I said hello. He asked where I was coming from. And I told him - probably too much. The whole story about The View and the betrayal, and he totally got it. And then he told me why he was there. He was looking for a new apartment and had come to the realization that although he was 29 and had a good job, he was still unable to afford an apartment on his own. He was forced to live with a roommate, a roommate who had a thing for Anime. So there we were. At the mac and cheese.

"Guess we'll just eat our feelings," he said, smiling as he helped himself and went on his merry way.

"Yeah," I said. "See you."

I actually had a sandwich, if you're wondering. It was egg salad and I ate it on the subway on the way home, which is totally gross. But when I got home I wrote on a piece of paper, "Eat Your Feelings." And then I wrote down almost all of the titles for the recipes in my book. And after that, I had to cook and eat all of them, which is why as I write this I am having some Goji berries and a glass of wine. The berries because I gained twelve pounds over the last year, and the wine because I am a reasonable person.

Heather Whaley, Eat Your Feelings, Hudson Street Press, cookbook, recipes