Intermittent fasting isn’t easy. We may have evolved to eat only episodically and to do without food for long stretches, but imposing this on ourselves is another matter.

All around us, people are constantly eating, snacking, tasting, sipping, gobbling. When our 8-hour window for eating closes, it is like being marooned in another world. So, why do it?

The potential benefits suggested by some research are valuable—gradual weight loss, improved blood sugar regulation, sharpened cognitive function, better sleep, and even longer life. In my case, the genetically generated cysts in my kidneys may actually start shrinking instead of growing to the point that I’ll have to go on dialysis.

For the past 11 months, I have started eating every morning at 7:00 am and have stopped eating or drinking anything except water or tea with no calories by 3:00 pm. For the first few months, it was tough. I had been told that my body would adapt, but it seemed at first mine was refusing to become habituated to what felt like a spartan existence.

Eating together with others is a fundamental human activity, especially during dinnertime. When others were eating and I was sitting at the table fasting, I assured them that I was happy with my cup of tea. I wasn’t. I just pretended that I wasn’t lusting after the food on the platters right in front of me.

I engaged fully in the conversations around me, but internally I was in a state of blunted removal. Com-pan-ion. Breaking bread together. I felt alone while others shared the meal.

On top of this, I had intense flashes of hunger in the early evening. We are used to responding to hunger, getting something to eat if food is available. Instead, I had to be patient and let the hunger pass.

That it did pass within a few minutes was amazing to me. I had always thought that fasting meant tolerating being hungry. Instead, I learned how to relax into it and trust how temporary it was. If hunger recurred later in the evening, I found that having a glass of water helped, along with reminding myself that it wouldn’t be long before the hunger faded away. It always does.

Gradually, my body adjusted. I would be ravenously hungry in the morning around the time to break my fast. I would eat a second “breakfast” a few hours later, and then at midday, I ate the equivalent of a full dinner. It was lunchtime for others, but for me, it was my main meal of the day and I made the most of it. Just before 3 pm hit, the closing of the eating window, I would have a satisfying snack. The end.

Some fasters report that they don’t get hungry in the morning until 10 am, so they can eat dinner up until 6 pm. I am jealous of those who can have some semblance of a normal dinnertime, but each person has to go with their own rhythm. I tried waiting until 10 am before eating and it just didn’t work for me. I had a splitting headache by 8 am.

Finding one’s own most workable pattern seems to be one of the keys to the capacity to sustain intermittent fasting. Another key, at least for me, has been to make no exceptions. Birthdays, visits with old friends, attending weddings, memorials, celebrations—there are so many reasons to toss the fasting aside here and there.

But I realized that the exceptions would quickly become the rule. If I made it a way of life, I saw that I wouldn’t have to deal with the constant inner temptation—to partake “just this one time.” I could let eating go at 3 pm and so could the microbiome in my gut.

My sleep has become more regular, I now get full with smaller portions, the weight I have wanted to lose for years has gradually slipped away, and the fasting has gotten more established month by month. I can take a slice of wedding cake home with me and eat it in the morning. So, what?

Still, there are times when I long to join a delicious meal during my fasting time. Not having cheated during other difficult episodes of lust for food, even once, has made it easier to move through the longing and just enjoy the company of the people I’m with. Not cheating builds on itself as a strength. I no longer feel the aloneness. It helps that friends and family have gotten used to it, too, and even try to schedule celebrations at midday so that I can partake.

As the benefits accrue, I realize I have gained a wonderful sense of agency in doing what I can to foster my own health and well-being. My cysts may actually shrink, and then it will be icing on the cake—so to speak.