Because nothing says “you matter” like a stranger also getting shafted over spring rolls.
Let me just say this: I haven’t had a takeaway in two years. Not out of health, money, or self-restraint — no, no. It’s because I’ve had one too many emotional breakdowns over a cold chow mein and an order that turned up looking like someone dropkicked it into a bush.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t visit Just Eat. Oh no, I still go. Not to order, but to read the reviews.
There’s something cathartic — satisfying even — about reading a stranger’s savage one-star rant about their kebab being “more rubbery than my nan’s bath mat.” Especially when life’s already bent you over sideways and all you wanted was chips with actual salt on them.
I scroll like I’m on a mission. Somewhere between Claire from Wigan who got sent raw chicken, and Darren who’s convinced his curry was made in 2011, I find it — peace. Validation. That odd reassurance that maybe the universe isn’t just targeting me. Maybe it’s not personal that everything feels a bit crap. Maybe we’re all just a bit bruised, a bit hungry, and trying not to lose our shit when life forgets the garlic sauce again.
Because here’s the thing. When you’re trying to heal — like, properly heal — it can get lonely. You spend so much time digging into childhood wounds, emotional neglect, and your suspicious dating history, that sometimes you need a break. A pointless, petty, perfect break.
And reading takeaway reviews scratches that itch. It’s not just about bad food. It’s about shared disappointment. It’s about silently screaming “same, babe” when someone says their naan bread came folded like a note passed in Year 9.
It’s weirdly healing.
Like yeah, I’ve journaled. I’ve walked. I’ve cried in the bath while pretending it’s a self-care ritual. But nothing hits quite like reading about someone’s rage over missing poppadoms when your own day’s been a bit of a bin fire.
And let’s be honest — trauma makes you paranoid. When things go wrong, you assume it’s your fault. Your order’s late? That’s because you’re cursed. They forgot your dips? Probably because you’re unlovable. That’s just the funhouse mirror your brain holds up when you’ve been gaslit by your entire childhood and then ghosted by adulthood.
So reading those reviews? It reminds me that we’re all a little fragile. All a little unhinged. And we’re all just trying to feel like we matter — even if it’s just to a bored delivery driver and a kebab shop owner with a vendetta against Claire from Wigan.
Sometimes healing looks like yoga and green tea.
Other times it’s no bra, oversized pyjamas that smell faintly of pie, and 1-star reviews on Just Eat.
And honestly? I’m okay with that.
Love Lottie x
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