Food as a Language of Love: A food Creator’s Journey of Finding Strength and Purpose

Could you start by introducing yourself?

My name is Megu. In the past, I worked as a food stylist, creating visual presentations of dishes, and as a food photographer, capturing them through the lens. Now, I focus on sharing a deeper way of engaging with food—delivering not just recipes, but also the mindset and knowledge behind them. I currently run cooking classes and related workshops to bring that directly to people.

Your creative career began as a food stylist. Could you tell us how that started?

Yes. It really began when I was in elementary school. My parents both worked, so on weekends I often stayed home with my sister. I would look through the fridge, cook with whatever was there, and I loved seeing my family enjoy what I made. That feeling—“people are happy because of something I created”—was a huge starting point for me. Around that time Cookpad had just launched, and I often posted my recipes there.

What made you decide to turn that passion into your work?

It was during my university years. Instagram had just introduced its video feature, and I started posting recipe videos every single day. That eventually led to work opportunities, and that’s really where my career began.

Posting every day as a university student—that’s amazing.

Back then it was simply fun. I wasn’t thinking about results or numbers; it was all about joy, excitement, and wanting to create. But when it came time to think about my career, I decided to take a job at a normal company—completely unrelated to food. I used to work at the Australian branch of a Japanese company, but the drinking and eating culture there gradually became a burden on both my body and mind. Over time, eating itself began to feel painful, and I eventually lost much of my will to live. One day, when I was deeply struggling, a memory suddenly came to mind. It was of a plate of Pad Thai that my Thai roommate’s grandmother had once cooked for me. Even though we couldn’t communicate through words, I could still remember that taste so vividly. I thought, “Maybe the fact that I want to taste it again means that I still want to live.” That moment made me realize that food has the power to affirm life itself. Since then, rather than chasing trends, I’ve wanted to share food that comes from the heart. That is why I now dedicate myself to cooking classes and workshops where I can pass that feeling directly to others.

After leaving that company, what kind of path did you take?

When I told them I wanted to resign, they said, “Then leave right now.” I suddenly had no job, no money to return home, and was asked to move out of my place immediately. Honestly, that time is a blur, but I do remember polishing shoes to scrape together enough money to finally make it back to Japan. After returning to Japan, I started asking myself what I truly wanted to do. The answer was clear—I wanted to work with food. I had seen farmers growing their produce with so much care, and companies committing to organic practices for the good of their communities. I wanted to help share those kinds of choices, the ones that make people feel proud of what they support. That’s why I decided to learn marketing, thinking it was the key to spreading awareness. I worked at a marketing company for about three and a half years, while also continuing on the side as a food stylist, photographer, and recipe developer. Eventually, that led me to take the leap and become independent.

That decision took a lot of courage and initiative.

I appreciate you saying that. But honestly, at the time my self-esteem was at rock bottom. More than anything, I just wanted to belong somewhere. I even thought, “If I can start paying taxes soon, maybe I can start to accept myself” which makes me laugh looking back now.

That’s a pretty unusual motivation. Did your experience at that company help with the work you do now?

Yes, definitely. In the beginning I mostly worked on B2B projects. For example, if a company wanted to promote a product—like a tomato sauce—we had to figure out how to spread it effectively. That required marketing knowledge, but also appealing visuals and recipes. What I really gained was the ability to think about who I wanted to reach. Whether it’s someone with plenty of free time or someone so busy they can barely catch their breath, the recipe and the way you present it will be completely different. That perspective has been an invaluable asset for me.

That’s so true. Marketing is really important. I’m a designer myself, and I often feel I need to study it more.

It is important, but at the same time it can be tough. For example, when creating ads, the focus often becomes “How do we get more clicks?” or “How do we sell more?” But then I ask myself—does this really feel like a beautiful expression? Does it align with what I believe in? That’s always been a struggle. The reason I wanted to spread the idea of good meals and good choices is because I want people to feel, “I did something good for myself.” I want them to feel confident in their own choices. That’s why I try to live the same way—not because someone else says it’s good, but because I truly believe it is. It’s not easy, but it’s something I really value.

Do you remember your very first job as a food stylist?

Yes, I do. It was kind of a trial project with a company, and I was so nervous. Food photography often shows the hands in the shot, so I asked my friends to be the “hand model.” They worked so hard, even sweating while holding props and helping out. When I saw all of that effort come together in a single photo, I realized, “This is what makes it the best” That experience taught me that while external evaluations are important, what matters most is being able to say, “I gave this everything I had.”

It must have felt even more special because you were doing it together with a friend.

Exactly. That in itself was the “best answer.” Work like this only exists because of the people who support you. Without that experience, I might not be freelancing today. I’m truly grateful, and it reminded me that so-called “solo work” is never really done alone.

When you decided to go freelance, was it scary?

It was. Up until then, I had always been good at following the “safe path”—being the good student, doing what was expected. Leaving a company to work on my own meant stepping off that track, and it took a lot of courage. But I was very fortunate. At the time I went independent, I already had a client who said, “Let’s work together from here.” So it wasn’t starting completely from zero. It didn’t feel like something I achieved alone—more like something I was able to do thanks to the support around me.

Could you tell us a bit more about the work you’re doing now?

Yes. There are two main focuses. The first is for Japanese audiences: I run cooking classes and workshops on the relationship between food and the mind. For example, exploring questions like, “Why do I end up eating chocolate even though I tell myself not to?” The aim is to help people understand and feel at peace with their own choices. The second is for international audiences, which I just started recently. In these classes, I share simple, plant-based Japanese cooking.

I see—you’re involved in such a wide range of activities.

Yes. I’ve let go of all the corporate recipe development and styling work I was doing up until last year, and now I’ve fully shifted my focus to cooking classes and workshops.

That’s a bold decision. Shifting fully to cooking classes must have felt like truly following what you wanted to share and do.

Yes, that’s how I feel. Even when I was doing B2B work, I did enjoy it—but I wanted to reach people more directly. When I created recipes for companies, it was with the hope that daily meals could become small moments of pride for someone. But I often questioned whether that was really happening. The results showed up in numbers, but I wasn’t sure whose happiness those numbers represented. Around that time, I decided to visit my lifesaver—the Thai grandmother who once cooked for me. Letting go of my corporate projects gave me the chance to do that. When I returned, I shifted completely to cooking classes. At the beginning, it felt about 80% anxiety and 20% excitement. Of course I worried financially, especially since I hadn’t faced instability during my B2B days. But I have no regrets. I truly believe I made a choice that aligned with my core. And now, seeing the people who join my classes experience real changes in their lives—being able to share in their stories—that makes me deeply happy.

Could you share a bit more about the details of your work?

The main program I run for Japanese participants is called “Mindful Eating.” I’m working to spread this concept in Japan as “eating mindfully.” In short, it’s about understanding the mechanisms behind things like “Why do I eat when I’m not really hungry?” or “Why do I overeat before my period?” and then learning how to be kind to your own heart so you can make choices you feel proud of. Alongside lectures, I also teach practical elements—like what kinds of dishes you can choose or recipes you can try. So it’s a combination of study sessions and hands-on cooking classes. The classes are held in Setagaya, Tokyo, and are structured as a three-month certification course, with classes every two weeks. Participants complete the program and receive certification at the end of the three months.

And this certification is something you created yourself?

Yes, I designed it. I wanted it to be more than just a one-off class—I wanted to support people long enough for the learning to really stick, which is why it runs over three months. There’s even an exam at the end. The questions cover things like: Why does stress eating happen? Which hormones are involved? How can you make kinder, more intentional choices for yourself? What nutrients are connected to sudden cravings? The idea is not to just say “Oh well, I ate because I was stressed” and leave it at that. If eating becomes a reason to beat yourself up, I want people to be able to turn it into an intentional choice instead. That’s why the course focuses on building both knowledge and practical skills—including how to process emotions without always relying on food.

In your current work, what is the happiest moment—the one that makes you feel, “This is why I do it”?

It’s when someone, through my cooking, feels, “I’m okay just the way I am.” I’ve stepped away from corporate food styling and now focus on cooking classes and workshops that explore the connection between food and the heart. The reason I want to share food is because I see it as a “language of love”—a way for people to affirm their own lives. When someone tastes a dish and thinks, “This is so delicious” or “I can actually make this myself,” it makes me so happy. At the same time, I think food is often a space where people feel judged—like in diets, where certain foods are labeled as good or bad. But to me, what matters most is choosing what makes you feel happy. So when I see a student make one of my recipes and say, “I love this, I made it, and it makes me happy,” that’s the most rewarding moment. Because I once struggled to accept myself, I now want to pass on food that helps people accept themselves. Having others receive that with open hearts is something I’m deeply grateful for.

On the other hand, since starting this work, what has been the most challenging part?

There are two things. The first is simply how long it takes to build something from zero. It’s not easy to see results right away. The second is that the meaning of “delicious” is completely different for each person. Balancing between trusting my own sense of taste and respecting someone else’s is very challenging. I especially realized this after starting classes for international guests, since their sense of flavor can be very different from Japanese tastes. That is why I try to keep my own belief of “this is good,” while also making space for others. For example, leaving soy sauce on the table so they can adjust to their liking. It is about finding small ways to stay true to myself and at the same time honor the preferences of others. In the end, it is not about who is right, but about considering what feels right for the person you’re trying to reach, and honoring that. That, I believe, is what truly matters.

What does “cooking” mean to you?

For me, it is a way to express love. It can be a way of saying “thank you” to someone else, or a way of telling myself “you’ve done well.” That belief has never changed. Even in the moment when I almost gave up on living, I strongly felt that the reason I had to stay was so I could share this through cooking.

I’ve never thought of a meal as a way of telling myself “thank you for today.”

That’s exactly it. Designers, for example, often work late into the night, don’t they? And that’s why I believe even something simple—like a rice ball from the convenience store—is perfectly fine. No matter what kind of food it is, that is the energy that supports you to live tomorrow. I want people to eat while telling themselves, “You did well today.” Eating, to me, is an act of affirming one’s own life—nourishing both the body and the heart.

You mentioned the classes are held in Tokyo. Is Tokyo your hometown?

No, it’s not. I’ve been living here for just over four years. I’m originally from Kanagawa. After graduating, I went to Australia for work but returned after leaving that job. I lived in Kanagawa for a while, and then moved to Tokyo when I decided to focus more seriously on building my business.

Why did you choose that particular place?

It was more that I found the perfect property. I also love interior design, and this place matched that interest really well. At first, I was actually looking around Kamakura, but with the permits and conditions required for running a cooking class, I happened to find my ideal space in Tokyo instead. The neighborhood I live in is very calm, and the people are so warm. Neighbors greet me and even call out to me when I’m cycling by. It feels really comfortable here.

It sounds like creating the space itself is also important to you.

Yes, very much so. I want people to enjoy not just the food itself, but also the atmosphere and the conversations that happen around it. Even the same dish can feel completely different depending on where and with whom you eat it. I want to offer the whole experience, not just the meal.

Do you have any goals for the future?

Yes, my big dream is to create a facility that combines a café, a cooking studio, and a mindfulness studio. A place where people can feel, “I like the version of myself that I am here,” and feel safe and at ease with themselves. I’m not great at self-introductions, because when people ask me “So what do you do?” I never quite know how to answer. For me, the method doesn’t matter as much. What I really want is to spread options that allow people to affirm themselves, even just a little bit, every day. For me, cooking and mindfulness happen to be at the center of that. I struggled for a long time with the belief that I had no value. But because of that, I feel I’ve become someone who can now say, “Thank you for being alive.” The experiences I’ve been through won’t disappear, but I can hold them with pride and use them to soften someone else’s heart, even just a little. The form doesn’t matter—what matters is creating a society where people can truly embrace themselves, one that is built on love.

When you face new challenges or risks, how do you decide what to do?

For me, it’s simple: “Because it’s scary, I’ll do it.” Anxiety always shows up when you’re about to take a step beyond where you are now. When you step into the unknown, that little voice—what I call “my anxiety buddy”—comes along, worrying, “Will it go well? What if I fail?” But I see that as a sign that I’m one step away from a dream coming true. So even if I’m scared, I’ll still move forward. In fact, I do it because I’m scared. I remind myself of that, and sometimes I move ahead with tears in my eyes, but I keep going.

When did you start to develop that way of thinking?

It definitely wasn’t from the beginning—I’ve always been the type to get easily scared. But I think it started around the time I went independent. After hitting rock bottom and coming back to Japan, I began practicing yoga when I started working again. Through meditation and spending more time looking inward, I slowly learned to face my own mind. I even traveled to India for training. Over time, I became able to “welcome” my anxiety instead of pushing it away. Meditation doesn’t make anxiety disappear, but I began to see it differently. To me now, anxiety is a sign that a dream is just around the corner—like a little reminder that I’m about to step into a better version of myself.

If you hadn’t had that experience in Australia, what do you think you’d be doing now?

I think I probably would have been working as a typical company employee. Going to Australia was the first time I ever stepped off the safe, expected path. Even though it was a painful experience, it was something I needed—and I’m proud of the version of myself who made that choice.

Thank you. For the final question—if you could send a message to your past self, what would it be?

“Thank you for being alive as yourself” That’s what I’d like to say—not only to my past self, but to everyone in this world. And to the readers, who I imagine are mostly creators: I want to tell you to keep believing in the things at the core of who you are—the things you love and truly want to do. It’s not easy, and I struggle with it every day myself. But I hope you protect that center of yourself as the place you can always return to. You are the only one in the world who can be you. That’s what I strive for too.