The Weight of It All: When "Healthy" Starts to Hurt

Let’s talk about weight.

After my second son was born, I struggled. Postpartum, OCD, overwhelm—and somewhere in there, "I started eating my feelings". I’ve heard that phrase tossed around plenty of times. Maybe you have, too. But it hits different when it’s your own body, your own shame, your own secret.

I won’t share the number. I’m not ready to face it myself. But I will share this: Last summer, I lost about 30 pounds (14 kilos) in three to four months. Strict diet. Forty-five-minute walks every morning. Some evening exercise.

And I did it all while being a pescatarian, which already limits me. But still—I did it.

For the first time in a long time, I fit into 75% of my closet. You know the clothes you keep around because you swear you’ll get in shape? I was finally there. Almost. Ten more pounds (about 5 kilos) and I’d be able to wear everything.

Then slowly, and somehow all at once, I gained it back. All of it. And probably more.

Each time I start again, it gets harder. Not just physically—mentally, emotionally. Because I know what it takes. I know how disciplined I have to be. And I know how painful it is to watch myself unravel when I’m too tired to keep going.

But this time, something else is making it worse: what I’m seeing online.

Everywhere I look, I’m being bombarded with weight loss ads. Not just from random accounts. But from wellness influencers. Vegan bloggers. Supposedly "healthy" recipe pages. These aren't fitness gurus or pharmaceutical reps. They're creators I once followed for inspiration, for balance. And now they’re pushing pills, powders, and miracle plans that promise 65-pound (30kg) weight loss in three months.

Suddenly, my 30 pounds (14kg) in four months feels pathetic. It’s not. I know that. But in a scroll-heavy world, it feels like it.

Let’s be honest about what we’re seeing:

• Double-sized pants in the "before" shot

  
  

• Flat stomachs in the "after"

  
  

• Phrases like "just consistency," "clean eating," and "discipline"

  
  

But they’re not showing the full truth. Some of them are on injections like Ozempic, Wegovy, or Mounjaro. Others are editing their bodies or playing with filters. Some might not even be aware of the harm they’re causing.

And when these same influencers are posting gorgeous salads and smoothie bowls right next to these transformation stories, it becomes misleading at best—and disorienting at worst.

Because weight loss is not a filtered photo.

It’s not a salad with tahini dressing. It’s a mental war. It’s waking up exhausted and making everyone else breakfast before realizing you haven’t eaten. It’s grabbing bread or crackers not out of laziness, but survival. It’s battling shame while scrolling through perfect bodies claiming it was all mindset.

And for me? The biggest trigger isn’t hunger. It’s guilt.

Guilt for not preparing a second meal just for myself. Guilt for making a sandwich instead of a macro-balanced rainbow bowl. Guilt for not fitting into someone else’s timeline.

Then something clicked.

I came across a post from @ioana.counselling:

It hit me hard.

I’m not lazy. I’m not undisciplined. I’m struggling. And my coping mechanism is trying to shield me from the chaos.

So what now?

Now, I reclaim my pace. I make room for silence. I block the content that hurts, even when it's disguised as "helpful."

Because healing—and healthy—can’t be sold. And true weight loss? It doesn’t just come from changing what’s on your plate. It comes from changing how much of yourself you’re allowed to feel.

Today, I’m finally choosing to feel it all.

And my healing begins with purpose—written into my planner, not as a lost note, but as a boundary. A clear and non-negotiable block of time. Alone. To reset. To breathe. To come back to myself.

Because sometimes, healing means claiming space in your own day—and protecting it like your peace depends on it.

Because it does.

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