Let me tell you a secret. I’ve danced with every damn diet under the sun; keto, intermittent fasting, Banting, and that unholy grapefruit cleanse that basically turned me into a bloated, vitamin-deficient rage monster. Spoiler: I didn’t find health. I found constipation. And maybe scurvy.
We all know someone who swears by their meal plan like it’s a cult. “It changed my life!” they proclaim with the wild-eyed fervour of someone who hasn’t eaten bread in six weeks. And hey, maybe it did change their life, for the better. But here’s the thing no glossy diet book or smug wellness influencer will say out loud: bodies are not IKEA furniture. You don’t follow the same manual and get the same result.
Same goal, wildly different wiring
Let’s say two people want to feel better in their skin. One loves rules, macros and spreadsheets. The other? They spiral into food obsession the second MyFitnessPal chirps at them. One thrives. The other starts questioning their entire existence because they drank a cup of coffee. (Yes, a cup of coffee.) (Yes, that was me.)
Here’s what the diet industrial complex conveniently skips:
Genetics impact how we burn, store, and crave food.
Hormones run the hunger and energy show.
Neurodivergence; ADHD, autism, anxiety, can make rigid routines feel like handcuffs.
Chronic illness? Now we’re talking meds, fatigue, pain, and bodies that say, “Yeah, we don’t do that here.”
So, when your co-worker drops 20 pounds on keto and you just end up sobbing in your pantry? That’s not weakness. That’s biology. That’s your body asking, What the actual hell is this?
Exhibit A: Real people, real mismatches
“I tried intermittent fasting. Supposed to feel focused. I got migraines and dreamed about bagels.” – Lia, 29
“Paleo made my sister a CrossFit queen. I tried it and my IBS went DEFCON 1.” – Sam, 41
“Counting calories helped me feel in control… until I became terrified of fruit. Bananas, Kate. Bananas.” – Maya, 35
These aren’t failures. These are data points. Proof that your body is not a broken version of someone else’s success story. It’s just… yours.
What actually works? Curiosity over control.
What if the goal wasn’t to “succeed” at a diet, but to get curious about what actually makes you feel good?
What if instead of punishing yourself into someone else’s miracle, you asked:
Does this food make me feel energised?
Do I feel grounded or anxious when I eat this way?
Am I hungry, or am I following a rule?
That’s not weakness. That’s intelligence. That’s self-respect.
And no, it doesn’t come with an affiliate code or a #bodygoals before/after post. It comes with a relationship to food that doesn’t feel like war.
Newsflash: Suffering ≠ Success
Health is not a prize you earn by hating yourself hard enough. You don’t need to choke down bone broth and silence your hunger to be worthy of respect, or love, or your own damn body.
Let me say this louder for the people in the back: If a plan is making you feel like hell, it’s not you. It’s the plan.
Because the best “diet” isn’t the fastest, trendiest, or most punishing; it’s the one that meets you where you are, with grace, not guilt. That’s the kind of success that actually lasts.
So maybe the real revolution isn’t another cleanse. Maybe it’s choosing to believe your body isn’t the enemy.
What about you? Ever been wrecked by a “perfect” plan?
Here’s something I wish someone had handed me like a glass of cold water in the middle of a body-image meltdown: talking about weight doesn’t have to be an act of war against yourself.
But for a lot of us? It is. Or it has been. Or it’s still whispering in the background every time we say we’re “body neutral” but silently pull our shirt down before we sit.
This is the first in a series I never thought I’d write. Not because I don’t think about weight; I do, more than I want to admit, but because this conversation comes loaded with shame, confusion, and about twelve inner critics screaming at once. It should come with a trigger warning and a therapist on call.
But avoiding it hasn’t made it go away. It’s just made it lonelier. So yeah, we’re talking about it. Honestly. No thigh-gap propaganda. No smoothie cleanses. No shame spirals. Just truth, complexity, and a serious side-eye at diet culture.
Why talk about weight at all?
Because weight is never just a number. It’s a story. Or more like a thousand stories:
That time a doctor talked to you like your BMI was a personality flaw.
The jeans you swore you’d “earn” back.
The compliment that felt like a warning.
The breakup you blamed on your thighs.
The silent math you did before every meal.
Weight is memory. It’s grief. It’s every time someone taught us, explicitly or not, that our value had a dress size.
But also? It’s embodiment. Your body carries you through life. Through joy and loss and orgasms and hangovers. Through parenting, periods, dancing, surgery, and grief. It deserves care. But the way we’ve been taught to care for it? Mostly bullshit.
The emotional landmine of the word “diet”
Say it with me: diet.
Did your shoulders tense up? Mine did. It’s a word soaked in guilt, rebellion, hunger, and spreadsheets of sins. For many of us, “diet” means war; against our bodies, our cravings, and our sanity.
And now we’ve just rebranded it: “wellness,” “clean eating,” “biohacking.” Same control, different font.
But what if food wasn’t punishment? What if hunger wasn’t a moral failing? What if eating wasn’t something we had to earn?
This is where body trust comes in. It’s radical. It’s messy. And it starts with unlearning the idea that your body is a wild animal that needs to be tamed.
Respect > Restriction
I’m not here to sell you weight loss. I’m here to talk about body respect.
That might include weight loss. Or not. It might mean more movement. More rest. Less people-pleasing. More carbs.
It might mean feeding yourself like someone who matters.
Because weight loss, if it happens, should be a side effect of listening, not loathing. Not fixing. Not performing.
This isn’t about control. It’s about connection. It’s about neutrality over perfection. It’s about the kind of love that isn’t conditional.
Your body isn’t an algorithm
Your body doesn’t speak in macros or TikTok challenges. It doesn’t care what your fitness tracker says. It communicates in much quieter ways:
The ache in your shoulders after a day of pretending.
The craving for something warm when the world feels cold.
The anxiety that flares when you skip meals in the name of discipline.
The tears you swallow when you catch your reflection and feel like you failed.
This body? It’s not broken. It’s talking. Are you listening?
Because the minute you stop outsourcing your cues to apps, influencers, and medical charts, you remember something: you already know.
What you need isn’t another damn plan. You need presence. You need compassion. You need to stop treating your body like a battlefield.
So yeah. Let’s talk about weight.
Let’s drag it out of the shadows. Let’s unpack it. Let’s get messy and curious and kind. No “before and after.” Just the middle. Just this moment. Just you, as is.
What does body respect look like for you right now? Drop it in the comments. We’re building something here.
Rest Like a Rebel: Why the Soft Life Still Feels So Damn Hard
Let’s talk about something no one warns you about when you start unlearning hustle culture: rest guilt.
Even now, after years of therapy and self-work, rest still makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.
I’ll be lying down—genuinely exhausted—and my brain will whisper that old poison: You should be working. You’re wasting time. You’re falling behind.
It’s not just internal. It’s cultural. We live in a world that worships busyness and treats slowing down like a character flaw. Choosing the soft life? That’s practically a subversive act.
I used to think rest was something you had to earn
Back when I was still trying to prove I was “normal” enough to keep up with a productivity-obsessed world, I saw rest as a luxury. A reward. Something you got after you did everything else: cleared the inbox, made dinner, replied to every text, pushed through every signal your body was sending.
But here’s the thing: the list never ends. The emails don’t stop. And if you live with chronic pain, burnout, trauma, neurodivergence, or literally any human vulnerability, waiting until it’s all done means you’ll never, ever rest.
The soft life; this idea of living gently, of choosing rest and slowness over grind and self-abandonment, isn’t something I just “have.” It’s something I have to actively choose. Every single day.
Some days I choose softness. Some days I don’t.
Some days, I override every signal my body sends. I hustle. I numb out. I spiral. The voice of internalised capitalism tells me I’m lazy, and I believe it.
But on the days I do choose rest?
It changes everything; not in some dramatic, movie-montage kind of way, but in small, sacred shifts.
Like:
Letting myself wake up without rushing or doomscrolling.
Drinking tea without multitasking.
Crying in the bath without apologising to myself.
Watching something light and letting that joy be enough.
These aren’t indulgences. They’re survival. They’re the daily rituals of someone trying to live outside the grind. Someone practising rest as resistance.
Softness isn’t weakness. It’s power in a quieter voice.
We don’t talk enough about how hard it is to choose the soft life in a culture built on overwork. It’s easier to stay busy than to feel. Easier to push through than to sit with what’s underneath.
But every time you choose rest, even when it feels wrong, you’re undoing a little piece of the lie that says your worth is in your output.
You’re reclaiming your humanity.
Maybe the real revolution isn’t about never feeling rest guilt. Maybe it’s about doing it anyway. Choosing softness. Slowing down. Giving yourself care without a justification.
The world doesn’t need more burned-out people who’ve forgotten how to breathe.
It needs people who’ve come home to themselves.
People who say no without a paragraph of explanation.
People who laugh, and cry, and rest, and rage; and don’t apologise for any of it.
Still feel guilty for resting? Yeah. Me too.
You’re not alone. You’re not lazy. You’re just unlearning a system that never had your best interest at heart.
Want to explore this more? Drop a comment below and tell me: What’s your relationship with rest right now? Let’s talk about it. Let’s make softness a conversation, not a secret.
Yes—self-care has become a buzzword, often reduced to bubble baths, expensive skincare, and perfectly curated “wellness” routines on social media. But self-care isn’t just about face masks and herbal tea. It’s about taking care of yourself in ways that actually make a difference—physically, mentally, and emotionally.
If you’ve ever felt like self-care is just another thing on your to-do list, this is for you. I’ve struggled with this myself—especially with guilt. If I take time to rest, I feel guilty for not being productive. If I set boundaries, I feel guilty for disappointing someone. And that guilt? It spirals into overthinking, stress, and eventually, complete exhaustion. So, I’ve had to learn—the hard way—that self-care isn’t a luxury. It’s survival. Here are practical, realistic self-care ideas that actually help—without the pressure, guilt, or fluff.
Mental Self-Care: Taking Care of Your Mind
✔ Say No Without Guilt – Protecting your energy is self-care. If something drains you, it’s okay to say no. Your time and peace are valuable. This is something I still struggle with, but when I do say no, I feel a massive weight lifted off my shoulders. ✔ Curate Your Social Media Feed – Unfollow accounts that make you feel bad about yourself. I did this recently, and I swear, my anxiety dropped overnight. ✔ Brain Dump Before Bed – If racing thoughts keep you up at night, try journaling or making a list of worries before bed. Getting thoughts onto paper helps clear mental clutter. Or so I’ve been told, I have yet to try journaling. ✔ Schedule Worry Time – Instead of spiralling into anxiety all day, give yourself a dedicated 10-15 minutes to sit with your worries. It tricks your brain into worrying less. (I was sceptical about this one, but it actually works.) ✔ Learn Something New (For Fun) – Read a book, listen to a podcast, or take an online class—not for productivity but because it excites you.
Physical Self-Care: Taking Care of Your Body
✔ Move, Even a Little – If you don’t feel like working out, just stretch for five minutes, take a walk around the block, or dance to one song in your kitchen. It all counts. I used to think exercise had to be all or nothing, but even small movement helps my mood. ✔ Hydrate, But Make It Fun – If plain water bores you, add lemon, cucumber, or mint. Herbal tea counts, too! I used to be terrible at drinking enough water until I started using a bottle with a straw—turns out, small tricks help. ✔ Eat Something That Makes You Feel Good – Not diet culture “good,” but actually good—whether that’s a nourishing meal or a comforting treat. I used to guilt myself over food choices, but now I try to listen to what my body actually needs. ✔ Rest Without Guilt – Naps are productive. Taking a break isn’t lazy—it’s how you recharge. This one is still hard for me, but I’m learning that burnout helps no one. ✔ Do a Body Check-In – Instead of ignoring tension or stress, take a second to ask, What does my body need right now? A stretch? A deep breath? A snack? Listen to it.
Emotional Self-Care: Taking Care of Your Heart
✔ Give Yourself Permission to Feel – Whatever you’re feeling—anger, sadness, frustration—it’s valid. You don’t have to “fix” it immediately. I used to push my feelings away, but that just made things worse. Now, I let myself feel them without judgment. ✔ Stop Doomscrolling – Social media and news cycles can be overwhelming. Take breaks when needed. I’ve noticed that when I unplug, even for a few hours, my stress levels drop significantly. I stopped watching the news a few months ago, it has been a massive help to my mental well-being. ✔ Reach Out to Someone You Trust – A quick text or call to a friend can be grounding. You don’t have to go through things alone. I have a habit of isolating when I’m struggling, but I always feel better after reaching out. ✔ Create a Comfort Playlist – Songs that make you feel safe, nostalgic, or happy. Music is powerful. I have a playlist for when I need to feel strong, and another for when I just need to cry it out. Both are self-care. ✔ Celebrate Small Wins – Give yourself credit for the things you do, even if they seem minor. Got out of bed? That’s a win. Responded to one email? Win. I am still struggling with this one because I tend to put a lot of pressure on myself to constantly be making progress.
Final Thoughts: Keep It Simple & Sustainable
Self-care isn’t about doing everything perfectly—it’s about small, consistent actions that help you feel better. Forget what social media says it “should” look like. Real self-care is about what works for you. And for me? That means learning to let go of guilt, taking breaks without self-judgment, and reminding myself that I deserve care, too.
Pick one or two things from this list and start there. No pressure, no guilt—just small steps toward feeling better, one day at a time. 💛
I never set out to follow Banting or go low-carb. In fact, I didn’t even know what it was. My journey into that world wasn’t about losing weight or “getting healthy”—it was pure survival.
In 2013, my life was a high-stress storm. A massive work project had me running on adrenaline, and my cat, Heathcliff, became critically ill. Pneumonia. Then an abscess on his lung. No pet insurance. The surgery costs were brutal, but Heathcliff had saved me once, and I wasn’t about to give up on him. Through the kindness of friends and strangers, I raised the funds. We got through it—but I paid the price physically. I stopped eating. A few bites of All-Bran was my daily intake. My body withered under the weight of grief and stress.
That’s when my mother introduced me to Tim Noakes and the Real Food Revolution. Whole foods. No sugar. No grains. I figured it was a good way to maintain my new (and unintentional) weight loss. Soon, I was weighing myself daily, chasing a number on a scale. It became addictive. Thus began a 10+ year affair with Banting.
The Highs: Energy and Confidence
At first, the benefits were undeniable. I had energy like never before. I exercised—something I’d never done willingly. My clothes fit better. My meals were neat little protein parcels: ham and cheese with mayo, tuna salads, perfectly roasted chicken. I loved how my body looked.
But like any toxic relationship, it started sweet… until it wasn’t.
When “Healthy” Turns Harmful
What began as a way to feel better spiraled into a full-blown eating disorder. I became obsessed. I was afraid of food. I skipped meals, told people I’d already eaten, took diuretics, over-exercised, and agonized over everything I consumed—including coffee. I believed if I could stay in control, I’d be safe. But I wasn’t.
I believe this obsession was part of what triggered my MS. My body was starving. I was malnourished. I was punishing myself. Eventually, it caught up with me.
Confidence Lost, Not Found
Ironically, the thinner I got, the more self-conscious I became. People praised my appearance, but they didn’t see the anxiety, the fear, the lies. I couldn’t eat out without panicking. I was constantly explaining my “diet.” But the truth is, I was sick—physically, emotionally, and socially isolated.
Why I’m Done with Low-Carb (For Good)
I stuck to low-carb for over a decade. Occasionally, I’d cheat with a slice of cake or a cocktail, but for the most part, I stayed strict. Then came the pandemic and two major MS flares—one that affected my mobility, and the other, my eyesight. Steroid treatments caused rapid weight gain. I gained 20kg, and this time, starvation wasn’t an option.
I couldn’t exercise the same way. I couldn’t deprive myself. My body had changed. I had changed.
Now, I’m under the care of health professionals, and my family knows the signs to look for. I want to lose 10kg—but I want to do it without breaking myself in the process.
Would I Recommend Banting?
Actually, yes. Banting isn’t inherently bad. It helped me regain energy and heal some internal issues—I even reversed a PCOS diagnosis. But Banting isn’t for everyone, especially not for someone with an obsessive nature, or for people whose relationship with food is already fragile.
Right now, my goal is simple: Eat to live. Nourish myself. Be kind to my body.
Will I miss all the cheese? Sure. But not as much as I missed peace.
