Vania Phitidis
Written by Vania Phitidis
Peaceful Eating Coach
Last updated on 16 January 2026
Reading time: 6 minutes

A client shared her discomfort with her bigger belly. I asked if she’d be willing to put a hand on her belly and speak to it directly. She nodded, placed her palm gently over it, and after a long breath said:

“I wish you weren’t there.
I wish you were smaller and flatter because I feel uncomfortable being the shape I am.
I’ve felt safer and stronger — and more attractive — when you weren’t this big.
I feel scared that my tummy is bigger, and it might get bigger and bigger, out of control, and I have no mechanism now for controlling it.
I’ve given the mechanism up.
You’re scary to me.
You control me and I don’t control you.
You’re in charge now.
You do what you want because I’ve committed to not restricting my food intake.
You are in charge of my wellbeing – and my confidence.
My decision-making around food is not in control anymore.
I want to cry – it feels so unsafe.”

There was no hatred in her voice – only fear.
Fear of losing control.
Fear of what a changing body might mean.
Fear of what she had been taught it means.

And this is the part we often miss when we talk about body acceptance. For many people raised inside diet culture, weight loss has been the closest thing to a psychological safety plan: a socially rewarded achievement that promises control, competence, worthiness, even hope. Weight gain, on the other hand, has been framed not just as a physical change but as a kind of personal failing – a drift into chaos, irresponsibility, or moral decline.

When the culture has spent decades teaching us that thinner equals “in control” and bigger equals “letting yourself go,” it makes perfect sense that loosening the grip of restriction feels like stepping off the edge of something solid.

This client wasn’t just talking to her belly. She was talking to a lifetime of conditioning. To an identity built around “being good.” To a system that has consistently located morality in the body. And she was also talking to the part of her that no longer wants to live like that.

The Paradox of “Success” and “Failure” in Our Bodies

I know this experience well, because I’ve lived it myself.

I used to feel that weight loss was an achievement – something I had worked for, earned, and created. When the number on the scale went down, it felt like I was succeeding. It felt like discipline, self-mastery, competence. Even pride.

And yet, beneath the sense of achievement, it was hollow. It wasn’t a Nobel Peace Prize. I hadn’t healed anyone, changed the world, or done anything objectively significant. But culturally, in my mind and in how others responded, it carried enormous weight. A “success” so potent that I confused it with self-worth – while simultaneously feeling an emptiness that told me this definition of success was always incomplete.

The flip side of that coin – weight gain – felt like failure. Not just a physical change, but a moral and personal collapse. The internal narrative was unmistakable: I had let myself go. I was no longer competent, disciplined, or admirable.

Control, Restriction, and the Feeling of Losing It

Much of the fear our culture teaches us about bigger bodies comes from a perceived loss of control. Control is framed as safety: if I monitor my intake carefully, I am disciplined, acceptable, and predictable. If I relax, chaos looms.

But here’s the paradox: restriction does not create control. Trying to tightly manage food intake often backfires, triggering cravings, rebound eating, and the very feeling of being “out of control” that the restriction was supposed to prevent.

Our cultural scripts tell us this is personal failure. In reality, it is biological and predictable. And it is not a reflection of character, worth, or identity.

Identity and the Shifting Body

One of the most destabilising aspects of body change is its effect on identity. My client said:

“I’ve been a certain size for so long – and that was me.
I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

When identity is tethered to thinness, weight gain can feel like losing yourself. But identities are not fixed. They shift across the lifespan, through roles, capacities, relationships, and yes – bodies. What matters is less attachment to a particular embodiment and more connection to internal experience: the qualities that make us human, the values we enact, and the relationships we nurture.

True peace comes from attending to what is constant inside us, rather than clinging to a culturally prescribed form.

Bodies Change – It’s Life, Not Failure

Bodies change, whether we like it or not. Infancy to childhood. Adolescence to adulthood. Postpartum. Menopause. Illness. Ageing. Loss. Recovery. Bodies move through states. Bodies do change.

Yet cultural scripts treat change as moral deviation. Bigger bodies are framed as failures. Smaller bodies are framed as achievements. But none of it is inherently moral, ethical, or personal. It is just biology, time, and life unfolding.

The Cultural Weight of Comparison

This framework is why comparison is so painful. One client shared that a friend with thyroid dysfunction had lost a lot of weight. She felt like a “failure” next to her. She even said:

“I’d love to take some of your medication.”

This illustrates the cultural trap: weight, not health, becomes the metric of worth. Thinness is rewarded regardless of cause; weight gain is punished regardless of context. These are not personal failings – they are the predictable outcome of a society that places morality on the body rather than on actions, ethics, or relationships.

Reclaiming Internal Safety and Compassion

So what is possible? We cannot control external judgements, our ageing bodies, or cultural messaging. But we can cultivate internal safety:

  • Notice when shame arises without trying to erase it.
  • Attend to your body with curiosity, care, and honesty.
  • Separate identity from size, shape, or cultural evaluation.
  • Ground yourself in values, relationships, and experiences that matter.

Conclusion: An Invitation

If you recognise yourself in this – if you feel like weight change equals personal failure, or if success has ever felt hollow – you are not alone. You are living inside a culture that designed these narratives.

And there are other ways to live. Ways where bodies can change without moral judgement. Where identities shift without shame. Where internal safety is possible even when the external world is unrelenting.

If you’d like to explore this further, I invite you to do so with support – book a free Discovery Session. Together, we can practise meeting the body and ourselves with curiosity, care, and honesty – without letting culture’s weight define our worth.

With love from Vania