It was the first time I remembered something in trouble at 5 years old. It was approaching Christmas and I hadn’t bought the entire Santa story anymore. Will the magical man spend the whole year making toys, dropping chimneys and delivering everything overnight? no. I might only have five, but I was humiliated for people to expect me to buy that ridiculous story.
Having realized that, I was quite proud of myself, and I asked my mother to tell me the truth. And when she finally admitted that Santa wasn’t the real thing, I felt proven. But that wasn’t enough. I needed a young cousin to know the truth, so I ran next to me and told them.
I don’t remember what I said, but I remember what happened when my aunt found out. I can still imagine it. I was sitting on the stairs between the hallway and the bedroom, coking towards the wall, my aunt kneeling in front of me, in fury. “Just because your Christmas has been ruined doesn’t mean you have to ruin theirs!” she cried.
My heart was pounding, my face was burning, my stomach was sick. I did something unforgivable and felt like she hated me.
That moment taught me that it means being loved, accepted and feeling safe. Because goodness was a solution to protect me from getting me into trouble again. If I were just good enough, maybe I would never reject such shame, fear, and never again.
And once that connection was wired, it shaped everything. I absorbed what was expected, either unspeakable or out loud, adapted myself around it. Safety seems to come from getting everything right. From adjusting to someone else’s thoughts about what it means to be good.
The fear of what was wrong and bad slowly went through every corner of my life: my choices, my words, how I saw, what I ate, what I scavenge, what I weighed.
In a society that equated both food choice and thinness with health, and made all of it moral, the number of sizes was not mere weight. It was about virtue. value. Safety.
So, as always, I answered the only way I knew: I tried as hard as I could. Control has become my safety strategy. I microcontrolled everything – my body, my food intake, my words… I tried to manage the opinions of other people – to avoid the shame of doing something wrong, or to avoid the bad person being a bad person.
I followed all the rules: carbohydrates are evil, sugar is poison, and “clean diet” is sacred. When I slid, the punishment came from within. Even the smallest missteps caused an inner voice: what’s wrong with you? loser. How can I ruin it again?
Even the mirror, the scale, even the choice of food, measured whether I was good or not, and I felt a verdict deep in my bones.
However, safety built on submission is impossible to maintain, especially when rules cannot be followed. A rule I didn’t choose. It is conveyed to culture, family, coaches and textbooks. I was trained to follow and over the years to teach as a fitness and nutrition expert.
I have built my whole life, career and identity around these rules. I really believed they were key to health, success and self-worth. And I believed that discipline and control could be felt again on the stairs, from health, love, respect and what has been made to me so far, like that little girl.
However, treating food and the entire food group as “bad” or “off limit” is unnatural, unsustainable and ultimately harmful. All my efforts to be “good” only gave me cravings and obsessions that led to restrictions, rebellion, bulimia, and ultimately bulimia and bulimia.
Even when it looked like a “picture of health,” I was unraveling it in every possible way. The more I clung to control, the more enthusiastic I became. The more enthusiastic I became, the more embarrassing I felt.
Now I know it never was about discipline or failure. It was about survival. His nervous system is stuck in overdrive and he does the only thing he knows how to do and escape.
The food was my relief, my rebellion, and my deepest shame. For almost 30 years I lived in war with food, my body, and myself, but almost every day ended with feelings of defeat.
By the end of it, my health (physical, mental, emotional) was an absolute confusion. I knew I couldn’t keep it up. And honestly? Even I didn’t want to. It’s not just one dramatic inspiration, but the thousands of quiet, hopeless moments that I can’t live like this.
Ultimately, that slow, stable IV drip of despair led to the realization that if I wanted to change something, I had to start doing something different. That’s why I did it.
I stopped trying to be good, stopped trying to control everything, instead I was present, connected, curious and intentionally started to be kind.
I began to grab the spiral, grasp for control, stare at the mirror, and start exploring my inner world, grabbing the spiral, asking questions with compassion and non-judgment, gazing at the mirror, gazing at myself.
What’s really going on here? How did you get here? Why do I believe these things? Why do you think I have to gain my own worth and health through my food choices and my body? Can any of these help? Or is it causing harm? What do you actually need now?
It took me a long time to see it, but I didn’t even really pursue my health. Of course, I wanted to be healthy. But what I really needed was to feel safe in my body and in my life. I had to feel loved and accepted like I was. And I was trying to protect myself from feeling what the little girl felt in that step when she was made to feel so bad.
And maybe that’s the cruelest part.
All the years we spent trying to do “good” – controlling food, weight, health, everything is supposed to make us feel good. Safer. Details are controlled. It’s more valuable. But instead, too often they make us sick.
And it’s even more out of control. It will be cut off more. It’s even more embarrassing. More dysregulation.
When being “good” means not following rules you’re not writing, it means chasing standards you never agreed to and punish yourself for every time you run out of life, so what life does it leave you with?
It’s not healthy. It’s not free.
To work hard to be “good” is to be trapped in a cycle of shame, amputation and dysfunction. Control and submission are not recipes for thriving. They are oppressive traps.
If you feel that any of this is familiar to you, if you have your own version of that little girl and realize you’re trapped in this tired loop, here’s what you should try:
Next time you feel “smashed” with food, or decide yourself not that you’re not “right” weight and pause. Place your hands on your mind and try three stable breaths. Keep an eye on what’s going on in your body.
Maybe your breath is shallow, your chest is tight and heavy, or your shoulders are creeping up. Don’t try to correct your senses. They don’t need judgement. They are signals that require your attention.
listen:
What do I tell myself what this means? What does “good” mean? Who gave me that definition? Am I actually even trying to be good…or safe?
That’s where it begins when you ask. Make space for questions to be something new.
We were never intended to live in fear of making a mistake, especially in our food and our bodies. We were never intended to confuse obedience and control with health and safety.
It’s not about trying hard. It is ultimately about feeling safe to be a completely imperfect person.
That’s enough for now.
About Roni Davis
Based on her own healing process, plus over a decade of expertise, education and experience, E-CET founder Roni Davis guides women through a process of uncovering and changing patterns of thought and behavior that trigger a weight-food struggle. Her clients learn to break unhealthy eating habits and heal relationships with food and the body while also learning to approach overall happiness from a place of connection, self-trust, compassion and love. Learn more about her for free why we eat video series.
