This may sound shocking coming from me, but here’s the truth: It’s okay to say “no” to a food your child wants.

There’s a myth out there that being anti-diet inherently means a food free-for-all, where making anything off-limits will become your child’s one-way ticket to an eating disorder. But that’s simply not the case.

Most kids need structure and support when it comes to eating, and those high-level decisions about food are an adult’s job, especially when kids are younger. And saying “no” doesn’t have to be synonymous with demonizing types of food or fat-shaming a child, things that can elevate the risk of disordered eating and negative body image.

Example of non-diet culture reasons you might say “no” to a food:

Your child has a food allergy or other medical condition (such as celiac) that requires dietary restrictions.

You know the combination of a certain food and a certain activity (say, a blue slushie before a bouncy castle) are guaranteed to lead to a mess you don’t have the bandwidth to deal with.

You don’t have room in your grocery budget for their requested item.

You know your child’s next snack or meal is only a few minutes away.1

You have moral objections against supporting a particular business (related: see my piece on the store Brandy Melville).

You have a big-picture sense of your child’s food that day and don’t think fulfilling this in-the-moment desire works well in that context (e.g., your child asks for a fast-food burger for lunch, but you know you’ll be making hamburgers for dinner that night).

Even though you have the option to say “no,” however, you may not feel like you really can, or at least not with confidence, either because you’re afraid of accidentally sending a restrictive message or because you’re afraid of your child’s reaction. Setting—and holding—boundaries is hard.

I’ve been wanting to write about parents and food boundaries for a while, but the viral classroom group chat known as “Oreo-gate” made it clear: now’s the time.

If you aren’t familiar with this digital dust-up, here’s the gist: In a classroom messaging app, a mom asked other parents to stop sending Oreos in their children’s lunchboxes. Not because of a medical condition but because she just doesn’t want her daughter to have Oreos—but she also doesn’t want her child to feel jealous of other kids who do have them.

I can understand why someone would feel the urge to post about this outrageous request, but I’m no fan of public mother-shaming. I’m also deeply opposed to AI-generated art, and the influencer who posted this group chat is a promoter of an AI music company. Perhaps not unrelated to that paid partnership, there’s growing skepticism about whether this situation is even real. Many assume it’s simply manufactured rage-bait to gain likes, comments, and followers. (Even if it’s not real, the scenario certainly feels possible to anyone who’s been around anxious parents.)

With all those caveats in place, the first post (yes, it unfolds in stages) is here if you want to join the millions following this supposed saga:

Policing children’s lunchboxes is nothing new, of course. I’ve talked to parents whose children were instructed to eat their food in a certain order or sent home with notes about packing “healthier” items next time. (I’ve written about diet culture at school if you want some guidance on responding to situations like that. One hot tip: don’t go vent about it on the classroom WhatsApp!).

Even if we assume the Oreo-gate group chat is fake (or, at the very least, exaggerated), there are many parents who desperately want their community to share the same rules about food. And why wouldn’t they? It makes parenting so much easier!

If we could keep our kids in an Oreo-free bubble (or, conversely, a diet-culture-free bubble), it would make it a lot simpler to stick to our beliefs and reduce the amount of conflict we have to manage. We wouldn’t be faced with the messy reality of our kids discovering there is a bigger world out there with people who do things differently.

Having a community of like-minded parents is really powerful.

But we can’t dictate other parents’ choices in order to make our choices easier.

I’m no expert on setting boundaries (this is an understatement), but one thing I have heard again and again (including from therapist-authors like ) is that boundaries aren’t about telling other people what do to; boundaries define what you are willing to do.

And here’s where it gets really tough: boundaries are not like the Ron Popeil Food Dehydrator—you can’t just “set it and forget it.”2 Instead, you have to keep holding and reinforcing the boundaries.

The strong reaction to the no-Oreo request stems, at least in part, from the intense boundary confusion going on. A mom can set a boundary around her child not eating Oreos at home, but she can’t tell other parents what to do. Of course, if this were a life-threatening food allergy, however, the communication and school’s role would be very different.3

Even though Oreos aren’t inherently dangerous, my hunch is that a mom who wants to keep them away from her child feels like they are a legitimate threat. I have empathy for a parent who’s been told to be terrified of packaged sweets. And she might feel like the allure of an “ultraprocessed” dessert with a massive marketing budget behind it is too powerful for a child to resist, that it’s not a fair fight, and she wants other parents to support her. Her desire for solidarity and a unified front makes sense.

The presence of Oreos isn’t just a challenge to this (potentially fictional) mother’s notion of “healthy eating” but also to her sense of parental authority and control. She doesn’t want her kid to feel left out, and she doesn’t want to deal with the whining, begging, anger, or other behaviors and emotions her daughter might exhibit in response to that parental decision.

And here’s where it’s worth acknowledging one of the painful truths about parenting: our family’s rules won’t always be easy to follow through on, especially when our kids see other people taking a different approach. Sometimes we might decide to be more flexible, but there are other situations when it makes sense to hold firm.

We have to be prepared for sometimes seeming “too strict” or being labeled the “meanest mom in the world.” And in fact, part of a kid’s job is to push back against our boundaries, especially as they get older.

In order to grow up, kids have a developmental need to disobey or at least question our rules. I would actually be quite worried about an adolescent who never tried to tip-toe over—or barrel through, Kool-Aid-man-style—a parental boundary. In other words, while we might fantasize about creating a social environment that would take away potential friction with our kids, it’s neither realistic nor developmentally beneficial.

Lest you conclude I’m anti-Oreo, know that I would never recommend making a blanket restriction on a food without a medical need. Why? Because it’s more likely to backfire (the forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest) and can interfere with a child’s relationship with food. It is also entirely impractical if you want your child to be able to navigate the real world. (And without Oreos, how will this child ever know the unique earthly delight that is cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream?)

When there are foods your child can’t have—at least not in the exact moment they want them—you may be wondering how to express that boundary and how to handle the ensuing grumpiness or tantrum.

If you’re struggling with feeling confident about setting food boundaries with your kids—which can feel especially fraught if you have your own history of disordered eating or an eating disorder—you aren’t alone.

So in Part 2 (coming soon), I will offer some sample scripts and strategies you might try. There are no magic words that will make your child happy you’ve decided to say “no” to takeout pizza three nights in a row, but there are approaches that can help you avoid reinforcing diet culture, feel more steady in your own decision, and be better able to bear your child’s disappointment (teaser: tolerating distress is a parenting superpower, a skill I wish I had started learning many years ago!).

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I never thought I could approach the topic of GLP-1s with a sense of neutrality. Because even though I would never shame or blame any individual who was using the medication, I have very strong feelings about the weight-loss industry and the kinds of unscrupulous, predatory advertising they’re known for.

Let me back up a bit for some context.

When this new class of weight-loss drugs was first announced a few years ago, I felt a sense of foreboding. The marketing hype made me uneasy about the seemingly inevitable negative impact on systemic weight stigma, body image, and eating disorder risk.

It was also a strange feeling that life was imitating art.

Almost a decade ago, I had sketched out a science fiction plot about a pill that could instantly make anyone thin—and the unforeseen consequences of that technology. I envisioned drawing inspiration from texts like Nathaniel Hawthorne’s short story “The Birth-Mark” and the film Gattaca (this was long before The Substance).

I never fleshed out the story (pun only partly intended), but sometimes I wonder if we aren’t living in a version of that dystopia right now, with increasingly skeletal bodies showing up on red carpets and teens secretly ordering GLP-1s online without any medical supervision.

Even scarier, the descriptions of GLP-1 side effects can sound eerily similar to common anorexia symptoms—something I wrote about here. And while some have raised concerns about the need for better screening and informed consent, the established dangers of drug misuse don’t seem to be hurting business.1

It’s estimated that about 1 in 8 US adults are taking a GLP-1, but the actual number must be higher, once you account for people buying compounded versions online. Not everyone stays on these drugs, of course (some studies show more than half of people discontinue them), but it’s still a lot of people taking these medications.

And a lot of those people are parents.

As someone who cares deeply about how young people develop a healthy relationship with food and a positive body image, I’ve been wondering how these drugs may be indirectly affecting children of parents and guardians who are using them.

If you’re a growing adolescent, it’s hard enough to have your celebrity idols shrinking before your eyes.

But what if that’s also true of your mom or dad? How are kids making sense of a parent who is getting new appearance compliments or eschewing their favorite dessert?

So I pitched a story idea to my editor at CNN because I wanted the chance to think more deeply about these questions. My goal was to provide nonjudgmental, practical guidance for parents taking a GLP-1. Not to say someone shouldn’t take these drugs but to offer strategies to help limit potential unintended harm to children.

I got to interview people taking a GLP-1 who have put a lot of thought into the decision precisely because they care so deeply about rejecting diet culture and modeling a healthy relationship with food and their body.

Everyone featured in the article who is taking the medication happens to be focused on something other than its weight-loss effects (probably a self-selecting group who agreed to talk with me), but I think their approaches can help anyone who is using a GLP-1.

I also included insight from eating disorder professionals (a body image therapist and a dietitian) about things parents on GLP-1s can keep in mind, such as not accidentally equating thinness with health or misinterpreting normal kid appetites as “overeating.”

One of the people I interviewed is both: a parent taking a GLP-1 and a fat-positive therapist who treats people with eating disorders. I feel grateful shared their story with me.

One part of the conversation with Jessie that didn’t make it into the final version of the piece was an acknowledgement that parents are bombarded by unrealistic and often competing expectations.

As someone who is passionate about parent education, I took Jessie’s words to heart:

It sure is a lot of pressure. And diet culture makes all of this so much harder.

I strive to offer useful information and strategies without shame, blame, or fear-mongering. But I don’t always get it right. And what feels helpful to one parent could feel judgmental or anxiety-provoking for another.

My passion for education is always at the core of everything I try to communicate. When you know just how devastating eating disorders can be, you want to do everything you can to help other people avoid that suffering if possible.

We can’t prevent every eating disorder, but we can increase the awareness of them, especially the symptoms so often encouraged and praised in diet culture. And we can help the next generation feel better in their own skin, despite what the algorithm and weight-loss ads might be telling them.

So I will keep offering information and guidance for parents—including those taking GLP-1s—who want to protect their kids’ body image and relationship with food. But I will try to be even more mindful about avoiding a tone that feels too high-pressure or scary, because parents get enough of that!

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Is this really happening? Yes. Yes, it is.

The disoriented disbelief can seem like such a cliché. And it’s hard not to repeat proverbs like “The days are long, but the years are short.”

Now, this isn’t my first college transition rodeo as a parent. But it is my last.

While doing some last-minute shopping for XL Twin supplies, I could feel a dizzying anxiety as I got pulled into an e-commerce rabbit hole. It took me a moment, but I realized I already knew exactly why it’s easy to get a little intense about college move-in.

Years ago—even before TikTok was filled with elaborate dorm decor videos—I wrote this piece for Grown & Flown:

Mattress Topper Mania: What’s Behind Our Obsession with Dorm Bedding?

TL;DR: We ARE the mattress topper.

As I wrote in the essay:

It makes perfect sense that parents are so vulnerable to the marketing around college dorm supplies. Even when you are thrilled and grateful and proud that your kid is moving on to a new stage of life, the letting go comes, by definition, with a lot of loss.

The loss of their company, of course. But also the loss of control—or the illusion of it anyway. And for many of us, there can be a loss of identity, too. Who am I if I’m not packing lunches and attending performances and driving a kid to and from school?

It’s tempting to try to fill up some of that looming loss with stuff. Maybe if we buy the perfect shower caddy or storage ottoman, then we’ll still have at least an indirect role to play in their daily lives. And everyone will see how much thought and effort we put into our parenting, how much we love our kid.

We all want to be “good” parents.

Because we want to do right by our kids, of course. But if we’re honest, we also want others to know we’re good parents, too.

The most important foundations of our parenting may be the things no one else can really see. But we also want some of our efforts to be visible to the outside world.

While it might seem like a stretch, I can’t help but see parallels to the way diet culture affects how we care for our children.

We want to keep our kids safe and healthy. We want to set them up for success (however we define it). And in diet culture, one of the ways we reassure ourselves—and signal to others—that we’re good parents is by conforming to the social expectations of what we should be feeding our families.

It’s why we might feel guilty about not making rainbow bento box lunches even if we aren’t actually worried about following new dietary guidelines.

Just like the influencer offering a discount code on the must-have dorm bedding, the sales pitch from diet culture can be incredibly convincing. The idea that all of our problems would be solved by eliminating processed foods sounds great on paper, right? Even though we know nothing is quite that simple, we can still wrestle with a nagging sense we’re never doing enough or aren’t buying the “right” things.

I don’t have a clever way to wrap up everything neatly or offer a simple takeaway—can I blame the stress of impending household upheaval?—but I do want to say I have so much empathy for every parent who’s felt uncertain or stuck when it comes to raising kids. We’re all in this together!

Compassion for fellow parents has been my guide every step of the way as I’ve worked on my manuscript, which is now “in production” at the publisher.

Parenting Without Diet Culture: How to Raise Healthy, Body-Confident Kids will be out in 2027. Stay tuned for a cover reveal (so exciting!).

And in the meantime, I’ve got some questions for you:

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In case you missed it:

Last week’s newsletter includes a piece I wrote for Romper about body image and back-to-school clothes shopping. Whether you’ve got a tween or teen, I think you’ll find some useful tips:

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I’ve gotten several versions of the crop-top question over the years, and I understand the parents’ concerns. Your kid wants to wear the trendy fashion, but you’re worried about the social consequences of how their body could be criticized or sexualized—and how you might be judged as a parent.

Buying clothes for tweens can feel like such a fraught process for everyone involved. And while there is no one-size-fits-all approach (see what I did there?), I feel strongly about some core principles to consider if you want to support your child’s self-image.

I’ve been wanting to write a longer reported piece about this topic for a while, and I was thrilled I got the chance to do so, and that it was for Romper. (I was really proud of the story I did for them last year about “picky eating.”)

At Romper, they treat their freelance writers well, they make adorable animated art, and they let you use swear words! What’s not to love?

For this back-to-school article, I interviewed people with lots of knowledge about supporting positive body image: , , and .

I also got to include a poignant story from a mom whose experience will resonate with a lot of parents. Apologies to my readers in the state of Georgia whose kids have already gone back to school—I promise there are some tips here you can apply year-round!

I hope you find some useful tips and relatable stories in the article. And let me know if you have any questions.

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I had originally planned to write about some anorexia myths this week, as the discourse around a certain pop star’s body has reached a fever pitch. I may try to publish it as a freelance piece, so stay tuned.

In the meantime, you might be interested in these:

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When I wrote about the diarrhea jokes a few weeks ago, I was hopeful the outbreak—and the accompanying internet chatter about rapid weight loss—would soon be old news.

Alas.

As concerning as it was to see people continue to get sick (and joke about getting sick), it gave me a chance to think and write more about this phenomenon when I accepted an assignment for CNN.

While reporting the piece, I got the chance to interview two eating disorder treatment professionals—Whitney Trotter and —who shared really smart commentary on what this trend reveals about our relationship to weight and health.

You can read the whole article here, and I’ll highlight a few quotations below:

While doing research for this story, I had to spend time on a disturbing corner of social media, not unlike my experience reporting on #SkinnyTok. Seeing such obviously pro-eating disorder content reminded me of an acquaintance who once said, “I wish I had a little bit of anorexia.”

This was years before I saw up close how devastating that illness can be, but even then, part of me recoiled. Wishing, even in jest, for a potentially fatal illness speaks to how powerful fat phobia is.

For all the ways we’ve been trained to frame weight loss in terms of health and wellness, the underlying truth is that many people would give up wellbeing and longevity for thinness.

Diet culture doesn’t really care about our health. And instead it often actively promotes sickness. Meanwhile, people simply existing in larger bodies are accused of “promoting dangerous lifestyles” or being told they’re on death’s door.

Whenever I see someone post those kinds of anti-fat comments online, I always want to send them this Marilyn Wann quotation:

When it comes to parenting amidst confusing messages about weight and health, I’ve got some conversation starters you might use in your own family:

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If it’s not already obvious, I think parents matter A LOT when it comes to kids’ relationship with food. And the evidence bears this out. While doing research for my book (coming out in 2027), I came across so many interesting studies about how parents shape the way kids relate to food.1

Not surprisingly, parents who are actively dieting and talking about calories and weight are more likely to have kids who share those preoccupations. While some of those children feel anxious around food and start restricting or feeling guilty about eating, others become fixated on having as much of the forbidden fruit as possible, whenever they can.

At the same time, parents can do everything “right” per se and have a child develop an eating disorder anyway. (It’s still well worth it to learn about diet culture so you can spot warning signs earlier, not accidentally encourage disordered behaviors, and create a recovery-supporting home environment).

The pressure to try to optimize kids’ nutrition often does way more harm than good. The standard advice for preventing or reversing “picky eating,” for instance, tends to make everyone miserable and doesn’t result in kids building a healthy relationship with food for the long haul. Is anyone surprised that adults are less likely to eat the foods they were forced to have as children?

Parents who try to make smaller kids consume more food often meet increased resistance to eating while parents who try to urge bigger kids to eat less may find them bingeing, sneaking food, or seeming to lack an “off switch.”

Attempts to “correct” a child’s eating often backfires.

A lot of mealtime misery stems from well-meaning efforts to control things about a child’s eating that we really have no business interfering with, such as their preferences and appetite.2 And at the same time, it’s easy to overlook the impact of things we do have a say over, such as how we talk about food around children and the way we role model healthy eating.

So when you think about the factors that can affect your child’s relationship with food, which ones do you think you can influence?

Their temperament

Their sensory needs

Medical conditions and medications

Their genetic vulnerability to eating disorders

Past experiences with food

Where they are in development

Their body image

Exposure to food marketing

The kind of nutrition education they receive at school

Whether they have access to enough food

How safe, accepted, and relaxed they feel at mealtimes

The way their role models eat and how they talk about food

How much they internalize messages from diet culture

It’s not an exhaustive list, of course. A child’s relationship with food is so personal and nuanced. There are cultural and environmental influences unique to every family. And exposure to the same risk factors—such as food insecurity, traumatic events, or questionable curriculum—won’t affect every kid the same way.

But I hope seeing a range of contributing factors helps you do two things:

Take the pressure off yourself to try to “fix” things in your child that aren’t broken.

and

Feel motivated to keep swimming upstream in diet culture.

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I should have seen it coming. People have been making jokes about illness having a weight-loss “upside” for decades. Perhaps you remember the line in The Devil Wears Prada when Emily announces, “I’m one stomach flu away from my goal weight.”

With the current Cyclospora outbreak sickening thousands across the US, memes and influencers are fueling steady commentary about how contracting this parasite wouldn’t be so bad after all—because at least you would lose a few pounds.

This infection, known to cause cramping, nausea, and “explosive diarrhea,” can linger for weeks. About 10% of people with Cyclosporiasis end up needing hospitalization.

Wishing for a serious illness just to experience temporary weight loss reveals just how deeply fat-phobic our culture is.

Even when it’s said entirely in jest, the fact that this thought even occurs to us speaks to how diet culture has warped our view of bodies.

Our culture’s fixation on thinness may have been repackaged as fitness, longevity, and self-care. But jokes about debilitating gastrointestinal distress show what’s really behind the attempts to rebrand dieting as wellness.

Diet culture doesn’t care about health.

Weight loss—at any cost—is really the name of the game.

And we see this even when we’re not in the midst of a parasitic outbreak. People undergoing treatment for cancer get complimented on “looking great.” Those in the throes of a life-threatening eating disorder are regularly praised for “being so healthy.” (Side note: please stop complimenting weight loss.)

And while there is concern over the glorification of eating disorders on Hollywood red carpets, the conversations about a virulent stomach flu reinforce deeply disordered thinking.

Wishing for vomiting or diarrhea as a way to control body size?

That, my friends, is a symptom of bulimia.

“Flat-tummy teas,” “detox cleanses,” and laxative abuse are the part of disordered eating we don’t talk about enough. It’s why I was so glad when the actress Jameela Jamil famously called out Kim and Khloé Kardashian for promoting “Flat-Tummy Shakes” back in 2019:

Jamil’s viral Instagram post added another visual:

If you want to spend hours on the toilet, now you don’t have to order anything from a Kardashian—it might come for free with your next salad. Right on cue, influencers are encouraging followers to seek out berries and other produce in the hopes of getting sick with this horrific parasite. These unscrupulous creators are literally telling people it’s a-okay to engage in purging behaviors. (I’m intentionally not linking to any of those accounts here.)

Diet culture may be the most dangerous parasite of all.

It worms its way into our brains and sickens us from the inside. And it keeps evolving, shapeshifting to stay alive and relevant. It’s why we still believe it’s “all about health” even when it’s so obviously not. We also unknowingly spread it to others when we compliment weight loss or bash our own bodies.

If you want to protect yourself and your loved ones from the disease of diet culture, you’re in the right place. Recognizing the sneaky ways fat-phobia invades our conversations is a really important step. Having a community of other people who want to prevent body shame and disordered eating is really powerful, too. It’s a bit like “herd immunity.” Even though you will undoubtedly continue to be exposed to diet culture (because it’s truly everywhere), having even just a few people you can count on for support—and some diet-free discourse—can be incredibly protective.

If you have a friend who might be open to learning more about diet culture, I hope you’ll consider inviting them to join this community.

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If your child gets this stomach bug

It’s important to know that weight loss can trigger eating disorders. And it doesn’t have to be from dieting. Weight loss from gastrointestinal infections can precipitate eating disorders, especially in adolescents. Want to understand how an energy deficit can fuel eating disorders? You can learn more here.

Be sure to seek out support from a medical provider if your child is losing weight or having trouble getting back to their normal eating patterns after an illness.

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One of the first parent education workshops I ever offered was titled “What Does ‘Healthy Eating’ Really Mean? Feeding Kids in a Confusing Food Culture.”

I would begin the session by asking everyone to write down a positive food memory from their childhood—and then invite a few people to share.

“Making bread with my grandmother.”

“Gathering loose change to get something from the ice cream man.”

“Getting to pick what was for dinner on my birthday.”

I loved watching people’s expressions and body language change as they recalled these happy moments from childhood. Some parents got a little teary-eyed as they experienced a poignant wave of nostalgia.

Even though they were in that room (and later, a Zoom room) to think about how they were feeding their kids, I liked to start by asking parents to reflect on their own childhoods. Because those food memories weren’t about macronutrients or fiber or “maxxing” anything.

They were about people and delight and feeling loved.

My goal was to help everyone get back in touch with the things we get from food that can never be captured on a nutrition label. The comfort, the fun, the sense of belonging.

I was reminded of this workshop exercise when I saw a recent post from :

In today’s diet and wellness culture, feeding kids (and ourselves) can feel pretty disconnected and joyless. Too often parents feel like they’re carrying the weight of unrealistic expectations of “perfectly balanced” rainbow plates, homemade-only snacks, and high-protein but low-sugar desserts. And that’s on top of the baseline mental load and expense of stocking a kitchen and feeding a family.

So today I invite you to take a deep breath and consider your fond food memories, perhaps from a time before diet culture got in between you and the experience of eating.

In the spirit of summer fun, I’m opening up the comments to everyone today.

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This week’s newsletter is short and sweet because my final manuscript revisions are due in a few days! I still wanted to give you all a little something useful as America goes into a big holiday weekend.

If you’re attending a 4th of July cookout, you can count on family, friends, and food. And that means you will probably run into an unwelcome guest, too: annoying comments about calories, macros, weight, etc.

How many grams of protein are in that veggie burger?

Well, I guess this is my “cheat day.”

Enjoy that ice cream now—when you’re my age, forget it!

If you’ve been working on healing your relationship with food, these comments can feel pretty painful, triggering, or just plain boring. And when little ears are listening, you may be wondering what your kids are bringing home from an event like this—besides ketchup stains and mosquito bites.

Is this where they learn to see food in morally-charged categories of “good” and “bad”? When they start to see their body as something up for public discussion? The moment they wonder how much exercise they need to do to “earn” dessert?

I’m guessing a part of you would love to come up with the perfect witty response to shut down the diet talk for good—without killing the mood or starting an argument.

If you’ve found that magic spell, I’d love to hear it!

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But today what I want to offer is permission to say . . . nothing.

You don’t have to respond to everyone who drones on about their fitness tracker or peptide stack.

You don’t have to make this particular gathering your moment to speak out as an advocate for body acceptance.

You don’t have to correct or educate every relative who makes ignorant statements about food, weight, or health.

That’s right. You can just say nothing.

It doesn’t mean you have to engage in those conversations, however. You don’t even have to smile and nod politely if you don’t want to.

You can simply ignore, change the subject, or excuse yourself to get more guacamole!

It’s that simple. (Though I know it doesn’t always feel easy.)

There will, no doubt, be plenty of other opportunities to have conversations about diet culture if you want to. You get to pick your battles.

You can choose to keep the peace with your loved ones and protect your own peace, too.

If you give this approach a try, let us know how it goes. And if you need a space to vent about what you’ve to endure at the family barbecue, you can always share it here.

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My dear one,

Yes, you are dear to me even if you’re a stranger.

I feel so much tenderness toward you because I imagine you might be suffering in silence. It’s possible no one in your life has a clue about what you’re going through because they think they know what an eating disorder “looks like.”

And you don’t happen to look like that image they have in their mind: young, white, female, wealthy—and emaciated.1

They don’t know that eating disorders affect people across the lifespan and all racial identities. They don’t know that men and boys get these illnesses. They don’t know that food insecurity increases the risk of getting an eating disorder. They don’t know that only a tiny fraction (about 6%) of people with eating disorders are considered medically “underweight.” And they don’t know that BMI can’t tell you the severity of someone’s illness or even what kind of eating disorder they have.

Maybe a part of you wishes you did look like the “poster child.” Not just because the ED voice in your head says that is how you should look but because then maybe the outside world—your friends, your family, your doctors—would know something was wrong and help you get the care you need.

Maybe then they wouldn’t ignore your suffering. Maybe then they would stop praising your symptoms.

“You have so much discipline!”

“It’s great how you’re making healthy choices!”

“I wish I had your willpower!”

“You look amazing!”

Because unless you have protruding bones, our culture says you should keep going—and maybe go even harder. More steps. More protein. More weight-lifting.

Your loved ones may not realize that, for you, things have Already. Gone. Too. Far.

You don’t have to be wasting away to feel like you’re wasting your life stuck in a constant state of tormented negotiation with a part of your brain that has been taken over by a cruel task-master.

From the outside, they can’t see how you are controlled by compulsive, obsessive, intrusive thoughts about food, exercise, and your body.

The counting, the calculating, the tracking

The weighing, the body-checking, the mirror-obsessing

The secret late-night bingeing that brings temporary relief—and the physical pain and shame that flood you afterwards

The joyless, punishing exercise that earns you “trophies” on your fitness tracker

The other forms of purging you are so very skilled at hiding even from the people you live with

Because of diet culture and pervasive stereotypes about eating disorders, you can be seriously ill and absolutely miserable, and yet no one is expressing any concern. Unless you’re in a larger body, that is—in which case, they are probably encouraging ED thoughts and behaviors, ya know, for your health.

If a part of you is acknowledging that, yes, you do need help, I’m guessing another voice inside your head is whispering (or shouting) that you’re crazy to think you need support, let alone treatment. “You can’t possibly think you’re ‘sick enough’ to have an clinical eating disorder!"

Eating disorders lie and manipulate. They are mental illnesses, though they wreak havoc on the body even when it’s not always visible from the outside.2 And they affect the brain in ways that can keep you stuck in a state of rigid thinking, low self-worth, and other cognitive distortions.

If you’ve read this far, my hunch is you want to get better and get your life back. And so maybe you can receive what I’m about to write:

You don’t have to keep getting worse.

You deserve care, and you deserve it now.

There are eating disorder professionals out there who know that size doesn’t determine sickness, who won’t collude with your ED, and who can help your loved ones and other medical providers get they education they need to support you.

Not sure where to start? You can try one of these nonprofit organizations dedicated to helping people get care:

I wish you hope and healing. Recovery is possible, and it’s worth it.

Sincerely,

Oona Hanson

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Recent podcast:

I spoke with New Zealand-based body image coach Emma Wright about parenting amidst relentless marketing of weight-loss drugs. You can listen here.

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As I was getting ready for an online yoga class last week, I looked down and knew I had to capture this moment.

My new pink floral leggings made me feel so happy and playful. Knowing I had gotten them at a deep discount was an added thrill. (I had to tell you that last part because, well, you can take the girl out of the Midwest, but you can’t take the Midwest out of the girl!)

But there was something else I was feeling, too: a mixture of grief and gratitude.

I thought about the years decades when I never would have worn something so bright and eye-catching and fitted, especially on my lower half. Yoga and other exercise always meant one thing for me: black leggings or joggers.

Diet culture doesn’t just tell us how to eat and how to move.

It also tells us how to dress.

What can we “pull off”? What could we never “get away with”?

We’re trained to seek out what is “flattering”—as if there’s something so inherently unacceptable about our body that we need to deploy visual tricks to create some kind of illusion. And the classic strategy for trying to look smaller or camouflage supposed flaws? Wear black.

I have nothing against wearing black, of course. There are lots of practical and aesthetic reasons to do so, and I still wear black clothes.

But here’s the thing:

I love bright colors and fun prints.

I feel happier and more like myself in them.

I used to deny myself that joy and ease. And what’s even sadder is that I didn’t even recognize I was making that sacrifice because it didn’t feel like I had a choice at all. I simply believed I couldn’t risk looking even slightly bigger than I actually was. And I couldn’t imagine drawing attention to areas I was taught to hide.

So never in a million years would I have thought of seeing my legs in loud pants (especially lying on the floor) and think, “I should take a picture—and put it on the internet!”

Below the paywall, you can hear more about why I did and how things I’ve learned might also improve your body image—and your kids’ body image, too.

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In a former life, I was a high school English teacher. So you might not be surprised to learn I’m someone who enjoyed doing—and assigning—summer reading.

Before their senior year of high school, one of my kids got to choose their summer reading from a list of options, and I could see what a difference that made. So rather than select one must-read, I decided to put together a list of options.

While you might be searching for frothy page-turners this time of year, I can’t be the only one who also enjoys reading nonfiction while on a lawn chair. And in a season of “beach body” content, you might be seeking an antidote to toxic marketing from the diet/beauty/wellness industry.

Learning more about diet culture, weight stigma, and fat phobia can make it easier to swim upstream in a world that is constantly promoting thinness at any cost.

There are so many wonderful scholars and thought leaders out there on these issues. But I offer the following books as great places to start. Go ahead and judge them by the cover—good cover art tells you a lot about both the content and the style you’ll find within.

See what grabs you, and then grab your copy at the library or wherever you like to get books. Each image below takes you to the publisher’s site where you can choose how to purchase the book (no affiliate links).

No time to read a whole book?

Check out this recent essay from :

Savala Nolan

Some Things I Wish People Knew About Fatness

Here are some things I wish people understood about fatness (including a younger me…

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3 months ago · 455 likes · Savala Nolan

Hungry for more?

I could recommend books for days, but here are just a few more, including this first one, which came out yesterday!

I’ve been toying with starting a virtual book group for paid subscribers. If you have thoughts, requests, or questions, I’d love to hear ‘em.

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“But what about health?”—Join me on Instagram Live

One of the trickiest parts of diet culture is navigating concerns about health as it relates to weight, diet, and exercise—especially when it comes to our kids. Since we know a body comment from a well-meaning doctor can do lasting harm, how do we protect our kids in these vulnerable moments?

Tomorrow over on Instagram, I’ll be talking with adolescent medicine specialist Dr. Lauren Hartman about ways to advocate for your child’s health at their next medical appointment.

If this sounds familiar, it’s because we had this chat in the spring, but technical issues meant no one could hear any sound on the replay! So we’ve scheduled a do-over. I hope you’ll join us.

And on the topic of books about diet culture, Dr. Hartman recently published this terrific guide:

My own book for parents will be out next year. Wish me luck as I do my final round of big revisions before we go into copyediting mode. And stay tuned for a cover reveal!

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We have a graduation and a birthday in our house this week, so I’m sharing a piece from the archives. Since yesterday was World Eating Disorders Action Day, I chose this essay, which was originally published on March 4, 2024.

During Eating Disorders Awareness Week, colorful ads for weight loss were popping up right alongside colorful infographics about eating disorder death rates. The juxtaposition of these messages on my “feed” was pretty disturbing.

So it felt like the perfect time to follow up on Part One of the discussion about weight-loss drugs and eating disorders. If you missed that piece, you can find it here:

Today I want to explore some of the ways these drugs can affect kids—and to consider our role in helping them navigate a world that tells them thinner is better and weight loss should be pursued at any cost.

Parenting without diet culture was already tough enough. The frenzy around these new medications has made it feel even more challenging.

I hope I’m wrong, but it seems inevitable that the popularity of these drugs will increase eating disorders, especially among children and young adults. While these illnesses affect people across the lifespan, adolescence is a particularly vulnerable time.

Thousands of kids got prescriptions for these medications in 2023, and no doubt the numbers will continue to rise. They are currently approved for ages twelve and up and are now being tested in children as young as six. (Let that sink in.)

I’m heartened to see that most news coverage about kids taking these drugs includes concerns both from eating disorder professionals and from doctors worried about the impact of calorie restriction on growth and development.

Remember these drugs can cause significant weight loss primarily by tricking your brain and body into not wanting food.

Starvation diets aren’t great for anyone; for growing kids, calorie deprivation is especially risky.

We don’t have longterm data on how these medications will affect growth, nutritional status, and other health outcomes. And that’s in addition to concerns we already have about the heightened risk of disordered eating, eating disorders, and weight cycling.

And here’s the kicker:

Kids don’t even have to be taking these drugs to be harmed by them.

Young people will suffer disproportionately from the collateral damage that comes with relentless marketing of these drugs. Kids are coming of age surrounded by increasingly lucrative anti-fatness, a proliferation of before-and-after photos, and the normalization of severely restricted eating.

When the new American Academy of Pediatrics guidelines about weight came out last year, it felt like the weight-loss industry was entering into an arms race with anti-diet parents. I know the authors of the new guidelines weren’t in some evil lair, but this is how it felt to a lot families: Body-positive parenting and intuitive eating are taking off? We better reverse our stance against prescribing diets for kids—and let’s throw in a brand new celebrity-endorsed appetite suppressant.

Swimming upstream in diet culture got even harder, especially if you’re parenting a child in a larger body. I have empathy for families who choose to put their kids on these medications or start “intensive lifestyle interventions” (aka diets) because they’ve been told it’s their best or only option. I also hear from pediatricians that more and more parents are coming into appointments requesting these prescriptions for their kids.

If you’re trying to protect your child’s relationship with food and their body, the new reality can feel pretty daunting. But I don’t think we need to construct an entirely novel approach in order to respond to these latest cultural headwinds. The strategies I have found to be effective pre-Ozempic can be applied in this context, too.

While there is no easy five-point plan to eating disorder-proof your child, there are some overarching approaches that can help protect kids:

• Have open conversations about weight stigma

• Make your home a safe haven from diet culture

• Model a healthy relationship with food and your body

• Build kids’ critical thinking and media literacy skills

• Get support if your child is struggling with eating or self-image

With the barrage of weight-loss ads and suddenly-thin celebrities who were once viewed as plus-size icons, you may decide to talk directly about these drugs, especially with older adolescents. But where to start?

You may have noticed my title uses “Ozempic” as the catch-all term even though it’s a diabetes drug prescribed off-label for weight loss. Ozempic has become the Kleenex of GLP-1 receptor agonists, which are used in diabetes medications and—at higher doses—in drugs approved for weight loss.

The name itself can be a low-stakes way in to a conversation with kids, depending on their age and developmental stage. When you and your adolescent (almost inevitably) hear an Ozempic ad or reference, the conversation might start with some something like this:

“Why do you think ‘Ozempic’ is the brand name everyone knows?”

Depending on their answer, the conversation could go in so many different directions: The power of music in advertising? (Oh, oh, Ozempic!) Why certain words in English can be more memorable and fun to say—and that marketing experts are hired to identify catchy names with specific sounds? (Hello, Amazon.)

We might even ask them: What are some potential consequences when a diabetes drug becomes synonymous with celebrity weight loss?

Getting a sense of their awareness of these drugs and what questions they may have will tell you a lot. And you don’t have to have all the answers in the moment. This can be one of many smaller conversations, which tend to be a lot more productive anyway. Building awareness of—and resilience to—diet culture takes time.

And it’s not just about lowering the risk for eating disorders.

I care a lot about preventing and treating eating disorders. And, thank goodness, the majority of children won’t go on to develop a full threshold eating disorder.

But that doesn’t mean those children aren’t going to struggle with subclinical disordered eating and body image distress. Think about how many adults you know who have a fraught relationship with food or their weight. Now consider what this younger generation is facing.

Our kids are growing up surrounded by not only weight-loss drugs but also predatory social media algorithms and school curriculum that teaches disordered eating. It’s a lot. And so they need our support and guidance.

Remember: parents have influence, too.

Feeling a sense of safety, belonging, and unconditional love can’t block out all the anti-fat noise or inoculate against eating disorders, but it lays a foundation our kids can always come home to. Talking with our children—and listening to them—can be a powerful antidote to the poisonous messages from our culture.

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It makes sense if your instinct would be to rush in and whisper-yell, “Don’t ever say that!”

Diet culture has taught us that this “F-word” is the ultimate insult. In a world obsessed with thinness, “fat” has been used as a painful put-down, weaponized against so many of us.

Maybe you grew up in a family where it seemed like fat was the worst thing you could be. Just hearing that word might make you uncomfortable.

If you’re trying to raise kids who respect all bodies (including their own), however, you might be wondering if there’s another way to think about the word “fat.”

invited me back on her podcast, Nope, That’s Not Normal, to discuss this very issue. I hope you find our conversation helpful, and please let me know if you have any questions!

You can also access the podcast here:

Nope, That's Not Normal

Talking to Kids About the Word Fat

In this episode, Jessica and Oona discuss the nuance of the word “fat” and how to talk about this with children. Oona shares practical tips and strategies for teaching children about this word, both generally and in the moment. (Hint: don’t rush to move past it or say it’s bad!) Whether you want to set this foundation with your own child or you work with or spend time with children, this is a must-listen conversation…

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3 months ago · 3 likes · Jessica Thiefels and Oona Hanson

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Rebecca talks candidly about the well-intended but harmful ways her mother tried to help her “fit in” by encouraging her to lose weight. She turned her personal story into a book for teens and tweens so that other kids wouldn’t feel so alone. Sharing this book with a young person in your life could be a great way to start a conversation about appearance pressures, body image, and disordered eating.1

I want to say thanks to everyone who joined live—and to give a special shout-out to the parent who asked a really great question about supporting a preteen in a larger body who wants to wear the same fashion looks as her thinner friends. Like a lot of parents, this mom is understandably worried that someone might tease or bully her daughter—so should she run interference and say no to the crop top?

You can watch the replay to hear our responses, but if you guessed that both Rebecca and I had essentially the same answer, you’d be right!

As promised, I’ve got links to some of Rebecca’s articles that were referenced during our conversation:

• “I’m fat. Here’s why I’m not taking a weight-loss drug” in The Washington Post is here.

• “My mother judged my body as a girl. Years later, we finally understand each other” for Today is here.

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I just celebrated another birthday, and it got me thinking about things I’ve been enjoying lately—many of which are possible thanks to ditching diet culture.

So I thought I’d share some of them with you, in no particular order (and no affiliate links or sponsorships):

1. Wearing fun, comfortable clothes rather than choosing things that might give the optical illusion that I’m smaller. I’ve learned a lot about this from anti-diet stylist .

2. On that note, the “Everyday Oversized Shirt” from Loft.

3. I’m firmly in my Ina Garten era.

4. “Never Have I Ever” on Netflix. I love a smart high school show, so I also adore…

5. “Freaks and Geeks” on various platforms—hard to believe this was on network TV for its one and only season.

6. “Somebody Somewhere” on HBO. I’ve watched this entire series several times. (In case you don’t already know, the brilliant is here on Substack and has a delightful memoir, too.)

7. “Wine Country” on Netflix. A movie about midlife women with no diet talk or body bashing—who knew it was even possible?

   

8. “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning” show (based on the book) on Peacock. Don’t be fooled by the name—it’s joyful and inspiring. Only one of the episodes is focused on someone facing their own imminent death, and even that one is incredibly life-affirming.

9. Freedom App for blocking and limiting distractions, doomscrolling, etc.

10. Long phone calls with faraway friends.

11. The color orange.

12. Taylor Swift’s Tiny Desk Concert. This video was my gateway to becoming a fan.

13. Beyoncé’s “Cowboy Carter” (and the Switched on Pop podcast episode that helped me learn more about some of the references). I listen to this album on repeat.

14. Bahamas (the band, though I’m sure I’d love the place, too). I don’t know what it is, but if “Lost in the Light” comes on, I have to stop what I’m doing and vibe with that song.

15. Spectrum News. Great local coverage.

16. The WNBA. I’m going to a game tonight! This post sums it up for me:

    

17. College Women’s Basketball, which I’ve written a bit about here.

18. Stationery.

19. Looking at yearbooks.

20. Themes—for parties, meals, gifts, anything!

21. Wrapping presents.

22. Baseball. I grew up rooting for Cleveland, and I converted fully to Dodger fandom in 2013 when Yasiel Puig joined the team. I spent Mother’s Day at Blue Heaven on Earth.

    

23. The midwest. I haven’t actually lived there since I was in high school, but I guess it always lives in me.

24. Iced coffee.

25. Key lime pie. Probably my favorite dessert of all time. My husband made a delicious one for my birthday.

26. Date shakes. We went to Palm Springs for our wedding anniversary recently, and I was reminded of how much I enjoy date shakes. They’re easy to make at home.

27. NA Beer. Over the last few years I’ve stopped being able to tolerate or enjoy alcohol, but I missed having a cold beer with certain meals (e.g., sushi, spicy food, pizza). So I was thrilled to discover some pretty satisfying alternatives.

28. Horchata ice cream. Need I say more? I get it at…

29. Trader Joe’s. What would I do without this store? I recently wrote about why I love it even more now.

30. Thai food. I haven’t had it in a while, and I need to rectify that.

31. Living in a walkable neighborhood. Yes, people walk in LA!

32. Cats.

    

33. Emojis. I embrace the cringe.

34. GIFs. Yes, I’m that friend who clogs the group chat with images.

35. Ramekins and other little bowls.

36. Speaking of bowls, the “Bowls, bowls, all types of bowls” bridge in the Back-Home Ballers skit from SNL makes me laugh every time.

37. Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Written in 1955 but still very relevant today.

38. Being Perfect by Anna Quindlen. It’s an old essay that has been bound into a little book (makes a good graduation gift).

39. The Body Is Not an Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor. An important and inspiring text that feels more needed than ever.

40. The Wordle. I play every day.

41. Playing “anagrams” in my head with words when I’m bored or anxious.

42. Etymology.

43. Puns.

44. Ranunculus flowers. Fun to say and beautiful to look at!

    

45. Taking baths while reading…

46. Magazines. I still think about some of my favorites that no longer exist. Am I the only one who remembers the parenting magazine Cookie?

47. Hiking.

48. Foam rollers. Yes, plural. I own three.

49. Line drying clothes. Nothing smells better.

50. Watching junky TV in a hotel. (Shark Tank, anyone?)

51. “Nod Pod,” a weighted eye pillow for sleeping.

52. The Big Bear bald eagle nest live cam. I’m not really a bird person, but I could watch this all day.

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Before I traveled to a conference last month, I downloaded the new Noah Kahan documentary because I knew it addressed his experience with negative body image and disordered eating. The title, Out of Body, even signaled this would be a central theme of the film.

We don’t often hear about the way men and boys struggle with body dissatisfaction and eating disorders. And when we do, it’s almost always from the perspective of an actor who’s recently manipulated his physique for a role.

Shirtless movie stars aren’t the only guys who struggle with food and body image, though. It’s now the norm for teen boys to dislike their appearance, and we’re seeing rising rates of body dysmorphia and eating disorders among boys and men. With trends like “Looksmaxxing,” we can expect things for boys to get even worse.

Some statistics I’ve shared before but are worth repeating:

The majority of adolescent boys now express being dissatisfied with their bodies.

An estimated one in seven boys will go on to develop an eating disorder by age 40.

Most people are understandably shocked by this information because of pervasive gender stereotypes. In our culture, the words “body image” and “eating disorder” are associated almost exclusively with girls and women.

So as I sat there watching Out of Body on my phone from a window seat on the plane, I felt so much gratitude that a man in the public eye is talking about his experiences with negative body image, bingeing, and restricting.

And yet even Noah Kahan—whose literal claim to fame is his ability to put painful, complex thoughts and emotions into words—had a hard time articulating his experience with body dysmorphia. His self-awareness about this contradiction was so poignant—and so telling.

Here’s a young man who shares details about other mental health challenges with the whole world but doesn’t know how to discuss this part of his inner life. “It’s something I’ve silently struggled with for fifteen years,” he says. Even his own mother hadn’t known the extent of his poor self-image until she watched the film.

So if a songwriter known for vulnerability and introspection has a hard time describing the complexity of his relationship with his body, imagine what the average young man might be going through.

As Kahan puts it in the film: “It’s one of those things that I haven’t really talked a lot about because I don’t know what my place in the world of this issue is. [...] And it’s hard to admit.”

Boys and men rarely have the vocabulary and the social permission to talk about their body image and the unrealistic appearance pressures they face. Kahan is leading by example, opening up possibility for so many others to participate in a conversation that has been historically female dominated. Because men do absolutely have a place in the world of this issue.

Watching this film (or even just clips on TikTok) will help more young men start to consider how they and their friends may be silently struggling, too.

As wrote about recently, parents and teens might watch this documentary together. I agree with Aaron that we don’t have to make this film into an overt “teachable moment” with our kids, but it does plant the seeds for important conversations in the future. And for that I’m grateful.

Alongside my gratitude for Kahan’s openness, however, I feel something else, too: frustration and disappointment.

The film never invites the audience to consider any of the context—or the impact on fat viewers. It doesn’t even mention systemic weight stigma or ask why so many people have internalized fat phobia, even those of us who are sure we wouldn’t discriminate against someone else in a larger body.

I was hoping the film would do more to highlight the way our culture has trained us to blame our body’s outside when something feels “off” on the inside.

Even though he is not in a large body, Kahan perceives himself as looking significantly bigger than he actually is. Thanks to fat phobia, he sees this distorted view of himself as “gross.”

Kahan certainly has fans who identify as fat (not as a feeling but as a neutral, objective physical descriptor) and weigh the specific amount he names, a size he sees as terrifying and repulsive. Aren’t they hearing him say, “My biggest fear is looking like you”?1

In the film, it’s the distorted perception of his body that is deemed the main problem, not the learned fear and hatred of fatness.

If we weren’t taught to be afraid of fatness, far fewer people would suffer from body dysmorphia and eating disorders. Being disconnected from how your body actually looks can be unsettling and disorienting, no doubt. But imagine how different things would be if body diversity were accepted and thinness weren’t held up as the most “attractive” form for a human to take.

Fat phobia hurts everyone, including those who aren’t actually fat.

People in the largest bodies face the most discrimination and harm, but almost no one is untouched by our culture’s obsession with thinness and muscularity. If we want to raise kids (of all genders) who feel good in their own skin, we must pay attention to the way we talk about weight—whether it’s a celebrity’s or our own.

And while the documentary doesn’t examine diet culture, it does invite us to become more attuned to the way men and boys are affected by it. If this is something you care about, you might consider these questions:

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1

As you may remember, Taylor Swift edited out a fat-phobic moment from her “Anti-Hero” video after receiving vociferous feedback from fans. I’m not expecting a similar backlash to the fat phobia in Kahan’s documentary—the reasons for that are a conversation for another day.

I’ll never forget the time a twitter troll criticized something I wrote simply because my profile banner featured . . . sprinkles. He assumed I shouldn’t be trusted when it comes to eating disorders or children’s relationship with food because, clearly, anyone using a photo of rainbow-colored candies couldn’t possibly care about nutrition.

A friend joked that this guy was probably hangry and could have used a big ol’ slice of funfetti cake. But the cranky comment was serious about reinforcing a dominant belief in diet and wellness culture: if you care about health and nutrition, then food should deliver precise amounts of specific ingredients for “optimizing” the body’s performance (and appearance)—and that pleasure around food is suspect, unless, of course, it’s also helping you meet your proteinmaxxing goals.

In the years since I stopped posting regularly on twitter, ideas about what constitutes “healthy eating” have only gotten more confusing. And parents have become the target of fear-mongering influencers who make it feel like nothing at the grocery store is safe or good enough for our kids.

In a world that celebrates appetite suppression and (non-religious) fasting, we’re taught to second-guess not only our inherent need for food but our natural desire for it.

Basic human hunger and typical thoughts about eating can get mislabeled as “food noise.” Rather than trusting and listening to our bodies, we’re told to mute that “noise” or outsource our decisions to an app, a celebrity’s what-I-eat-in-a-day post, or a diet plan.1 No wonder we aren’t sure if we can let our kids eat the things they really enjoy.

Now, I get the appeal of wanting to offload food decisions sometimes. The daily grind of planning and preparing meals can feel really burdensome. At least part of why those decisions are so exhausting, however, is that we’re always under so much pressure to get it “right,” both for ourselves and for our kids.

We all know the ways diet culture contributes to disordered eating and eating disorders. But that’s not the only negative impact. Diet culture messages about food also make life extra stressful and, frankly, pretty joyless.

When food is seen only as fuel, eating is about as fun as stopping for gas. And when we treat our bodies and our kids’ bodies as if they’re high-performance but delicate Maseratis, it feels like there’s no room for error or experimentation.

There are lots of other reasons why family meals might be stressful, of course. When you don’t have enough money to feed your family, are navigating severe allergies, or are in the throes of an eating disorder (or caring for someone who is), food feels like anything but fun. But those experiences often deepen your appreciation for the ways food can be so much more than just sustenance and survival.

When you aren’t spending mental energy counting calories, tracking macros, or checking food labels obsessively (without a medical reason), eating is already more pleasant. As a bonus, you are also freed up to think about ways that eating can be celebratory and fun. And you aren’t questioning whether something is wrong when you and your kids like food!

Thinking about food, talking about food, watching cooking shows, and flipping through cookbooks can all be pretty enjoyable. (If you’re looking for more joyful food reading, check out newsletters from , , or ).

Below the paywall, I share a few of the ways I like to infuse joy and delight into my own family’s food life.

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Last weekend I attended the Mom 2.0 Summit, an annual gathering for those who create content and products for parents. I was there to learn and connect, and I also gave a presentation to aspiring authors about the path to publishing with a university press.

The highlight was meeting up in person with fellow Substack writers , , and .

Going into this conference, I knew Weight Watchers was an event sponsor and that their Chief Experience Officer (and SoulCycle co-founder), Julie Rice, would be one of the featured speakers.

As I sat down before her talk began, I braced for fat phobia and diet talk packaged as wellness.1 I had my pen and notebook ready, envisioning how I would critique efforts to impose thin body standards on a room full of mothers. I assumed you’d be reading that right now!

But what actually happened took me by surprise.

As economist, bestselling author, and ParentData Founder Emily Oster interviewed Julie Rice, weight didn’t come up at all, at least not directly. But in a conversation about work-life balance, daily routines, and “mom guilt” (how are we still having these conversations?), both women said things about exercise that made me pause.

Oster shared that her older child “likes to make [her] feel guilty” by “finding things to complain about.” The example she gave? Her son was upset that she goes for a daily morning run instead of walking with him to school.

You better believe I jotted that one down.

She knows her kid and their relationship, and I don’t. And I always strive to avoid judging how another family does things. So why did this anecdote make me feel so uncomfortable?

Was it the apparent rigidity around exercise, choosing a run every day over a walk with a child?2 Was it because there was no acknowledgement that most parents would give anything to have their teenage son ask to spend time with them? Or was it something more personal, given that I’m feeling wistful, just months away from becoming an empty nester?

To be clear, I don’t begrudge any parent making time for what they need. I couldn’t agree more with Emily Oster when she said, “We can’t show up for our kids if we don’t show up for ourselves.”

Mothers in particular deserve stronger boundaries around their time and self-care—and support from partners and larger systems to help make that happen. For many people, an exercise routine is the very thing that gives them the capacity to be present for their kids (and themselves) in so many ways, and no one should feel guilty about that.

Of course, for all I know, Oster was feeling guilty about this particular decision (she kept bringing up guilt in her questions). Or did she share her running routine story because she felt pressure to show the creator of SoulCycle that she, too, has a religious devotion to exercise?

And that brings me to Julie Rice.

When asked about the origin story behind her boutique spin studio chain, Rice described moving from California to New York City and finding “there was no good exercise in New York.” (I imagine there are plenty of New Yorkers out there who would beg to differ.) So she and a friend decided to start a stationary bike studio, which became SoulCycle (later sold to Equinox for hundreds of millions of dollars).

Her current gig at Weight Watchers was never mentioned during the conversation, though the stage was flanked by large screens advertising the company. When the topic of routines came up, I assumed Julie Rice would be a fitness evangelist, maybe even one-upping her interviewer’s dedication to a daily run. I definitely wasn’t expecting her to casually state, “I hate to workout,” as she explained why she always brings friends with her when she goes to her personal trainer.

Wait, what?

The creator of a massive exercise business hates to exercise?

Was it possible she was using the term “workout” to mean strength training? Did she burn out after making exercise her literal job for years? Or has being active always felt to her like a miserable obligation?

On the one hand, I appreciated the honesty. It’s not all “joyful movement” all the time. But on the other hand, the unexpected comment implied it’s normal to force yourself to do something you hate, multiple times a week.

Listening to these women reference their fitness routines got me thinking about the role exercise plays in our lives and how we’re teaching the next generation to feel about movement.

We talk a lot about being role models for our kids when it comes to food and body image, but what about the way we relate to exercise?

Because if we aren’t intentional about it, we might be perpetuating some disordered beliefs around movement. Excessive, compulsive, or rigid exercise can even be symptoms of an eating disorder. And on the flip side, diet culture messages about fitness can actually make kids less likely to want to move their bodies at all.

Do we think (and talk) about exercise in terms of burning calories?

Does exercise feel like a punishment or a chore?

Are we focused on moving our bodies only for aesthetic goals?

Do we see movement as our way to “earn” food?

Do we tend to ignore our bodies and listen instead to instructions from a fitness tracker?

What’s coming up for you when you think about your relationship with exercise? How do you want your kids to relate to physical activity?

Comments are usually for paid subscribers only, but I’ve opened up this one to everyone.

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How to advocate for your child’s health at the doctor’s office

Later today (April 22 at noon PDT), I’ll be doing an Instagram Live with adolescent medicine specialist Dr. Lauren Hartman. We’ll be talking about how to advocate for your child’s health at their next pediatrician appointment. Dr. Hartman will share ways to respond when a doctor brings up weight, why pediatricians don’t usually know much about eating disorders, and more.

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Okay, so I was pretty excited to score this coveted lavender full-size tote; I got one of the mini ones last year, which we used as an Easter basket.

But what made me squeal with delight—startling my husband in the freezer aisle—was this:

I was thrilled to discover that Trader Joe’s had changed the way this item is labeled. Because here is what it used to look like:

Notice the difference?

What used to be called “Reduced Guilt” is now “Reduced Fat.”1

Associating eating with guilt—and linking lower-calorie (or lower-fat, lower-carb, etc.) food to moral goodness—is a recipe for disordered eating.

It’s why I used the Trader Joe’s product feedback form to voice my concerns, and I got a quasi-form letter response back in 2019 (funny to me that they thought I was “offended”):

It may have taken almost seven years, but I’m so glad to see they finally made this change. It’s a small win, but it definitely feels worth celebrating.

I care so much about food language because the way we talk about eating influences the way we think and feel about eating—which affects how we relate to something we have to do multiple times a day, every day, for our entire lives.

These words matter.

And our kids, who are more concrete thinkers, are especially vulnerable to the message that being “good” means restricting and that you should feel guilty for eating the “wrong” things or the “wrong” amounts.

While this diet culture moralization of food may be gone from the packaging at Trader Joe’s, it’s still all around us. “JOJO’s Guilt-Free” Chocolate, “Lesser Evil” Popcorn, “Halo Top” ice cream. Just to name a few.

If you’re trying to use more neutral language in your own home, watch out for some of the other sneaky terms that equate enjoying food with moral failure:

“Indulgent”

“Decadent”

“My weakness”

“Sinful”

Notice how diet culture has taught us to be suspicious and ashamed of pleasurable food? But eating is supposed to be pleasant!

I seem to say it almost every week, but it’s worth repeating: food is more than just fuel or a nutrient delivery system. There’s a reason NASA scientists created “astronaut ice cream.”2

If we want our kids to have a healthy relationship with food, taking guilt off the menu is a great place to start.

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You might also like:

Psychiatrist wrote a book about how to handle the toxic guilt in our lives: Guilt-Free: Reclaiming Your Life from Unreasonable Expectations. We had a great conversation on her podcast last year:

A Mind of Her Own

Bodies Are For Living, Not Perfecting: Freeing Our Kids from Diet Culture

Trying to raise kids who have a genuinely healthy relationship with food and their bodies? Join Jennifer Reid, MD as she speaks with Oona Hanson, educator, writer and parent coach, about how much power parents have to nurture kids who trust their own hunger cues, enjoy movement for joy rather than punishment, and develop the kind of inner voice that sup…

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a year ago · 2 likes · 1 comment · Jennifer Reid, MD and Oona Hanson

Upcoming Conference

I’ll be speaking later this week at the Mom 2.0 Summit, an annual conference that brings together a wide range of people who create content and products for parents. One of the keynote speakers is the CEO of Weight Watchers, so stay tuned for my take on that one!

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