Skinny Shaming Is Still Body Shaming

And it doesn’t help anyone recover from eating disorders.

I spent much of my teens, twenties, and thirties caught in addictive cycles related to food. In high school, I went on hour-plus runs then picked at lettuce and pretzels. In college, I ate in a cement stairwell rather than face our packed cafeteria. In grad school, I subsisted on muffins and coffee.

For years I used eating (and not eating) to quiet anxiety, numb grief and pain, and establish control. I created a secret, reliable refuge amidst panic and chaos.

And while my primary pattern was anorexia, I suspect that many who struggle with chronic overeating, binge eating, or binging and purging come from a similar place. We’re pleading for belonging and safety. We’re desperate to find relief and feel better. We discovered a solution amidst the too-muchness and not-enoughness of being here.

But that solution doesn’t work—not really. Addictive eating patterns will never bring true, lasting relief. Nor will they offer true refuge, or meet our real needs, or solve our pain, fear, and heartbreak. Instead, they hurt us, hold us hostage, and make our lives smaller. 

There is a way out of this (more on that below). But know what will never, ever help a person struggling with eating addictions? 

Having someone else comment on their body and choices. Especially if that person is a stranger who knows nothing about them.

And yet, here we are. Not a day passes that I don’t see anonymous commenters and well-known writers alike weighing in on the body size, lifestyle, and food choices of people they don’t know personally. 

Sometimes this looks like shaming someone for a presumed eating disorder, participating in “diet culture,” having “skinny privilege,” or simply being thinner than average.

Sometimes it looks like shaming someone for “not taking care of their body and health,” “letting themselves go,” showing curves and cellulite, or simply being larger than average.

Oftentimes it also includes:

• Offering unsolicited advice about someone’s food and lifestyle choices

• Public, performative concern: Are you okay? I’m worried.

• Public, performative declarations: You’re obviously sick. You clearly need help.

• Doing any of the above on the internet—such as through social media comments, snarky think pieces, or smart-sounding essays

None of this is okay. It’s not okay if the person’s body is large. It’s not okay if the person’s body is small. It’s not okay under any circumstances.

So, in case you’re seeing or experiencing this too, I wanted to share some heart-sourced thoughts from my personal recovery (which aligns with my work as a healthcare professional).

This is for all those being shamed for their bodies and eating. This is for all those doing the shaming. Because, sometimes, having someone stand up for us can change the trajectory. And, sometimes, having someone point out how we’re hurting others can change the course of things too.

Image of me by Rachael Shrum

Body shaming doesn’t help anyone.

First, it’s best to assume that we have no idea why someone is a particular size—especially if we know them from the internet. 

There are myriad reasons why someone might be big or small or anywhere in between. These reasons may include eating and lifestyle choices, medical conditions, mental health conditions, pharmaceuticals, visible and invisible disabilities, current or past trauma, and active or past addictions—to name but a few. 

As humans, any and all of these are likely to be part of our story at some point. We shouldn’t assume we know anything about anyone else. We especially shouldn’t assume we have the full picture. 

Even if we know or think we know why someone is a particular size and shape, it’s still not our place to offer individual-specific commentary on their body, food, or lifestyle. 

The only exceptions are if they’re seeing us as a healthcare or healing professional or have specifically asked us.

Otherwise, we have no business commenting on anyone’s body! This is true whether we’re commenting anonymously or a hotshot writer. This is true whether the target is Instagram famous, the world’s biggest celebrity, or just a regular person online or off.

“But maybe commenters are trying to help.”

Nope. That’s bullshit.

No one who truly wants to help is calling us out on the internet or offering unsolicited commentary about our bodies, choices, and health. It’s really that simple. This isn’t about you or me. This is about them and how they wish to be perceived by others.

Oftentimes, people are addicted to their identity as the activist, feminist, columnist, empath, etc. These folks have a tendency to “other” the identified patient, perpetrator, or person whom they’ve decided needs saving or shaming. 

Offering “help” or “public service announcements” from this place is self-serving and inflictive. It’s also a subconscious way of deflecting from their own places of addiction, struggle, pain, and shame.

“But maybe they’re trying to help and educate others.” 

Nope. Still bullshit.

I’ve seen big names (including writers on Substack) espouse this exact argument, couching their cruel, snarky behavior in the language of activism, feminism, and generally doing the world and women a favor.

This makes me so heated, it’s hard to hold back. But I’ll temper my words and sum it up this way: 

Commenting and speculating on another person’s body, health, and food choices helps no one. Instead it reinforces a culture of public objectification, dehumanization, humiliation, and shaming. It signals to every person reading: Watch out. Your body is fair game. So too are your places of suffering, hardship, pain, fear, and addiction. You are not safe. No one is safe. Fall in line…or else!

And no, we don’t need self-appointed vigilantes—no matter how academic or famous or witty—to protect us from “skinny privilege.” 

We need them to realize that skinny shaming (regardless of whether the person does or does not have an eating disorder) is still BODY SHAMING. Offering an unsolicited opinion on a loved one or stranger’s body, eating habits, and food choices is still DIET CULTURE and still OBJECTIFICATION. It also says a whole lot about the person doing the commenting, speculating, and shaming.

And, to Those Who Find Glee In Shaming Others, let me add this: If you want to call out harmful aspects of prevailing cultures or norms, fantastic—do that. Do something different than contributing to the exact problem you’re claiming to fight. 

Set your ego aside, and show up with care. Set your holier-than-thou-ness aside, and show up with humanness.

What doesn’t help someone recover

Back when I was caught in addictive eating patterns, anything you could’ve said about my appearance or food choices would’ve made everything worse. This is true whether you perceived your words to be positive or negative. This is true whether you were genuinely concerned or using “concern” as a means of virtue signaling, attention seeking, projection, deflection, and posturing.

If someone told me that I was too skinny, unwell, anorexic, or looked as though my head was too big for my body (all of which happened), let me set the record straight: that did not help me recover. 

Instead, it made me feel under attack, made my already crushing anxiety worse, and prompted me to double-down on obsessive-compulsive and restrictive behaviors. Sure, such behaviors perpetuated a dangerous cycle. But in the moment, I was desperate to numb the hurt, feel safe, and reestablish control. In the moment, the exact behaviors I was being shamed for were my only source of relief.

If someone instead told me I’d gained weight or looked healthier? That didn’t help either. To a person in the throes of anorexia, you might as well say: You’re huge. You’re out of control. You need to lose weight. Start running! Stop eating! (Which is exactly how I responded: running more, eating less, entrenching myself deeper in the dangerous cycle.)

And you know what never, ever helped me recover? Shaming me for my size or eating habits. Shaming other people for their size or eating habits. Preaching to me or the internet about “skinny privilege” and what I should look like.

If you’ve ever had an eating disorder, you get this. And you know that, deep down, it has little to do with body size or food. The roots go way deeper, and addressing the roots is the only way to find freedom from a painful, predictable cycle. 

This is true with eating addictions. This is true with any addiction. Addiction doesn’t care about logic. Addiction isn’t healed through shaming. Addiction traffics in shaming. Also trauma, survival, emotion, belief.

And if someone’s struggling with an eating disorder or unhelpful pattern around food (and to be clear, not all big or small people are), no comments on their body are helpful. Not ones that praise their size and shape. Not ones that shame their size and shape. Not ones that offer any commentary on their size and shape!

What does help (and what it looked like for me)

What does work if you want to help someone you know personally and love deeply who has a problematic relationship with food or an eating disorder? Well, for one, showing interest in the person who happens to have an eating disorder. 

That’s the entire premise of Regaining Your Self: Understanding and Conquering the Eating Disorder Identity, by Dr. Ira Sacker, M.D. This is an excellent resource if you’re seeking simple scripts and want to know what to say and not say to a loved one who’s struggling. It also explains that anorexia, bulimia, and binge eating have way more to do with managing trauma than fitting those jeans. (And fun fact: Many people who suffer from anorexia wear baggy clothing to hide their body, not showcase it.)

What helped me personally recover from eating disorders also included: 

1. Discovering yoga and meditation as alternatives to numbing and distracting, then committing to daily practices which I’ve continued for more than two decades.

2. Studying, learning, and applying how to eat for physical and mental well being.

3. Quitting alcohol, which was a natural extension of 1 and 2.

Even if the specifics of what helped me don’t feel aligned for you, the essence is finding a way back to connection. 

• Connection with our body and how our choices impact it. 

• Connection between body, mind, spirit. 

• Connection with something larger than ourselves—be that a Higher Power, the Universe, Nature, values and ethics, kinship with sentient beings, or shared humanity. 

Whatever language you prefer and whatever your drug of choice, this act of remembering, reconnecting, and expanding beyond the myopic self holds powerful medicine. It’s infinitely more healing than receiving outside advice, opinions, speculation, or commentary about our own appearance or anyone else’s.

From this place—this place of connection—I invite all of us to really look at one another—to really see and hear and feel for each other. Not each others’ sizes or shapes or diets. Not our projections and assumptions. Only our shared hearts and humanness. Only recognizing that, on some level, the other is you. 

And—even amidst all that we share—I invite us to remember and practice: Someone else’s body is never my business.

And…I invite you to share.

I’m going to double-triple-quadruple underscore here: no unsolicited advice, please. On this essay, specifically, unsolicited advice or comments about another person’s body will be deleted.

But I’d love, love, love for you to share your experiences. Some suggestions:

• Do you struggle with an addiction or unhelpful pattern related to food and eating?

• If so, what do you find helpful and healing?

And before you go, please tap the little ♡. It offers “social proof” and lets others know there’s something useful here. The more people become paying subscribers, the more time I can devote to Sober Soulful, which I consider my most magical, most meaningful work.

Thank you. I appreciate you. I love you.
Dana