Eating Disorders, Shame, and the Business of Insecurity
There is a reason eating disorders have grown louder in a world obsessed with image. There is money in insecurity. There is status in looking a certain way. There is a whole industry built on the idea that your body is a project that is never finished. The problem is that some people don’t just “get influenced.” They get consumed. What starts as a plan to lose a few kilos becomes a mental obsession. What starts as healthy eating becomes rigid rules. What starts as gym motivation becomes compulsion. What starts as “getting back on track” becomes the only track that matters.
In addiction work we see a harsh pattern. When the world provides a socially acceptable way to numb or control feelings, people will use it. Sometimes it’s alcohol. Sometimes it’s pills. Sometimes it’s gambling. Sometimes it’s food restriction and exercise obsession. The behaviour is different, but the function is the same, regulate distress, gain control, avoid emotions, earn approval, escape shame.
This article is about the cultural environment that breeds eating disorders, why shame is the engine, and what real recovery looks like when your disorder has been applauded for years.
The image economy
Appearance is not new. Humans have always valued beauty. What’s changed is scale and speed. The internet turned appearance into currency you can spend daily. Likes, attention, dating options, social status, professional perception, even assumptions about discipline and competence. People get treated differently based on how they look. That’s not a moral statement, it’s a reality. And realities shape behaviour.
For someone who already feels insecure or unseen, the image economy offers a straightforward deal, change your body and you’ll be valued. That deal is seductive because it feels concrete. It’s easier to change food than to face grief. It’s easier to count calories than to face trauma. It’s easier to chase thinness than to tolerate uncertainty.
The problem is that the deal is never paid off. The goalpost moves. The person shrinks and still feels wrong. So they shrink more.
Shame, the fuel nobody wants to talk about
Shame drives eating disorders more than vanity does. Shame about size. Shame about hunger. Shame about emotions. Shame about needing comfort. Shame about being “too much.” Shame about being “not enough.” Shame about failing at life. Shame about trauma. Shame about family dynamics.
Shame is unbearable when it sits unprocessed. So people find behaviours that reduce it temporarily. Restriction can create a sense of purity and control. Purging can create temporary relief and reset. Compulsive exercise can create temporary righteousness, I earned this, I’m disciplined, I’m good. Bingeing can create temporary numbness.
Then the shame returns stronger because the person feels out of control. That’s the trap. Shame creates the behaviour and the behaviour creates more shame.
The “discipline” narrative
One of the most damaging cultural lies is that extreme control equals virtue. People praise the person who never eats carbs, never misses a workout, never indulges, never “lets themselves go.” They call it discipline. They don’t see that the person is terrified.
This praise matters because it turns recovery into identity loss. If the person’s sense of worth is built on being the disciplined one, then treatment feels like becoming ordinary. It feels like becoming weak. It feels like failing. That’s why many people cling to the disorder even when they’re miserable, because the disorder gives them an identity that earns approval. Families should stop confusing visible control with inner wellbeing. The calm, controlled exterior can hide extreme inner chaos.
Recovery is not “learning to eat normally”
Recovery is not just meal plans. Meal plans are necessary, but they are not enough. Real recovery is learning to tolerate feelings without attacking your body. Learning to live with uncertainty without using control rituals. Learning to manage stress without punishment and compensation. Learning to have relationships without hiding. Learning to exist without performing worth through food rules.
This often means therapy that targets perfectionism, shame, trauma dynamics, emotional regulation, and identity. It means medical monitoring if risk is present. It means nutritional rehabilitation guided by professionals. It often means family involvement, because the home system can either support recovery or feed the disorder.
It also means confronting the fact that the world still sells insecurity. Recovery requires choosing a different internal standard than the one the feed pushes.
A grounded way forward
Families can’t control recovery, but they can stop feeding the disorder. Stop commenting on weight. Stop praising weight loss. Stop moralising food. Create predictable meals where possible. Encourage professional support. Take medical risk seriously. Set boundaries around purging behaviours and secrecy, not with humiliation, but with firm safety measures.
If the person is medically compromised or actively purging, don’t negotiate. That is not a lifestyle preference. That is a medical risk. If the person is in denial, focus on function and behaviour. You’re withdrawing. You’re avoiding meals. You’re anxious around food. You’re training compulsively. You’re lying. Those facts matter more than arguments about appearance.
Eating disorders thrive in a world that profits from insecurity and praises extreme control as discipline. But the disorder is rarely just about looking good. It’s about shame, relief, identity, and the need to feel safe inside a body that feels like a problem. Recovery isn’t about becoming carefree. It’s about becoming honest, stable, and able to tolerate discomfort without turning your body into a battlefield. If you treat it like vanity, you’ll miss the danger. If you treat it like a serious mental health condition with addiction-like mechanics, you’ll respond early enough to change the outcome.
