There’s this moment that sticks with me.
I’m standing in front of my fridge at 11:47 p.m., wearing an old hoodie, half a protein bar in my hand, and this quiet, gnawing voice in my head asking, “What’s wrong with me?”
I’d been “good” all week. Meal prepped, tracked my macros, resisted the birthday cupcakes in the office kitchen. But then life did what life does—got loud, got chaotic. Deadlines. Kid tantrums. Emotional exhaustion. And suddenly, I’m right back here, halfway through a snack I don’t even want, wondering why it’s so hard to just stick to the plan.
But here’s the truth that took me way too long to learn:
It’s not that I didn’t have discipline. It’s that the plan I was trying to follow was never designed for my actual life.
We live in a world overflowing with “weight loss secrets.”
Drink this. Cut that. Do 75 hard. Intermittent fast until noon. Keto, paleo, vegan, low-carb, low-fat, high-protein, no-sugar, raw.
And if you’ve tried most of them—and still feel stuck—there’s probably a quiet shame sitting on your shoulders. The kind that whispers, “Other people can do it. What’s wrong with you?”
Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with you.
The problem is, most of the solutions we’re handed were built in a vacuum.
They assume a level of time, energy, and emotional bandwidth that most real people don’t have on a Tuesday after a long commute, a hard meeting, or a toddler meltdown.
They weren’t made for single moms working double shifts.
Or burned-out teachers surviving on five hours of sleep.
Or trauma survivors navigating emotional eating triggers no app can track.
They were made to sell simplicity in a messy world.
And that’s why they fail.
Not because you failed.
But because they never accounted for your actual, beautiful, complicated, imperfect life.
Once I realized that, everything shifted.
I stopped chasing the ideal plan and started building one that felt real.
I stopped asking, “What’s the fastest way to lose weight?” and started asking, “What can I actually do when life falls apart and I want to quit?”
For me, that meant:
– Not demonizing comfort food, but creating a “tender food” list for hard days.
– Choosing movement that felt doable, even if it was just stretching while watching Netflix.
– Letting go of the idea that consistency meant perfection.
– Learning to celebrate the fact that I came back, again and again, no matter how many times I “messed up.”
Because real progress is messy.
It’s made in the middle of chaos.
It’s made when you pack lunch instead of skipping meals during a crisis.
It’s made when you forgive yourself for the binge and keep going anyway.
It’s made when you realize that weight loss isn’t a punishment—it’s an act of care.
I still have hard days.
I still overeat sometimes.
But the difference now is I don’t make it mean I’ve failed.
I just breathe.
Reset.
And remember that I’m not broken—I’m just human.
So if you’re here, exhausted from trying, holding guilt and self-blame like bricks in your hands… let me say this clearly:
You are not lazy.
You are not weak.
You are not the problem.
The real problem is how many solutions were built without you in mind.
Let’s build something that actually fits. Something sustainable. Something real.
Not perfect.
But possible.
And honestly, that’s the only “secret” that’s ever worked.
