.png)
Fitting In vs. Belonging
Ann Poirier's dieting history started at age ten. Her parents weighed themselves every day (this was the era of Tab and calorie counting), and somewhere in the mix of a brother's harmless nickname, comments about "chubby cheeks," and a doctor marking her chart at a seventh-grade physical and telling her mother to watch what she eats, ten-year-old Ann decided something was wrong with her body. Her first real diet, in her own words, was so "effective" it landed her in the hospital. She doesn't remember much of three years of her adolescence. The eating disorder had taken over that completely.
Ann is now a nationally recognized body image expert and the author of The Body Joyful, and this conversation is one of the most useful I've had on where body shame actually comes from and what to do about it once you see it clearly.
The need underneath almost all of it is simply wanting to belong. Ann pointed to Brené Brown's distinction between fitting in and belonging: fitting in means molding yourself into whoever you think you need to be around a given group; belonging means being fully yourself and still accepted. In middle school especially, we don't have the wisdom yet to separate the two. You'll do almost anything, lie, sneak, hide, to avoid being the one who doesn't fit.
Body neutrality is not the same thing as body positivity. Ann was clear about the distinction: body positivity grew out of a genuine fat-activist movement but has since largely been reabsorbed into being about appearance, loving how you look. Body neutrality shifts the target entirely, away from appearance and onto function. Not "do I love how my body looks today," but "what has this body carried me through, and how can I respect it going forward." For Ann, that shift changed everything, because it took the daily verdict on her appearance off the table completely.
An exercise worth trying yourself: Ann has people close their eyes and think of a close friend, and list the reasons they like that person. Then she asks: does any of it have to do with their body size? It never does. Then she flips it back: what do you bring to the people who love you? The point isn't to trick you into loving your body. It's to notice, honestly, how small a role body size actually plays in why anyone loves anyone.
Curate your feed like you'd curate anything else you let into your house. Social media comparison is, in Ann's words, the thief of joy, and worth an honest audit. If someone you follow's content leaves you feeling "stocky and sturdy" (her mother's old words for her, still echoing decades later), that's data. You get to choose what stays in the rotation.
On regulating the nervous system before you can do any of this work, a few concrete tools:
"Name it to tame it." When an emotion hits, Ann asks people where they feel it in their body, then has them put a hand on that spot and give the feeling a voice: if it could talk, what would it say? I do something similar and ask "whose voice is that, really?" Sometimes it's not even your own inner critic. It's a parent's voice running on an old loop.
The double-inhale, extended exhale breath. In through the nose, one more quick sip of air at the top, then a long slow exhale. It's small enough to do inconspicuously in an airport or a waiting room, and it works by physically shifting you out of fight-or-flight.
Practice the breath when you're calm, not just in crisis. Ann's insight here is one I hadn't considered: rehearse the tool before you need it, the same way you'd practice a fire drill, so it's actually available to you under real stress instead of being something you're trying to learn for the first time mid-panic.
A little "rubby rubby" on the chest or gut. A small, subtle self-soothing motion, almost a mother-to-child gesture, that triggers a real, physiological calming response. You can do it standing in line without anyone noticing.
Calm self-talk delivered with authority, not cheerfulness. Not "everything's wonderful, sunshine and rainbows," more like, "I'm going to be okay, I'm doing the best I can, I'm working through this." Neutral, steady, believable. Ann's read is that the brain responds to the authority in the tone as much as the words themselves. If you say it like you mean it, your nervous system tends to believe you.
Between stimulus and response, there is a space, and that space is where your freedom lives. Ann quoted Viktor Frankl on this, and it's the frame underneath everything else: you're not a caveman reacting to a threat in zero time. There are steps between the craving and the cupboard (standing up, walking to the kitchen, opening a drawer) and each one is a chance to insert a breath, a check-in, a different choice.
If there's one thing to sit with from this conversation: the belief that something is wrong with your body usually didn't start with your body. It started with a message you absorbed long before you had the tools to question it. Ann's whole body of work is proof that you can go back and question it now.
You are not alone. Healing is possible. Your story matters.
You’re not broken, and you’re never alone. If you want ongoing encouragement, practical resources, or a supportive community of women walking this path, join my email list or grab our book, Real Food Recovery: If Food Isn’t the Answer, What’s the Question? And catch our weekly podcast here!
You are strong. You can do this. And we’ll walk it together.
Comments