Why self-trust (not control) is the real work in healing food + body struggles

When control stops working

Most people I work with aren’t struggling because they lack discipline — far from it. They are often the most disciplined, regimented, hardworking, and high-achieving people.

What they’re struggling with is the pressure to comply with a system full of unattainable requirements, designed to keep them small. The way our culture functions in relation to bodies and “health” is a framework built to fail — one that hooks people in with false promises and imagined ideals that never actually exist.

And even if we do meet those imagined ideals, the goalpost moves instantly. There is no finish line. If there were, the builders of these systems would lose their profit. Instead, people are taught to hate their bodies for this or that — and then for some new thing they hadn’t even thought of yet. It’s insidious. And it’s exhausting.

In a system built to instill doubt, shame, and rigid adherence to protocols, there is no real relief — only an internalized form of control that pulls people farther and farther from trusting themselves.

By the time many people begin working with me, their bodies have held so much and pushed so hard, often while being undernourished emotionally and physically.

Why control makes sense

Listen — it makes so much sense why we’d be pulled toward these false promises. They sound simple and reassuring: follow “X plan” and you’ll finally get relief, approval, or a sense of control.

I often think about kids when I reflect on this. Children have very little control over their lives, and food or eating can become one of the few areas where choice or autonomy is possible. When we grow up with fear, anxiety, trauma, uncertainty, or loss in our lives, it’s not far-fetched to imagine that this strategy follows us into adulthood — especially if it helped us feel okay at one point.

Control, in this way, isn’t the problem. It’s a strategy that helped us feel like we had a say when so much felt out of our hands. Having a rigid idea to cling to can create a sense of safety. It can become something familiar — something predictable — even something that feels trustworthy when the world doesn’t.

What self-trust actually is

You might be wondering, what even is self-trust? Fair question.

Self-trust is leaning into your own sense of knowing, and believing that you can listen to yourself and respond to what you need. And that can feel incredibly scary, especially when so many of us have spent our lives being trained to stop listening to our bodies.

What isn’t self-trust is outsourcing our true desires, bypassing natural body responses, and trading responsiveness for shame, guilt, and distance.

Think about almost any diet plan: strategies to “quiet” hunger (which really means ignore it), or to “push through” pain during exercise (which often means overriding fatigue, illness, or injury). Over time, we learn that our body’s signals can’t be trusted — or that they’re something to control.

Self-trust isn’t just about trusting your body’s cues. It’s also about allowing your body to trust you — to trust that you’ll attune, respond, rest when needed, and care for what’s been ignored for so long.

Like any relationship, self-trust isn’t earned overnight. It’s built through consistency, showing up, listening, and responding again and again. That’s what self-trust actually is — not perfection or willpower, but a relationship that deepens over time.

Why listening feels hard

The real challenge often comes when we decide we want to listen to ourselves again — when we want to reconnect with our bodies and respond to our needs — but don’t know what that actually looks like. It can feel like an innate language we were once fluent in, perhaps very early in life, but that now feels hard to decipher.

What does hunger even feel like? Is this fullness? Am I feeling pain, or is this discomfort — and what’s the difference? Our bodies can start to feel like unfamiliar terrain, something we’re relearning how to explore, with all its curves, textures, and nuance.

If we think about it, when yelling that we need something over and over again is met with silence, eventually we stop yelling. Our bodies do something similar. Signals become muted, and our awareness of them fades into background noise.

A large part of this work is gently reconnecting with sensation — learning what different cues feel like, what they mean for us, and how to respond. This includes noticing the nuances of hunger and fullness, and understanding when we feel most satisfied, grounded, or at ease.

This isn’t easy. It can be frustrating. I hear it often — and have felt it myself — “Why is this so hard? It should be simple. It’s just eating.” The truth is, it isn’t simple, and that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. What matters is showing up with curiosity and care, so ease can slowly return.

What begins to change

When we finally start tuning in again — picking up what may feel like faint whispers from the body at first — things slowly become clearer. There’s often a sense of liberation and spaciousness that comes with reconnecting to your body’s voice. It might feel a bit like freedom, or even, “Why have I waited so long to do this?” And over time, it can begin to feel genuinely good.

Building trust in ourselves is a core part of easing self-doubt, growing confidence, and understanding our deeper “why.” We no longer have to default to a plan created by something completely outside of us, or keep searching for the plan that will finally work. Instead, we begin to rely on something more honest and sustaining than any plan could ever offer — a felt sense of connection with ourselves.

If you’re feeling unsure

If you’re feeling tired, unsure, frustrated, or doubtful, I want to say this plainly: you’re allowed to explore this, and you’re allowed to let it be imperfect. You don’t have to start when you feel perfectly “ready,” or when you’re completely sure it makes sense.

In truth, many of us never reach that place of certainty — and still, something brought you here. There’s likely a quiet spark that wants to believe there’s a kinder way to relate to yourself. That, too, is one of those whispers asking to be heard.

You may not know exactly what change will look like, how it will unfold, or how long it will take. But if there’s a part of you longing for something different, you’re allowed to trust that part. You’re allowed to listen.

If you’d like support exploring this in therapy, you can learn more here.