I was very "disciplined" when I was building my law business. I stuck to a strict diet, worked out at 5 a.m., and worked 16-hour days. Even though I looked fit and dropped weight, I was always worried, cranky, and worn out. I experienced sleeplessness, and my cortisol levels increased. It was called "functional burnout" by my doctor. I had gone from being healthy to being obsessed. It took me months to get better—to learn how to balance again, to let myself rest, and to stop feeling bad when I didn't work out. People can use excessive "health" as a tool for control. Flexibility, joy, and rest are all essential for real health. It taught me that constancy is better than energy. You shouldn't do things for your health if they make you feel bad in your mind.
I went through a phase where I was obsessed with clean eating. At first, it was great — felt more energetic, lost some weight. But then it got out of hand. I was cutting out more and more foods, labeling them as 'bad'. Before I knew it, I was dealing with nutritional imbalances. My hair started falling out, and my doctor told me I was severely lacking in essential nutrients like iron and vitamin B12. Another thing? Overexercising. I thought more was better. Running every day, hitting the gym, never resting. It did not end well — I ended up with a stress fracture in my foot. Had to lay off everything for months. It was a rough wake-up call, but it made me realize the importance of moderation. If you're diving into any kind of health kick, make sure to keep it balanced. Your body’ll thank you for not going too extreme. And always listen to what it's trying to tell you — sometimes the best move is to just rest.
Founder and CEO / Health & Fitness Entrepreneur at Hypervibe (Vibration Plates)
Answered 10 months ago
There was a stretch in my mid-40s where I fully bought into the idea that more was better. More workouts, more tracking, more "clean" eating. I was juggling four kids, running a health-tech company, flying constantly, and still squeezing in six intense training sessions a week. I fasted through most mornings, tracked every macro, and prided myself on avoiding "inflammatory" foods. Then the breakdowns started. My right Achilles flared up. Then my shoulder. I chalked it up to needing better mobility drills, maybe a new supplement stack. But the truth? I was overtrained, under-fueled, and completely disconnected from my body's signals. The scariest part wasn't the injuries; it was the fatigue. I started getting dizzy spells, crashing hard mid-afternoon, and feeling moody for no real reason. Bloodwork finally revealed I was borderline deficient in B12 and iron, despite "eating clean." I'd cut out too many grains, red meat, and dairy, without realizing that restriction can backfire when life is already demanding. The wake-up call came when I realized I was doing all this in the name of health, but I didn't actually feel healthy. Now? I train less but move better. I eat with more flexibility and less fear. And I've learned to listen to my body when it whispers—so I don't have to wait for it to shout.
I'm not personally someone who experienced these extremes, but in my therapy practice I've worked with several clients whose "healthy" pursuits became destructive. One client developed orthorexia after starting what seemed like a reasonable clean eating plan - she ended up socially isolated because she couldn't eat anywhere that didn't meet her rigid standards. Another client I worked with was training for marathons and developed stress fractures, but kept pushing through because stopping felt like "giving up on health." The psychological component was huge - her identity became so wrapped up in being the "fitness person" that injuries felt like personal failures. What I see consistently is that these behaviors often mask deeper emotional needs or trauma. The control aspect of extreme dieting or exercise can feel soothing when other areas of life feel chaotic. The social isolation happens gradually - first you skip one dinner because the restaurant doesn't fit your plan, then it becomes easier to just avoid social eating altogether. The digestive issues are real too - I've had clients whose restrictive eating patterns completely disrupted their gut health, creating a cycle where they felt they needed even more control over their food to feel "normal."
While I haven't personally experienced extreme healthy behaviors, I witnessed this during my own postpartum period when the pressure to "bounce back" became overwhelming. I started obsessively tracking every bite and workout, convinced this would help my mental health recovery. What actually happened was the opposite - the rigid control created more anxiety than relief. I became irritable with my family when meal times didn't align with my strict schedule, and I'd panic if I missed a workout session. The very behaviors I thought would reduce my postpartum stress were amplifying it. The turning point came when I realized I was modeling unhealthy perfectionism for my children. In my therapy practice now, I see how parents especially fall into this trap - using extreme wellness routines as a way to feel in control when everything else feels chaotic. The social isolation creeps in because you can't be flexible enough to enjoy normal family activities. What surprised me most was how the perfectionist mindset around health actually weakened my emotional resilience. Instead of building strength, the rigid rules made me more fragile when life inevitably disrupted my routines.