How body dysmorphia wrecked my gut and led to chronic disease

And what I did to actually start healing

We went from the 2000s, where Millennials like me grew up amid thinspo and pro-ana culture—social media feeds filled with thigh gaps, calorie-restriction tips, and toxic mantras like “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” Back then, weight was a direct measure of self-worth.

Fast forward to the 2010s, and diet culture cleverly morphed into “wellness culture.” Box gyms and boutique fitness studios exploded, and fitspo flooded social media with sculpted bodies, mirror selfies, and slogans like “strong, not skinny.”

If you weren’t at the gym, you were in your room doing Blogilates. Clean eating became its own strict religion—gluten, dairy, sugar, carbs—someone was always eliminating something in the name of health. Remember this was like peak crossfit-paleo era. (If you were alive back then, you know—it was an entire personality.) Guilty as charged.

If I wasn’t in class or selling monthly unlimited passes at Delta Sonic Car Wash, I was working out obsessively. And honestly, I looked the part. (Let’s not revisit those photos.)

a random crossfit meme I found on google

Despite spending 1–3 hours daily doing intense HIIT and lifting, my body wouldn’t shed the extra weight. In hindsight, it wasn’t fat—it was chronic inflammation. I didn’t know that then. Instead, I believed if I worked out harder, cut more carbs, and eliminated sugar entirely, I’d finally achieve that elusive lean physique.

Lying awake at night, physically full yet mentally hungry was a common occurrence for me. Any food placed in front of me, I devoured like I was starving—because, in a way, I was.

Just doing what everybody does

Throughout high school, Adderall was easily obtained by anyone who struggled with focus (pretty sure it’s still the same 10 questions). Add in 1–2 daily coffees and pre-workout powders (remember dry-scooping watermelon C4?), it's no wonder I couldn’t sleep. At 2 AM, desperate, I walk into Walgreens and grab some generic diphenhydramine—aka Benadryl—completely unaware that regular use could slow gut motility and eventually lead to SIBO.

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Back then, nobody talked about the dangers of OTC drugs. Actually I'm not quite sure anyone is sounding the alarm on this even now—which is why I’m making such a fuss about it here on

Untreated

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I started taking Benadryl almost daily to knock myself out so I had a better chance of making it to class. The alternative (at least in my head at the time) was me laying awake until 3 am.

I was clueless as to why my body and brain felt like it was broken. Couldn’t be the Benadryl blocking my neurotransmitters!

Or the Zantac my PCP prescribed for the sudden onset of GERD which—by the way—was removed from the market in April 2020 due to contamination with a potential carcinogen. I knew that shit was terrible for me. I literally felt my body rejecting it from the palm of my hand. Little did I know it was blocking the very substance our gut needs to thrive. More on that later.

And let’s not even talk about the black mold my brother later discovered in our basement—the basement where my bedroom was—because that couldn’t have been why I kept waking up gasping for air, right?

The seed gets planted somewhere

Eighth-grade health class introduced us to the dangers of eating disorders—ironically planting the very seeds it intended to prevent. Soon after, I found myself at Walgreens, innocently buying laxatives, justifying it as "staying regular." Before long, casual laxative use spiraled into full-blown dependency and body dysmorphia.

My teenage logic was heartbreaking: “Just getting rid of that extra pasta I shouldn’t have eaten,” or, “350 calories in that muffin means 30 minutes on the stair master.” Little did I know, these behaviors would snowball disastrously in the years ahead.

Same sickness, new Era

Looking back, that teenage struggle never truly ended—it just evolved.

Now, it’s just more widespread. With Gen Z and Gen Alpha on platforms like TikTok, the toxic undercurrents of diet culture are subtler yet more pervasive. Buzzwords like “Hot Girl Walks,” “Wellness Era,” and “That Girl” aesthetic mask the same underlying pressures. Young woman today are avoiding fruit fearing sugar, fasting to fit unrealistic standards, all neatly packaged as “healthy living”.

Listen, I’m not about to totally slash girl dinner because I’m not a complete buzzkill but there are young women out there starving themselves because normalization of self-deprecating girl dinners became mainstream. I’m sorry but I need like 5x the amount of calories shown here.

@danielle.fewingsGirl dinner to the extreme #girldinner #girldinners #girldinnersong

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Social media amplifies comparison. It’s inevitable. Just look at our screen time! As we scroll 8 hours a day, seeds of inadequacy are planted, pushing young women into restrictive eating patterns, cleanses, and body-checking rituals disguised as wellness routines wrapped in the current aesthetic trend with food diaries like “what I eat in a day” which seemingly consists of protein-centric diets capitalizing on marketability.

Make sure you get your protein in! Can’t wait to do a piece on that one.

Different names. Same sickness.

I will give it to Gen Z though, this is a lot better than the era my adolescent self grew up in, “Oh you’re hungry? Just drink more water.”

My awakening

In my healing journey, it became painfully clear: the system profits off our chronic sickness. It's not a conspiracy—it's an ecosystem designed around industries, incentives, and outdated practices that thrive on our continual decline.