There’s an old Indonesian proverb that says, “Too clean is no flavor.” And damn, isn’t that the whole mood when we look back at that “clean eating” phase like it was some sort of food religion? The quinoa was holy, the sugar was sin, and god forbid you even looked at a croissant.
Your plate was a palette of sad beige chicken, steamed sadness, and a sprinkle of self-righteousness. But what they never told you was that while your abs were coming in hot, your patience, joy, and emotional stability were packing their bags.
We thought we were levelling up, right? Cutting carbs like they were toxic exes, throwing out the oil like it owed us money, and swearing allegiance to the almond butter gods.
But somewhere between the overnight oats and the overpriced spirulina, something snapped. You weren’t glowing—you were just cranky. Short-fused. Dry as tofu in a microwave.
And no, it wasn’t just “detox symptoms.” That was some top-tier gaslighting.
Let’s call it what it was: a socially acceptable eating disorder in yoga pants. It sold itself with wellness hashtags and pastel smoothie bowls, but beneath the aesthetic was a slippery slope of food guilt, isolation, and a mood so unpredictable it could ruin brunch before it even began.
You weren’t fun anymore. You were calculating macros in your head while your friends were laughing over pizza. You judged them. Then hated yourself for judging. Then resented them for being happy.
Clean eating didn’t just clean out your pantry—it vacuumed your soul.
But Why So Moody Though?
Strip away joy from food, and you’re basically left with fuel. That sounds efficient until you realize humans aren’t Teslas. We eat for pleasure, culture, connection. Your body might’ve adapted to the kale salads, but your brain? Oh, it was screaming.
You slashed carbs and forgot they fuel serotonin. You banned fats and kissed goodbye to hormone balance. You ghosted chocolate and called it discipline—your dopamine levels just called it depression.
Mood isn’t just a mindset—it’s a biochemical soup, and clean eating often strips away the ingredients. It’s like showing up to a party and someone forgot the music, snacks, and literally all the fun.
“Good Food” Was a Lie Dressed in LuluLemon
Let’s not sugarcoat it—because sugar was the first thing we demonized. Clean eating was less about health and more about control. It was an aesthetic wrapped in moral superiority.
If your food wasn’t organic, gluten-free, grass-fed, activated, fermented, or whatever the hell else was trending—then it wasn’t “good enough.” And if the food wasn’t good enough, neither were you.
See how quickly that got dark?
That rigid binary—clean vs. dirty, good vs. bad—it messes with your head. You start moralizing your meals. One bite of cake? You “cheated.” A burger? You “relapsed.” That kind of language belongs in addiction recovery, not dinner.
Clean eating taught us that wellness was a finish line, and if we just ate perfectly, we’d win happiness. Instead, most of us ended up in emotional purgatory—numb, tired, and low-key angry all the time.
Food is Meant to Taste Like Life
Messy. Rich. Sweet. Sometimes a little salty. Sometimes a full-blown emotional rollercoaster.
When did we decide that eating joyfully was lazy? That flavor was a moral failure? That enjoying food was indulgent instead of intuitive? Food is more than numbers. It’s grandma’s stew. It’s drunken midnight snacks with your ride-or-dies.
It’s the plate you cried over after a breakup. You don’t remember the perfect calorie count—you remember the warmth. The smell. The feeling.
Clean eating robbed us of that. It made food clinical. Cold. An equation instead of an experience.
You Weren’t Broken—The System Was
They sold us the fantasy of “purity,” but it came with a side of anxiety, disordered eating, and a personality that could barely tolerate happy hour.
And let’s not forget the elitism baked into the whole thing—clean eating was expensive, exclusive, and mostly marketed to people who could afford to “wellness” their way out of reality.
The rest of us? We just wanted to feel good in our bodies without losing our minds in the process.
So maybe you snapped out of it. Maybe you still flinch when someone mentions seed oils. But let this sink in: you were never meant to suffer in the name of health. You were meant to live. Fully. Loudly. With flavor.
If it cost you your joy, your laughter, your sanity—it wasn’t health. It was a prison in a smoothie bowl.
“There’s no clean or dirty—only what your body asks for and how well you listen.”
Eat the damn pizza. Laugh with your mouth full. And next time someone tries to sell you “pure” eating, ask them when food became a religion and why they look so miserable.
“Health isn’t the absence of cake. It’s the presence of balance.”
And that’s on breaking free.
Totally agree with how this calls out the moodiness and isolation that came with clean eating. It’s rarely talked about how much mental energy gets sucked into food guilt disguised as discipline.