“When people are attacked, when they are in a state of stress, there is no hope that they can be rehabilitated…”
This quote from the article “Working with Addiction: Dr. Gabor Maté Explains Why Kindness and Love Are More Effective Than Punishment” captures something vital. I won’t reprint the entire piece—you can read it yourself if you wish—but I want to draw your attention to one of its key implications:
Many people with excess weight aren’t simply “letting themselves go.” What’s often at play is not neglect, laziness, or a lack of self-respect—but a form of food addiction. And it’s usually not even about quantity. It’s about dependency on specific types of food that provide a sense of safety and emotional regulation.
What is addiction, really?
Addiction is what happens when a person’s internal state of safety and comfort drops so low that their entire psyche fixates on restoring balance—urgently, instinctively. Until that inner comfort is restored, the mind can’t focus on anything else. That’s why addiction is so powerful: it’s a survival mechanism. Food, for some, becomes not nourishment but medicine. Safety. Protection.
This need for protection often originates in childhood or adolescence, when something foundational gets ruptured. Later in life, when the familiar sense of inner peace is lost, the body and mind demand it back—at any cost. Even if the person knows their behavior is self-sabotaging, even if they blame themselves afterward, the addiction often overpowers will.
This is why, in some cases, the drive to eat compulsively is stronger than the desire to change. Even if they manage to lose weight, many find themselves “eating it all back”—not because they’re weak, but because they’re still unprotected. Their familiar comfort—food—was stripped away, but nothing came in to replace it.
Especially for compulsive eaters, the process of weight loss is not simply physical. It requires immense emotional energy—energy they don’t have access to without the shield of food. When weight loss is achieved through sheer force, without addressing the emotional or psychological root of the addiction, weight regain is not only likely—it’s almost inevitable.
And for women with sexual trauma, this cycle can become even more painful.
If a woman’s weight has unconsciously served as protection—against men, against attention, against threat—then losing weight can bring her back into the direct line of danger. Suddenly, she’s visible. Attractive. Vulnerable. The very thing she tried to shield herself from now surrounds her, and she has no armor left. No defense. No internal feeling of safety.
What does the psyche do when it feels unsafe? It returns to its old, reliable protector: food.
The heartbreak is that many of these women have already experienced the joy of transformation—the lightness, the confidence, the freedom of weight loss. And yet, they find themselves back in a body they didn’t choose—carrying a weight that isn’t just physical. With each cycle, their hope diminishes. Their trust in themselves erodes. Their fear grows.
To make matters worse, they’re often criticized by everyone around them—for “giving up on themselves,” for being “undisciplined,” for “not trying hard enough.” The cruelty is that most people don’t see the fear behind the behavior. They don’t see the trauma. They see a body and make assumptions. And those assumptions cut deep.
In truth, many women in this situation live with a constant, silent panic. A fear so profound it drives them to eat—sometimes against their will, sometimes even when they’re full, sometimes while drowning in shame. And in their eyes, what they often see reflected from the world around them is judgment. Disgust. Rejection.
What can truly help?
Only one thing: warmth. Acceptance. Support. Love.
Not more pressure. Not another diet. Not a gym membership. Not “tough love.”
What these women need is a circle of unwavering, gentle presence—people who remind them every day of their worth. Who mirror back their beauty. Who accept them, exactly as they are. Who don’t demand change but create the safety within which transformation can arise organically.
That’s what real acceptance is: the radical permission for something—or someone—to be exactly as they are, without resistance, without demand, without shame.
Can someone do this alone?
Experts often say: no. Without that kind of external support—complete, loving acceptance—healing from this kind of trauma is nearly impossible.
And yet… I want to believe in the impossible.
I believe a person can rise, even alone. But it takes something extraordinary. An immense reservoir of self-awareness, courage, tenderness, and fierce devotion to change. It’s a path only the brave walk. But it is walkable.
Still, if you love someone who’s struggling with food, trauma, or addiction—don’t try to fix them. Love them. Just love them. That love, over time, may become the very thing that helps them learn how to love themselves.
That’s how healing begins.
