27/05/2026
What happened in the world that made making healthy choices make you the weird one at the table?
Let me get this straight. The world has got this upside down.
You can roll into the office on a Monday morning clutching a coffee the size of a small bucket, complain loudly about your hangover, eat a muffin the size of your head, and everyone nods sympathetically and says "rough weekend, yeah?"
Totally fine. Practically a bonding ritual.
But if you walk in and say "actually I went to bed at 9:30, skipped the drinks, had a smoothie and did a run this morning" — suddenly you've got explaining to do. People look at you like you've joined a cult. Someone will definitely ask if you're okay.
When did looking after yourself become the suspicious behaviour?
We've normalised the madness!!!
Think about what we've quietly decided is completely normal:
Eating until you feel sick at a restaurant and calling it a good night. Drinking alcohol three or four times a week and calling it "just unwinding." Snacking constantly — not because you're hungry, but because food is just there. Sitting for eight hours, getting home, sitting for another four, and calling that Tuesday. Ultra-processed food for breakfast. Ultra-processed food for lunch. A "treat" for surviving the day.
None of this raises an eyebrow. It's just... life. It's what people do.
But somewhere along the way, the alternative became the outlier.
The dinner table tribunal:
Here's a scene that plays out in restaurants around the world, every single night.
Someone at the table looks at the menu and quietly chooses the grilled fish instead of the pasta. Skips the bread basket. Orders sparkling water instead of wine.
And the table — the table — loses its mind.
"Oh come on, one glass won't hurt." "You're being so good. I feel terrible now." "Is this a new thing you're doing? Are you on something?" "Just live a little!"
Live a little. That's the phrase. As though the person eating the fish is somehow less alive. As though they're not enjoying themselves. As though choosing the salad is a form of quiet suffering to be pitied.
Meanwhile nobody says a word to the guy who just ordered a double burger, onion rings, and a second beer before the starter arrived. That's just Steve. Steve's having a good time.
The strange guilt of doing the right thing
What's really odd is the guilt that somehow transfers.
You decide to have protein shakes. You order a salad and your friend says "I feel so bad now" — as if your choice is a silent verdict on theirs. You decline the dessert and someone feels the need to defend ordering theirs. You don't drink and the person next to you suddenly has to explain why they do.
Nobody made you feel anything. You just ordered differently.
But there it is — this strange social contract where everyone needs to be on the same level of indulgence so nobody has to think too hard about their own choices.
It's much easier to call you obsessed than to consider whether they might want to make a change.
Let's call it what it is
We've built a culture where the unhealthy default is invisible because everyone does it, and the healthy choice is visible because it's different. And different makes people uncomfortable.
So we call it restriction. We call it obsession. We call it "no fun." We frame every healthy decision as something extreme, something that needs justification, something slightly sad.
Meanwhile the actual extreme — the daily pile of processed food, the nightly drinks, the complete absence of movement — that's just called normal life.
The world has gone completely upside down.
And the really wild part? The person skipping the wine and getting eight hours sleep isn't the one who'll be surprised when their health catches up with them.
Maybe the most radical thing you can do right now is just… take care of yourself.
Quietly.
Without apologising for it.
And if someone at the table gives you a look — just smile, eat your fish, and sleep very, very well.
