Picture a beach ball.
You’re holding it underwater. Both hands pressing down. You can keep it submerged—for a while. But the ball is pushing back. Constantly. And your arms are getting tired.
Eventually, one of two things happens. Either you give up and release it, or your grip slips. And when it does, that ball doesn’t gently float to the surface. It rockets up. It explodes out of the water with all the force you used to keep it down.
This is what restriction does to cravings.
The “last supper” cycle
When you decide to start a diet on Monday, what do you do all weekend?
You eat everything. Every forbidden food. Every guilty pleasure. You stuff yourself with pizza and ice cream and chocolate because you believe you’re never going to eat these things again. It’s your last chance.
Then Monday comes. You’re already several pounds heavier from the pre-diet binge. You’re bloated, tired, and starting from a worse position than you were in on Friday. But now the restriction begins.
No carbs. No sugar. No treats. You’re being “good.”
And every single day, you’re holding that beach ball underwater. The pressure builds. You’re thinking about chocolate constantly because you’ve told yourself you can’t have it. The forbidden fruit becomes an obsession.
Eventually, your arms give out. Maybe it’s a stressful day. Maybe it’s a party. Maybe it’s just Tuesday night at 11pm, standing in your kitchen with the weight of deprivation finally too heavy to carry.
The ball explodes. You don’t just eat one cookie. You eat the whole box. And then some. Because once you’ve “broken” the diet, the “all or nothing” thinking kicks in: might as well go big since you’re already failing.
Sound familiar?
The trap is the approach
Here’s what the diet industry won’t tell you: restriction is the cause of binging, not the cure.
When you tell yourself you can never have pizza again, your brain hears scarcity. And brains don’t like scarcity. They’re wired to respond to it with urgency, with fixation, with hoarding behavior. Your ancestor who fixated on scarce food sources was more likely to survive than the one who shrugged and forgot about it.
That biological programming doesn’t know the difference between actual scarcity and self-imposed scarcity. It just knows that something has been marked as forbidden, and it responds accordingly: by making you think about it constantly.
Meanwhile, the foods you’ve allowed yourself become boring. Unlimited salad doesn’t trigger the same response. It’s the forbidden foods that light up your brain because they carry the charge of restriction.
The diet industry profits from this cycle. They sell you restriction, which creates the binge, which creates the guilt, which sends you back for more restriction. It’s a brilliant business model. It’s also destroying your relationship with food.
What if nothing was forbidden?
Imagine sitting in front of a bowl of M&Ms. You’re not on a diet. There’s no forbidden list. You can eat as many as you want, today, tomorrow, whenever.
What happens?
For most people, the charge dissipates. The M&Ms become just... M&Ms. Not a symbol of rebellion. Not a test of willpower. Just candy that’s always available, so there’s no urgency to eat it all right now.
This is the goal: neutrality. Not loving kale. Not hating chocolate. Just a calm, neutral relationship with food where nothing carries moral weight and nothing triggers a frenzy because nothing is forbidden.
The people who maintain healthy weight long-term aren’t the ones with the longest forbidden food lists. They’re the ones who eat pizza sometimes and salad sometimes and don’t think much about either.
The 80/20 reality
A sustainable approach looks something like this: make nutritious choices most of the time, and leave room for the rest of life.
Some people think of this as 80/20. Eighty percent of your meals focused on nutrition, twenty percent flexible for social events, celebrations, comfort, pleasure. The exact ratio matters less than the principle: you’re not trying to be perfect, so you’re not creating the tension that leads to explosion.
When you know you’re having pizza on Friday, you don’t spend all week obsessing over pizza. It’s on the schedule. It’s part of the plan. There’s nothing to rebel against.
This approach also means you can be fully present when you do eat something indulgent. No guilt, no drama, no “I’m being so bad right now.” Just enjoyment, followed by a return to your baseline.
The language of liberation
Words matter here. Notice the difference between these frames:
“I can’t eat that” vs. “I don’t eat that right now” “Cheat day” vs. “I’m having pizza tonight” “I was so bad today” vs. “I had some treats”
The first version in each pair carries moral weight, shame, and the implication that you’re breaking rules. The second is neutral, factual, and doesn’t attach your self-worth to what you ate for dinner.
Drop the diet culture vocabulary. “Cheat day” implies you’re doing something wrong. “Guilty pleasure” assigns guilt to eating. “Being good” turns food into a morality test.
Food is food. It’s fuel and pleasure. It’s not a test of your character. It’s not a measure of your worth. And when you stop treating it that way, when you release the beach ball and let it float, something surprising happens.
You eat less of the foods you thought you couldn’t resist. Because the urgency is gone. The pressure is gone. It’s just food now.
This is part of The Weigh Out’s free Mindset Blueprint series. If you’re ready to go deeper into the psychology of lasting change, [explore what’s inside the premium community →]