Is That Too Much Food?

On portion comments, “enoughness,” and the (seemingly) subtle harm of diet culture

I love a yogurt bowl. I really do. It takes all of 3 minutes to assemble (a wonderful thing on a busy morning), and there are endless variations you can create — personalized concoctions of tastes, textures, temperatures, and mix-ins.

I share these bowls of joy pretty often on Instagram, mainly because…they are a brief glimmer in my mornings, and we need glimmers these days, okay? Okay.

They typically start with a base of vanilla yogurt, followed by a sliced banana, plenty of granola, swirls of peanut butter, and either honey or jam. Maybe berries and nuts if I think of it. Nine times out of ten, there is also a baked good in there (like a blueberry muffin, banana bread, coffee cake, etc.).

Recently, after sharing one of these, I received a DM that read:

“I can’t imagine eating all that. It looks like way too much.”

Once upon a time, that comment would have spun me into a mental spiral. I would have questioned if maybe I was in fact eating too much. I may have unintentionally restricted the next day, just because of how my brain was wired back then. It could have even sent me slipping back into disordered eating behaviors. Now, it doesn’t. I’m not offended, upset, or bothered in the slightest by that DM. And I actually exchanged a few messages with that person — all is lovely between us.

But that doesn’t mean I take it lightly, because it is a reflection of something much bigger than what’s in my bowl.

PS: I made a video about this. If you want to watch the video, you can do that here — it’s three minutes. But what follows is everything I talk about there, in more depth — plus a lot of thoughts I couldn’t quite fit in under the reel time limit.

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A post shared by @abbieattwoodwellness

“That looks like a lot.”

It’s a sentence that holds so many of the stories we’ve absorbed about food: the idea that hunger should be tidy, that fullness should be restrained, and that “too much” is not just an observable point — but something that should be treated like a crime we must atone for with restraint.

So let’s look at what’s really happening beneath the surface.

Here are three points I shared in the reel, with a bit more context:

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1. Please don’t comment on someone else’s food choices.

Yes, even if you think it’s a “compliment.” (Complimenting the chef? Totally fine. Commenting on what, how much, or how often someone else eats? Not advised.)

At best, it’s unhelpful, and at worst, it’s deeply stigmatizing, triggering, and harmful.

You never know what someone is navigating — disordered eating, recovery, chronic illness, medication side effects, food insecurity, grief, neurodivergence, or simply… being human in a culture that makes food a moral test. Because when you comment on someone’s plate, you risk reinforcing the myth that food intake is something to evaluate, justify, or explain.

Their body. Their food. End of story.

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2. These reactions (compliments included) come from anti-fat bias.

“Oh my gosh, I could never eat that much. I’d gain so much weight.”
“Wow, how can they eat all that and stay thin?”
“Huh. Maybe that’s why they look like they do.”
“Whoa, that’s a lot of sugar.”

These thoughts — whether whispered aloud or muttered internally — are all shaped by diet culture and, more specifically, weight stigma. They stem from the false belief that what we eat directly determines our worth, health, or body size.

"But Isn't Being Fat Bad for Your Health?"...Unpacking Weight Science with Ragen Chastain (Best of)

And here’s the nuance that often gets missed: my ability to share that yogurt bowl online without being torn apart in the comments is directly tied to thin privilege (the unearned privilege of existing in a body that society deems ‘acceptable’).

My body protects me from the worst of people’s projections. Someone in a larger body might receive shaming, mockery, or even cruelty for posting the same meal. That difference isn’t about discipline or willpower — it’s about who our culture allows to eat freely.

So when someone says, “Wow, I could never eat that much,” what they often mean is:

I’ve been taught that I don’t have unconditional permission to eat.

Or, I’ve been taught to fear being seen eating enough.

Or, I’ve been taught that I can’t trust my hunger — especially if it means eating more than what allows me to micromanage my body size.

It’s a reminder of how deeply weight stigma and diet culture shape not just what we eat, but how safe we feel while eating — and who gets to eat without fear.

Consider: How do we, as a culture, react to a thin person eating a large plate of spaghetti versus someone in a larger body? Why are some people granted permission to eat, but others are prescribed deprivation? [Photo by mahdi chaghari on Unsplash]

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3. “Too much” food is not really a thing.

Pause with me here. You might be having a reaction to that statement, and I completely understand why. It goes against the all-or-nothing, “right” versus “wrong,” perfectionistic picture of eating that diet and wellness culture constantly sells us.

But that phrase — too much — is a moving target. It’s as subjective as comfort or beauty. What feels like “too much” for one person might not feel that way for another. And what feels “excessive” in one moment might feel wonderfully nourishing in the next.

Maybe it’s a bowl of oatmeal that feels huge in the morning because you’re tired and your stomach is sensitive. Maybe it’s seconds at dinner because you’re recovering from a long day. Maybe it’s a sandwich with extra peanut butter that feels “too much” only because you’ve been conditioned to measure pleasure against guilt. Or maybe it’s eating beyond comfortable fullness — a completely normal human experience that is often demonized, even in “intuitive eating” spaces. Eating past what feels comfortable doesn’t mean you’ve done something wrong; it simply reflects that fullness is fluid, and there is no way of knowing exactly when we’re done.

A meal might also seem “excessive” because we’re socialized to think we only deserve tiny toddler portions (I’m looking at you, 1200 calorie diets, and, now, “GLP-1 portions”). When we believe there is a line we can cross into the territory of “too much,” we get trapped by the myth of a perfect stopping point. But hunger is dynamic, not mechanical, and fullness isn’t a boundary line.

As someone who’s worked with clients for years around healing into self-compassionate eating, I can tell you: the moment we stop chasing the fantasy of perfect portioning, something softens. There’s space for curiosity, kindness, and actual self-care.

Because “enough” isn’t a number, it’s a relationship. It includes nourishment, satisfaction, and joy. It’s eating in a way that feels comforting, compassionate, and accessible.

Our culture teaches us that eating more than some invisible standard is shameful. But our bodies’ needs shift day to day, meal to meal. There is no universal cutoff. And your needs deserve to be met, without apology or calculation.

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Some reflections on our reactions

When I see comments like “I could never eat all that,” they don’t sting anymore, but they do make me pause.

Because I know what that fear feels like. I remember what it feels like to hesitate before a meal, to feel a flicker of guilt, to compare plates, to wonder if enjoying food might be wrong. The quiet panic that you’ve eaten “too much.” The guilt that lingers after fullness. The worry that pleasure is proof of failure.

We’ve been trained to mistrust our bodies, question hunger, fear fullness, and tie virtue to restraint. So of course, when we see someone else eating freely, it activates something — something that sounds a lot like judgment, but is more often about yearning.

Yearning for permission. Yearning for ease. Yearning for a world that doesn’t make us fear food. Yearning to remember that we, too, are allowed. And yes, I’ve had those thoughts too.

Why “too much” is a cultural mirage

• Assumes reliable cues. Trauma, chronic dieting, ED recovery, medical conditions, medications, and neurodivergence can all alter how hunger and fullness show up.

• Reduces eating to biology. Eating is also about pleasure, comfort, culture, celebration, convenience, and connection — all valid reasons.

• Reflects anti-fat bias. Judgments about “too much” or “not enough” reveal society’s obsession with controlling certain bodies.

• Sets up a moral checkpoint. The unspoken message: you “pass” if you eat perfectly, “fail” if you don’t. Mirrors dieting rules, fuels guilt and shame.

• Can lead to under-eating. Waiting for cues or trying to judge portions can mean missing nourishment, especially for those in recovery.

• Misrepresents fullness. Fullness isn’t a finish line. You can be physically full but still need satisfaction, energy, or comfort.

A shift in perspective…

I wonder what would happen if — instead of asking what is too much? — we asked: what is kind?

What is kind to my body?
What is kind to my hunger?
What is kind to my brain?
What is kind to my energy, my stress, my pleasure?

Sometimes kindness looks like stopping when you’re full. Sometimes it looks like eating beyond a comfortable place, because it’s comforting or delicious or you just need it. There’s no moral difference between those choices.

Eating is personal. Portions aren’t absolute. Food isn’t moral. Real liberation comes from trusting yourself, not comparing or policing your plate.

Because you are always allowed to eat, and nobody else gets to decide what’s “too much” for your body.

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A closing thought

When someone comments on what another person eats, it’s never just about the food. It’s about what we’ve all been taught to fear: abundance, appetite, and the loss of control. But abundance and appetite aren’t problems to fix, they’re signs of life.

So maybe the next time that voice (yours or someone else’s) whispers, “That looks like too much,” you can pause and ask,“Too much for who?”

Because for your body — your real, deserving, brilliant body — it might be exactly what you need.

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What messages about “enough” or “too much” have you carried from diet culture, and how do they show up today?

How would it feel if someone commented on your food, calling it “too much”?

When do you feel most comfortable and at ease with your eating?