When Health Becomes a Moral Measuring Stick

The wellness to personal responsibility to misinformation pipeline is alive and...well?

Over the past few weeks, I wrote two pieces on the negative impacts of health obsession. In the first piece, we unpacked how the relentless pursuit of health—through tracking, measuring, and optimizing—can lead to mental, emotional, and physical harm rather than well-being

Obsessing Over Our Health Is Not Healthy

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In the second piece, we explored what it feels like to cross the blurry line and how to know when what once felt like a focus on wellness has actually started to make us unwell.

The (Un)Wellness Tipping Point

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But as we reclaim health on our own terms, there’s a larger conversation at play—one that moves beyond individual healing and into the systems and politics that have shaped our very definition of health. Our challenges with food, movement, and self-worth don’t arise in isolation; they exist within a culture that equates health with morality, treating it as a marker of virtue rather than something influenced by privilege, access, and lived experience.

So today, I want to talk about how the personal responsibility myth around health doesn’t just impact how we treat ourselves—it also shapes how we see and judge others. When we tie morality, virtue, and worth to wellness, we create a slippery slope into policing other people’s bodies, choices, and even their humanity.

Wellness is becoming a weapon.

If you’ve ever been judged for what you eat, how you move, or the size of your body, you’ve already felt the impact of this moralization firsthand. But what happens when we internalize these judgments? What happens when we start seeing ourselves as morally superior for making “better” choices?

Wellness culture loves to frame health as a matter of virtue. We don’t just “eat vegetables,” we eat “clean.” We don’t just “exercise,” we “crush workouts.” We don’t just rest, we “optimize recovery.” Every choice becomes a sign of our commitment, our discipline, our goodness. And from that vantage point, it becomes easy to look at someone else’s choices—whether it’s what they eat, how they move, or what their body looks like—and assume we know something about their character.

This is where the personal becomes political; where wellness becomes weaponized against certain communities; where all-or-nothing thinking about nutrition takes precedent over the systemic health determinants that truly need our attention.

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“Personal responsibility” is a slippery slope.

Diet and wellness culture thrive on individualism, pushing the narrative that health is entirely within our control. This messaging isn’t just misleading—it’s dangerous. Because if we believe that health is something we earn or achieve, then it follows that those who struggle with their health must have failed. If we believe there is a right way to approach health, then we believe there is a wrong way. And once that seed is planted, it doesn’t take long for harmful assumptions to grow:

• That those in larger bodies must be “irresponsible” or “lazy”.

• That illness is a sign of personal failure.

• That anyone who is not able-bodied just isn’t trying hard enough.

• That those struggling with chronic illness could “fix” themselves if they really wanted to.

• That anyone who doesn’t prioritize their health in the way we do is making the “wrong” choices.

These beliefs don’t just sit quietly in the back of our minds. They inform policies, healthcare disparities, workplace discrimination, and the very structure of our society. But they are built on a lie: that health is something we can fully control. That if we eat the right foods, do the right exercises, take the right supplements, and maintain the right weight, we can protect ourselves from all harm.

Search for “health” and you get fruits, vegetables, water, body measuring tools, “diets”, and workout equipment. Because that’s all it takes?

The myth of control is deeply intertwined with oppression.

The wellness industry thrives on an unspoken elitism—where access to organic foods, expensive supplements, and cutting-edge health interventions is treated as a moral virtue rather than a reflection of privilege and systemic inequities. (I highly recommend subscribing to and reading the work of Shana Spence and Chrissy King for more on this).

When health is framed as a personal responsibility rather than a social and political issue, it becomes less about care and more about status; a way to judge not only ourselves but others. It ignores the reality that health is shaped by countless factors outside of our control—genetics, access to care, economic stability, trauma, oppression, and more. This is how the rhetoric of “getting healthy” becomes a smokescreen for discrimination—against fat people, disabled people, poor people, and anyone whose body doesn’t fit a narrow ideal.

With the rise of MAHA (Make America Healthy Again), we see how health is being weaponized to justify exclusion, deregulation, and systemic neglect—all under the guise of “personal responsibility.” And influencers are pushing this agenda too, spreading misinformation about food, medicine, and even basic nutrition. (Look no further than seed oils, raw milk, and vaccines.)

And yet, the diet and wellness industries keep promoting the illusion that “healthy living” is within your reach—if only you work harder, eat cleaner, and have more discipline. Why? Because when we believe health is a personal responsibility, the burden stays on us rather than on the systems that actually determine health outcomes.

Health is not a moral obligation.

The myth of total control doesn’t just harm individuals—it upholds policies that deny people access to care, stigmatize disability and chronic illness, and reinforce the dangerous lie that a person’s worth is tied to their body’s function and appearance.

Health is not a measure of virtue. It is not a requirement for dignity. It cannot be seen on a body or reduced to personal choices. No one owes the world a particular version of health.

Where do we go from here?

If we want to move away from the moralization of health, we have to be willing to unlearn some deeply ingrained beliefs. That starts with questioning the narratives we’ve absorbed—about food, about health, about bodies, about who “deserves” care and respect. It means shifting away from black-and-white thinking and embracing the messy, nuanced reality that health is complex, fluid, and deeply personal (because so too are bodies).

It also means recognizing when our own fears and anxieties around health are shaping the way we see and treat others. Are we judging people based on their appearance or abilities? Are we assuming we know their story based on what they eat or how they move? Are we letting wellness culture’s impossible standards dictate who is worthy of dignity and respect? And are we letting all of that distract us from providing inclusive, affirming care and focusing on the health policies that truly need our attention?

Stigma—whether related to food choices, body size, or health in general—is a significant risk factor for poor health outcomes. So if we truly care about population health, we need to focus on food access rather than shaming processed foods; on equitable medical care rather than weight loss prescriptions; on systemic change rather than individual “willpower;” and on removing structural barriers rather than placing blame on personal choices.

At the end of the day, the pursuit of health should never come at the cost of our humanity—ours or anyone else’s. True well-being isn’t about rigid rules or relentless optimization. It’s about connection, equity, care, and compassion. For ourselves, and for each other.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Have you noticed how the personal responsibility myth around health has influenced the way you see yourself or others? What has helped you break free from that mindset? And how are you seeing that shape the landscape of nutrition and wellness conversations right now?