3 “healthy” phrases that derail your eating, according to a dietitian

I took my mom to see a dietitian after one too many “I’m being good today… except for this cookie” speeches over coffee. My mom is wonderful, generous, and armed with every “healthy” phrase the 90s ever invented. The dietitian (calm, funny, surgical with language) didn’t start by banning foods. She banned sentences.

“Words are levers,” she told us. “They either help you eat in ways that feel sane—or they flip the ‘all-or-nothing’ switch.”

Three phrases kept coming up, and once you hear them, you can’t un-hear them. They sneak into how you order lunch, how you talk to friends, how you judge yourself five minutes after dinner.

Here are the 3 “healthy” phrases the dietitian asked us to retire—and what to say/do instead so eating feels normal again.

1) “I was good/bad today.”

This one wears a halo, but it quietly turns food into a morality play.

You ate salad? Good girl. You had cake? Bad girl.

Put enough days on that seesaw and mealtimes become a courtroom: every bite is evidence.

The dietitian called it moralizing the menu, and it’s a trap.

When foods become “sins,” two things happen fast: (1) you want the “bad” foods more (because scarcity breeds obsession), and (2) a single cookie can spiral into “Well, I ruined it—might as well keep going.”

Swap morality for mechanics. The dietitian had us try neutral, boring sentences that are weirdly freeing:

• “I ate enough.” / “I could use more protein/fiber.”

• “That was satisfying.” / “That didn’t hit the spot—what would?”

• “I want sweet and crunch.” (Describe the craving; meet it on purpose.)

Use the PFC check—Protein, Fiber, Color—at meals. Not rules, just a lens. Ask: “Where’s my protein (tofu/beans/yogurt/nuts)? Fiber (whole grains/veg/fruit)? Color (produce beyond beige)?” If one is missing, add, don’t subtract. Addition cools the good/bad drama.

Also adopt the Next-Bite Rule: if you catch the “I was bad” script mid-meal, your only job is the next bite. Slow down. Add water. Decide the next bite on data (hunger/fullness), not shame. Then move on.

Micro-script for mom (and me):

• Not “I was bad.” → “That was more sugar than I like at lunch. I’ll add fiber at dinner.”

2) “I’ll start over Monday.”

We love this one because it sounds productive—disciplined, even. The dietitian called it the Monday Myth: a promise that lets you overcorrect in the future so you can overdo it now. It’s diet procrastination.

Monday becomes a revolving door: restrict → rebel → regret → reset → repeat.

Tiny reboot plans also backfire. “I’ll be perfect tomorrow” turns a normal day into an exam. The second life happens (it will), you flunk… and the cycle restarts.

Time-shift your promise to the next meal, not a performative Monday:

• “Breakfast was light on protein. I’ll anchor lunch.”

• “That dessert didn’t sit right. I’m craving crisp/green at dinner.”

• “Travel day was beige. Tomorrow’s first bite is fruit and water.”

Set floors, not ceilings. The dietitian has all-or-nothing clients pick minimums that survive chaos:

• Two pieces of fruit a day.

• One big salad, any style.

• 8–10 cups of water.

• One walk after a meal.

• A protein anchor at two meals.

Floors are protective: even when the day gets loud, you hit the minimums and still feel like the person you meant to be. The rest can fluctuate without becoming “failure.” If you love structure, plan 3 anchors per week—Soup Night, Bowl Night, Pasta Night—then freestyle toppings/sauces. Decision fatigue drops; “start over Monday” loses its job.

Micro-script:

• Not “I’ll start Monday.” → “I’ll start at 6 p.m.—greens + beans + something warm.”

3) “Guilt-free” / “cheat meal” / “I earned this.”

Different costumes, same plot: transactional eating. Food becomes a moral receipt—redeemable by workouts or willpower. The dietitian sees two fallout patterns: (1) you under-eat to “earn” dinner, which makes you a gremlin by 8 p.m.; (2) you “cheat,” feel gross, and swing hard to restriction, which primes the next binge.

Also, “cheat” implies you broke a rule.

Who made the rule? Was it written by a person who lives in your body? Doubtful.

What to say instead:

• “I want this.” (Permission defuses urgency. You can have it again tomorrow.)

• “What portion will feel good after?” (Future-you gets a voice.)

• “How can I build this into a meal?” (Make a plate, not a punishment.)

Use pairing and plating. Craving fries? Add a protein and produce: fries + falafel + slaw; fries + tofu wrap; fries + big salad. Sweet tooth at 3 p.m.? Pair the cookie with yogurt or nuts and tea. Protein/fiber lower the “can’t-stop” spiral more than shame ever will. And retire “guilt-free.”

Guilt belongs to, say, stealing office keyboards, not to eating. If a label tries to sell you morality—walk away or laugh. Both burn calories of stress.

One more trick from the dietitian: the Two-Plate Test. Plate the fun food and the anchor food separately. Take a few bites of each. Alternate. You’ll realize you don’t need to hoard the fun food; it shares space just fine.

Micro-script:

• Not “cheat meal.” → “Pizza night. I’m adding a salad and stopping at satisfied.”

What actually changed at our table

My mom didn’t become a different person; she became a different narrator. Our text thread shifted from “I was naughty” to “PFC win at lunch” and “Going to add crunch at dinner.”

We keep minimums (water, fruit, one salad). We treat cravings like weather: observed, planned for, not moralized. Holiday meals are plates, not plot twists. And when one of us starts to say “I’ll start Monday,” the other replies, “Start at dinner.” Then we send photos of bowls that look like confetti.

If your own language has been quietly running the show, try changing the captions before you change the menu. Retire “good/bad.” Replace Monday with the next meal. Delete “cheat” and “guilt-free” from your mouth and your grocery cart. You’ll be shocked how fast the all-or-nothing pendulum slows down.

Food stops being a test you can fail. It becomes… food. Which is the healthiest thing I’ve learned in a long time.