The Philosophy of Overweight E-Book

Attie Dotinga

• Herausgeber: Falinn
• Kategorie: Ratgeber
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 346

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The author describes how her excess weight is not only a physical challenge, but also an emotional and mental struggle that has affected her entire life. The excess weight affected her self-image and the way she stood in the world. The author explains how her neurodivergent brain plays and played a significant role in her relationship with food and her body. She describes how she often became overstimulated and how this affected her eating behavior. But that this way of processing stress is also inherent to a neurotypical brain. The author discovered that her struggle with her weight was only a symbol of her struggle with herself. Only when she got to know herself in all facets with shadow sides, all her acquired beliefs and found her loving Core, there was room for deep insights. Only then was a definitive change possible. The insights she shares are applicable to everyone who struggles with her or his excess weight. It is time that we look at excess weight with different eyes.

Leseprobe

The Philosophy of Overweight

For all brain types

Attie Dotinga

Colofon

The Philosophy of Overweight

Copyright © 2025

Author: Attie Dotinga

Cover photo: Attie Dotinga

Publisher: Falinn

Translator; Purperhart Translations

ISBN

Nothing from this publication may be reproduced, by means of printing, photocopying, automated data files, or in any other way without prior permission from the publisher.

Inhoud

Intro

Overweight

Fatties

Power supply

Food as spiritual nourishment.

Eating with Memories

Inner voices

Lies and social games.

Lose weight.

Losing weight always took so much energy from me that I started to believe something had to be wrong with me.

Not being able to begin to change.

Starting a diet was always incredibly hard for me.

So, what does the struggle to get started look like for a neurodivergent?

What is the difference in the waste process?

It is often impossible to stick to a diet.

What helps to start a diet?

Summary:

Understanding the relationship with food through past events.

So, hunger meant fear of death.

It scared those who loved me when I lost weight.

88

Fighting for a slimmer body.

The battle was fiercer than ever.

Working on myself

Gastric reduction

And now?

Hormones that Influence Your Appetite

Leptin

Movement and Being Watched

Walking Straight

Observing Myself While Mindfully Approaching Eating and Movement

The Intense Urge to Eat and the Trauma Behind It

Day 2

How the Reward Center Works

Overlap in Brain Function Labels

Overview of the Overlap Between ASD and ADHD/ADD

Gastric Sleeve Surgery

Creation.

The Foundation

Connection with my body

Grounding.

Manifesting

That is why I am writing this book.

Emotions

What to do?

The Fear Mechanism and the Journey Within

Weight, Struggle, and Understanding Message

Epilogue:

Acknowledgements

Intro

My whole life, I have struggled with my weight.There were times when I was simply "chubby," and other times when I battled serious obesity. But looking back now, I realize that the struggle was far more than just a physical challenge. It was a battle that didn’t only take place in my body, it had rooted itself deep within my psyche. It shaped my thoughts, distorted my self-image, and influenced how I moved through the world in every possible way.

My weight was never about what I saw in the mirror.It cast a shadow over everything I did. It shaped my choices, my relationships, and most of all, my fears. It felt like I was constantly under the grip of an invisible force whispering that I wasn’t enough—not lovable enough, not capable enough, not worthy enough in the eyes of others. My body, my weight, became the measuring stick for my self-worth.

It extended far beyond physical. It wasn’t just about the numbers on the scale—it became the very foundation of my identity. My beliefs about who I was and what I was worth were entangled with the idea that I needed to change in order to be "better." That feeling of imperfection clung to my thoughts, constantly reminding me of the "flaws" I had. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw a girl who didn’t live up to what the world expected of her. And that began to influence the choices I made.

This battle became my identity.My weight became the lens through which I saw the world—and how the world saw me. Every interaction was colored by the belief that I wasn't good enough, that I had to do something to be accepted. The shame I felt wasn’t only physical; it was deeply rooted in how I saw myself. It changed how I approached relationships, how I presented myself to the world, and it held me back from taking steps I longed to take—simply because I wasn’t worthy.

What I didn’t realize was that the real problem wasn’t my weight. It was the beliefs I had built around beliefs that grew stronger over the years until they defined who I was. In my mind, my worth was inseparable from the size of my body. And as long as that belief remained, the struggle with my weight would never truly end. Because it wasn’t just a fight to lose pounds—it was a fight to accept myself as I was.

Over time, I began to understand that true change wouldn’t come from changing my body.It only began when I started asking who I was without the weight—what I had to offer apart from the image I had created of myself. I began to realize that my battle with weight was symbolic of a much deeper battle within. And once I saw that clearly, something shifted: the key to freedom wasn’t losing pounds, it was losing the belief that I wasn’t enough.

Today, when I look in the mirror, I no longer see a reflection filled with shame and insecurity. I see a woman who knows her worth, who has discovered her strength, and who has stopped fighting to meet other people’s expectations. My body isn’t perfect—but it’s mine. And that is enough.

The battle with my weight is no longer a battle with my body——it has become a journey toward self-acceptance. And in that, I’ve achieved the greatest victory I could ever imagine peace with myself.

Throughout the years, I’ve walked down nearly every path ever suggested to me as a solution to my weight problem.Doctors, dietitians, self-proclaimed gurus, well-meaning friends, and strangers who suddenly appeared as the new face of "success"—they all seemed to glow with the certainty of having discovered the secret to being slim. They shared their advice with such confidence, and each time, I felt like I was falling short—as if I had missed something essential. As if they had cracked a code that I simply couldn’t understand.

But as a neurodivergent person, I wasn’t content to just follow the advice blindly. I’m not someone who accepts surface-level solutions. I dug deep. I researched, I read everything I could get my hands on, I analyzed, experimented. Of course, I quickly came across the usual suspects listed in every self-help book and diet plan: overeating, lack of exercise, emotional eating, stress. None of that surprised me—I knew all that already.

But every time I thought I understood it, I was reminded of my supposed failures by health campaigns, professional advice, and social pressure. It felt like the whole world had an opinion about what I needed to do—as if the only thing I had to do was “just eat less and take more walks.” Simple, right?

When I threw myself into those strategies, I did lose weight—temporarily.The kilos would drop—only to creep back again, often bringing extra baggage with them. It was as if my body was a magnet for weight, desperate to return to some default setting, as if an invisible force were determined to undo all my progress. The most frustrating part was that the amount I was eating often didn’t justify the weight I gained. It just didn’t add up. Yet the assumption always was that it must be my fault. Because that’s the dominant narrative around weight, isn’t it? Got a big belly? Well, then—your fault, your problem.

Still, deep down, I knew the question “why do I struggle with my weight?” already contained the beginning of the answer. But that answer wasn’t simple, nor straightforward, and definitely not one you could squeeze into a few neat steps. It wasn’t just “eat less, move more.” There was so much more going on—and I knew it. But even with that understanding, I often strayed from the path. Sometimes out of exhaustion, sometimes out of despair, and sometimes because the truths I uncovered were just too painful or confronting to face.

And yet, no matter how hard it got, the question never left me. It stayed with me, like a constant echo reminding me that I couldn’t stop searching, couldn’t stop exploring.

Even when I lost hope, I kept returning to the journey.The journey toward the answer I knew was there—just not always easy to find. And that is the path I’m still walking today: the path of self-discovery, self-acceptance, and the ongoing quest to discover what truly works for me—what my body genuinely needs to be in balance. It’s not a simple journey, but it’s my journey. And it’s one thing I want to walk with all my heart and soul, until I finally find what I’ve been searching for all along.

In this book, I want to share the path I’ve taken—and continue to take.Because this is not a story with a clear beginning and end. It’s not a closed chapter where you can finally say, “Now I’ve made it.” This is a journey, a continuous process of growth, of falling down and getting back up again, of learning and re-learning who I am.

Everything I’ve encountered along the way—the highs, the lows, the questions, and the insights—together they form the story of who I’ve become. It’s an unfolding process.

It’s not just about kilos, body fat percentages, or the outward appearance of health. It’s about something much deeper.

It’s about how weight becomes intertwined with your identity, how it affects how you feel about yourself, and how you move through the world. It’s about the way the outside world looks at you, how those stares and expectations shape you—and how you, in turn, are shaped by the unspoken norms that society imposes on you.

Overweight is rarely just a physical issue — it touches your identity, your self-worth, and your place in society.It's important to understand that what you see is not always the full picture. What your eyes perceive is only a fragment of what’s really going on. In this book, I want to show that it's not just about what you do, but also about how you experience the world. Whether you have a neurotypical brain or a neurodivergent brain like mine, your perspective is fundamentally different. It’s not better or worse — simply different. The way my brain processes stimuli and emotions isn’t like most people’s. That doesn’t make my journey any easier, but it does make it unique.

There’s always some overlap — people sometimes recognize themselves in the way I think or respond and say, “But I feel that way too sometimes, so you can't really be neurodivergent.” And I get that. Of course we share common experiences — we’re all human after all. Each of us has our own lens, our own story, and that’s what makes us unique. But what often gets overlooked is that behavior alone doesn't tell the whole story. It’s not just about what you do, but why do you do it. The origin of your behavior — that’s where the real difference lies.

For me, that deeper layer lives in the way my neurodivergent brain works. Emotions, social signals, physical sensations — even the tiniest stimuli — are internalized, felt, and processed differently.

What feels natural or easy for most people can be a challenge for me, something I need to overcome. But it’s precisely by embracing those differences that I’ve found new ways to live with myself and relate to the world around me. I’m not better or worse than anyone else — I’m just different. And there is strength in understanding that difference.

We’re all part of the same human race, but within that shared humanity, there are countless nuances.

The way we perceive the world, how we communicate, how we deal with pain and celebrate success — those variations are vast.

And within that diversity lies a treasure trove of insight — both into ourselves and into others. Our strength comes from our differences, not from making everyone the same. True growth happens when we create space for each person’s unique way of being.

This book is my invitation to embrace those differences — to understand the path I’m on, and maybe even to reconsider your own. Because in the end, it’s our diversity that enriches us, that gives us strength, and that enables us to truly see and accept ourselves and others for who we really are.

Perhaps that’s the biggest difference:In a world obsessed with control, structure, and clarity, we’re expected to fit into certain boxes. It gives people a sense of certainty — and in uncertain times, that need only grows stronger. Certainty feels safe. It offers comfort, something to cling to when the rest of the world feels chaotic and unpredictable. But here’s the question: how safe are you really, if you’ve been placed in the wrong box?

When you're forced to fit into a framework or label that society has created for you, don't you end up losing parts of yourself? What happens to your inner freedom, your truth, when you're constantly holding back just to meet expectations that aren’t your own? It’s easy to believe that finding the “right” box will protect you from the world. But in reality, the box itself can become a prison — a limitation on who you truly are.

I’ve always felt that the system of boxes doesn’t work for me. As someone with a neurodivergent brain, I know better than most what it’s like not to fit into standard structures. The world seems so neatly organized, so clearly defined — and if you don’t fit the picture, it feels like you’re doing something wrong. But by refusing to accept that box, I’ve discovered there’s far more freedom in not fitting in. Because safety doesn’t come from living up to other people’s norms — it comes from within, from accepting yourself as you are, rather than forcing yourself into a role that was never yours to begin with.

When we find the courage to reject the boxes, we discover space to be who we truly are. And in that space lies real safety — not in fulfilling others' expectations, but in staying true to yourself. Maybe that’s the greatest gift you can give yourself: the freedom to escape the limitations of the box, and the courage to walk your own path.

My brain works differently.And if that’s true, it only makes sense that my body reacts differently too — because I am one whole being. Body and mind aren’t separate — they’re woven together, like threads in the same tapestry. You can’t understand one without acknowledging the other.

That’s why weight loss has never been a simple matter of eating less or moving more for me. It’s about so much more than a diet, a pill, or even a procedure like gastric surgery — which I did undergo ten years ago, by the way. It wasn’t a miracle. It wasn’t a permanent solution. Because real work lies deeper.

Overweight isn’t just the result of poor choices or lack of willpower. It’s often the physical expression of internal beliefs, old wounds, unspoken fears, and unresolved emotions. It tells a story — not only of what hasn’t been let go, but also of what’s become deeply anchored: a way of being in the world, a survival strategy, a form of protection.

Sometimes it’s also about taking up space — literally and figuratively. Showing the world you’re here, despite everything. Your personality, your unique way of perceiving and reacting, your life lessons — they all shape how your body forms and manifests. In that sense, being overweight is also a posture, a way of standing in the world. And it has nothing to do with the stereotypes society likes to throw at you: lazy, dumb, greedy, ugly, undisciplined.

More often than not, it’s sensitive, loving people who carry this weight. People who not only process their own pain but often take on the pain of others too. People who long to be seen and understood but also hold back out of fear of judgment.

They deserve compassion, not contempt. They deserve space, not shrinkage. And above all, they deserve recognition — for their strength, their resilience, and their unique way of facing life on their terms.

I wish you an enriching reading experience, and I sincerely hope the insights in this book help you not only to understand your weight better, but also yourself. Whether you have a neurodivergent or neurotypical brain, what matters most is knowing who you are, what your story is, and how you take your place in this world.

It is my deepest hope that you will learn to stop seeing your weight as something to hide, a battle to fight, or a problem to fix. What if it’s simply a part of your unique journey — a chapter in your personal story — one that you can embrace, instead of resist?

This process is not just physical — it's emotional and mental, above all.It’s not about how the world sees you — a world that so often judges based on appearances, without taking the time to truly see who you are inside. These quick judgments and surface-level reactions can trap us in stories that were never ours to begin with. We’re often pressured to tell a version of our lives that doesn’t reflect our truth, simply because others aren’t willing — or able — to look any deeper.

But you have the right to be the author, the director, of your own story.You get to decide what you do with your body, your life, and your truth. Don’t let anyone else write that script for you. You have the right to choose how you view your body, how you treat yourself, and what actions you take for your own well-being. It’s a powerful and liberating realization: the authority over your life doesn’t lie in the expectations or opinions of others — it lies within you.

So don’t fall into the trap of fighting against yourself.Embrace who you are — in both body and mind.Because only through that acceptance can you access the true strength that lives within you — a strength that’s not defined by dress sizes, numbers on a scale, or anyone else’s opinion.It’s defined by your ability to understand yourself, to love yourself, and to walk your path with the deep knowing that your worth is not measured by how the world sees you — but by how you see yourself.

Fatties

Many of the people I know who live with excess weight share several inner qualities:

They are often gentle by nature. They tend to be kind to others, even at their own expense.They frequently push past their own boundaries to give others the joy they themselves deeply long for.They often love animals and nature, which brings them both strength and relaxation.They are highly attuned to their surroundings and tend to be especially sensitive to atmosphere and energy.They possess a strong sense of empathy.They are deep thinkers and tend to adapt to others.They try to compensate for the “problem” their weight poses to others by being extra kind, often feeling they are not good enough.They carry the belief that something is wrong with them — that they are weak and have little value.Many have been bullied, excluded, pointed at, or laughed at because of their weight.They often bottle things up, afraid to make another mistake that others might use as a reason to tear them down further.They have a soft-hearted temperament.They are usually calm and thoughtful.They try with all their might to create a mask that aligns with the world around them.

It’s important to emphasize that this description is not limited to people of a certain weight.There are certainly slim individuals who experience the same internal dynamics.Likewise, not every characteristic attributed to those with a heavier body applies universally to every person in that group.

The point is: the slim person is often just the other side of the same coin.Where stress might lead some to overeat, it may cause others to lose their appetite entirely — even becoming underweight.Stress affects the body in various ways, and the ability to eat can be diminished or disappear entirely due to the psychological pressure someone experiences.

Ultimately, it’s essential to understand that every person, regardless of body type, navigates life through the same fundamental processes.

What differs is how those processes manifest.Everyone has their own defense mechanisms, and the way the body responds can vary greatly.While one person might turn to food for comfort, another might feel their body shutting down.

It remains crucial to acknowledge that the experience of stress, fear, and other emotions is universal — but the ways we cope with them are as diverse as humanity itself.It is this very diversity that makes the human experience, and our emotional coping mechanisms, so fascinating.

A monkey moves effortlessly through the trees — its natural habitat — while a fish glides through water, where its body thrives best.It would be absurd to expect a fish to climb trees, as that simply goes against its very nature.Such an attempt would be doomed to fail.

But imagine a fish that spends its entire life believing it should be able to climb trees, simply because that’s what it keeps being told.

Maybe it never got the chance to truly explore its own abilities.What if it follows that path because the monkeys around it — and the media shaping its world — keep insisting that it belongs with them, and should be able to do the same things they do?

This scenario raises an important question:What happens to an individual who constantly measures themselves against standards that don’t naturally fit them?When the fish compares itself to the monkey — not because it wants to, but because it has been taught to — there comes a point when it begins to see itself as lesser.It keeps trying, but every failure only confirms the belief that it’s not good enough.It forgets that its true strength lies in the ocean, not in the trees.

In our society, this concept manifests in many ways: the pressure to meet expectations that are not our own, but imposed from the outside.The desire to follow in someone else’s footsteps can easily obscure our own path.It’s essential to recognize that — just like the fish and the monkey have different environments and abilities — each of us also possesses unique talents and gifts that we can tap into.It’s about discovering where we, as individuals, are in our element, and learning that our value does not depend on meeting someone else’s standards, but on understanding and embracing who we truly are.

Do you know what happens when you devote energy, attention, and care to something?It grows and begins to flourish.

However, this doesn’t only apply to the positive aspects of life.Whether something grows in a positive or negative direction depends entirely on what you give your attention to.Unfortunately, people often unconsciously focus their energy on the negative — especially when it comes to judging others.

When you focus on joy, love, and possibilities, those aspects naturally expand and enrich your life.But if you constantly fixate on worries, fears, or the shortcomings of others, then that negative energy will also grow, taking up more space in your thoughts and emotions.

What we give our attention to is given the space to manifest — whether that’s positive or negative energy.The principle is simple: where your energy goes, there will be growth.Once you become aware of the power of your attention, you can choose where to direct your energy.

Attention is a powerful form of nourishment — for yourself, your relationships, your dreams, and even the way you view others.It shapes the direction in which everything evolves.Whether that evolution is positive or negative, the choice is in your hands.

Power supply

I recently read a story by a psychiatrist who conducted a study on eating habits and overweight issues in autistic children and teenagers.He described how some children tend to overeat and struggle to stop because they often don’t experience hunger in the typical way. He suggested that they might find it easier to lose weight by using their hyperfocus to concentrate on eating healthier and eating less.

Honestly, I hope this is a joke, though I can’t quite see the humor in it.This psychiatrist seems overly attached to textbook facts, while it would serve him better to focus more on the individual behind the behavior.

It’s true that autistic children sometimes have difficulty recognizing hunger cues, but overeating usually has far more complex causes than just that.

It’s important to understand that this behavior is not simply about food; it’s often a way of coping with emotions or stress — with life itself.Furthermore, there is no magical switch to turn hyperfocus on or off at will.Hyperfocus isn’t something you can easily control, and the idea that you can manipulate someone’s focus to make them eat healthier is an oversimplification of a very complex process.Additionally, overeating is often linked to dopamine release, which for a neurodivergent person can be a way to make the world feel more manageable and less threatening. It creates comfort and even a kind of ‘happiness’ in a world that can otherwise feel unpredictable and overwhelming.

And then there are teenagers, who are battling hormones that throw their entire system off balance until a new equilibrium is reached.It’s hard for any adolescent brain to suddenly cope with the massive physical and mental changes taking place.For neurodivergent teens, this can be even more confusing, because their brains often work differently from neurotypical youth.They often struggle to adjust to changes in their bodies and the world around them, which can leave them feeling misunderstood. Sometimes their mental development lags behind their physical growth.

The body of a neurodivergent person functions as differently as their brain does.

So it’s crucial to understand that the situation is far more complex than a simple explanation about eating behavior or hyperfocus.

What makes this story especially frustrating is that many people accept these views just because they come from a psychiatrist with formal training.It’s presented in newspapers, on television, or social media, and therefore often taken as ‘truth.’Fortunately, there are still those who think critically and don’t blindly accept expert opinions.They reflect on what is actually being said and realize that not everything presented by an expert is necessarily true.What works as a solution for one person may not be applicable to another.

This makes it all the more important to seek nuance and understand the complexity of each individual, especially regarding neurodivergence.

When I first read that food was meant only to nourish my body, I was stunned.Not because I didn’t understand that my body needs fuel to function, but because I had never really stopped to think about what food meant to me.Was food really just fuel for my body?It took a while for that idea to sink in, and when it did, it touched me deeply.

For me, food had always meant so much more than mere nourishment.

What food meant to me:

As a child, it was a source of comfort, a way to relax, to belong, to share joyful moments.Later, I realized it also stood for rhythm, trance, and processing — ways to connect with my body, organize my thoughts, and soothe myself.Eating was my way of being ‘normal,’ of escaping the world for a while.It was a way to pause time and not have to respond to everything around me.It was my way of taking a break from chaos, providing dopamine that made me feel better, even if only temporarily.It helped me regain some control in moments of tension or uncertainty.Food was not only about filling my stomach; it was a way to regulate my emotions and momentarily avoid feelings I might otherwise find too hard to handle.

That was what I missed when I read the simple sentence that food is nourishment.For me, food was always much more than the physical need to feed my body.It was a way to keep my inner world in balance, even if it meant sometimes calming myself in unhealthy ways.Only later did I understand that my relationship with food ran much deeper than just whether or not I was hungry.

Food, eating, consuming — for me, it was never just about fueling the body.My body did get its nourishment, but that was always secondary, something that happened automatically, while I used food for much more.It was only when I read that food is mainly meant to provide energy for the body that the realization truly hit me.It had always served a much bigger purpose for me than that.I had never consciously thought of food as primarily fuel for my body.It was a concept I struggled to fully grasp. Food meant more than fuel; it was a way to manage my feelings, ease moments of unrest, connect with others, or even shut out the world.Food was my way of meeting a need beyond physical hunger.

And then I realized: I needed food for so much more than others, especially those who experience eating as simply a practical act to keep their body balanced.

For me, it was a way to calm myself, regulate emotions, and distract myself from the chaos around me.It wasn’t just about nourishment; it was a coping mechanism, a way to survive in a world I sometimes found difficult to understand.It felt as if that discovery made me immediately understand that my relationship with food was deeper and more complicated than I had ever thought.While others might eat just to nourish their bodies, I needed food as a kind of emotional support.

Was I alone in this? Certainly not.I recognized the pattern in those around me too.Doctors later often pointed out ‘stress eating.’That made sense: my life was one big pile-up of stress, so it was not hard to see why food was sometimes my only way of coping.But despite the simplicity of that explanation, it felt too shallow.It felt like it didn’t cover the full story, like something was missing.Because for me, eating wasn’t just a reaction to stress; it was about survival.Not physical survival — no — but mental survival.

The body was merely secondary; the survival of the mind was what truly mattered.The idea that food was simply for survival took on a deeper meaning when I realized that my mind was in survival mode.My body survived because I fed it, but it was my mind that struggled the most.

Food as spiritual nourishment.Looking back on my first twenty years, I realized I had unconsciously accepted this survival mindset without ever really reflecting on it.Eating wasn’t something I enjoyed or even physically needed.It was a way to calm myself, to suppress the chaos in my head, to soothe my own panic.The truth of the phrase “you have to eat to survive” hit me profoundly when I heard it—it touched me in a way I couldn’t explain.

Because I realized that, as a child, my mind had always been in survival mode.I was constantly in a kind of panic, unable to process my thoughts and emotions healthily.And all I could come up with as a child was using food as a means to survive mentally.When I understood this, the tears came. It was a pain I hadn’t expected.Deep inside, I felt an intense loneliness—a feeling of being rejected for who I truly was.Suddenly it dawned on me: it wasn’t the world around me—it was me.I didn’t feel good enough. My mind was always fighting, struggling to survive, and I never had the tools to cope with those feelings in any other way.Food was the only way I knew to keep myself calm, but it was also a way to numb the pain of that loneliness.

I quickly understood that food was the only thing my parents truly knew how to give me.