I grew up on 79-cent cans of green beans. Now my meals sit on Instagram beside photos of $27 jars of coconut yogurt. After seven-plus years working with sick members of the public, the people I care for often look nothing like the curated feeds I see on my phone. This may be an unpopular take among some bloggers, but it matters to me.
Sometimes I feel rooted in the real world — the world of neighbors, tight budgets, and everyday struggles — while another foot hangs off into an online space that rewards unattainable lifestyles. In that space, doing your best in real life often doesn’t measure up to what’s celebrated online.
Somehow I ended up with a small voice in this online world, and I’m mindful of the limitations many people face and the influence social media carries. I live paycheck to paycheck, buy most workout outfits on sale at Old Navy, carry student loan debt, canceled my yoga membership because I couldn’t afford it, and grew up eating mostly canned veggies. I get it — I’m with you.
I don’t want anyone to feel their worth is defined by other people’s Instagram feeds. I also don’t want anyone to feel less worthy because they can’t post the same polished content themselves. That distinction matters.
On the positive side, it’s amazing that more people are learning about healthier choices. Consumers voting with their dollars has driven more natural products into stores, making healthier options more accessible. These products showing up on shelves can help people choose better alternatives to highly processed foods, and social media has helped accelerate that change.
I love seeing the products I care about gain visibility and shelf space. Big brands are adapting, and that shift benefits many people. I’m grateful to be able to highlight these things and to help others incorporate healthier habits into their lives.
But Instagram can have a downside if we’re not careful about who we follow and what we consume. It can distance us from the real world — where people lack access, resources, or knowledge. Many don’t realize how much added sugar is in common products, or that some bars contain unwanted additives. Seeing a dietitian in expensive leggings promote an $8 juice after a luxury massage can feel intimidating and unrelatable to someone juggling real-life constraints.
This isn’t a critique of anyone’s choices. If someone can and wants to live an extremely healthy life, that’s wonderful. I simply want to share my perspective — shaped by being intimidated by the health world, losing 100 pounds on a budget, working long hours, and understanding the day-to-day compromises many people make. Millions of Americans live this reality. What makes my view unique is that I’ve lived both sides: the struggle and the position of having a small online platform. I won’t forget what it felt like to be where many readers are now.
While the health movement has many positives, it can be hard for people who need practical guidance to find examples that feel attainable. The voices they hear and the bodies they see online often don’t look like them. Inclusion, to me, means presenting health information in an approachable way. If a feed makes you feel excluded, it’s okay to step away and find someone whose content feels more relatable.
Access to fresh produce is a real problem. During recent coursework I was shocked to learn how few stores with fresh produce exist in some low-income districts, and how many areas have far more fast-food outlets than stores with fruits and vegetables.
Yet the Instagram norm can suggest a life of $25 workout classes, farm-to-table lunches, and expensive outfits — a norm that’s not achievable for everyone. Seeing people who appear very different from you can make it harder to focus on what you can do. It’s easy to internalize the message that health equals pricey products or that doing your best isn’t enough.
I won’t be the one to add guilt for choosing a lower-cost protein bar or flavored water over boxed cereal or soda. Health is a continuum. No one goes from the Standard American Diet to complete ingredient mastery overnight. Improvements happen step by step, and budgets, time, and priorities shape those steps.
There’s already too much shame around food. I refuse to add to it. If someone is making better choices than before, even if they’re not perfect, that should be supported. Everyone progresses at their own pace — the people we idolize online often started long before we found them and already had expertise.
When you’re feeling inadequate scrolling through curated feeds, remember that those images don’t define you. If they don’t serve you, don’t let them occupy your thoughts.
Instagram opened my eyes to more detailed nutrition knowledge beyond the basics of eating whole foods. Before Instagram, my diet was simple: meat, fruit, and vegetables. Since then, the platform helped me learn, research, and become more informed. I’m grateful for the community and for products that have made healthy changes easier in my life.
That gratitude comes with responsibility. I want to recommend things I truly value and present information that respects people’s limitations. My goal is to balance inspiration with approachability: to encourage growth without alienating those who can’t yet afford or access certain items.
When I share higher-cost products that meet quality standards, it’s with the hope of educating about options. When I recommend affordable choices, I aim to make healthier options feel realistic for busy people. Thoughtful sharing can show people that healthy changes are doable without intimidating them into feeling they must DIY everything.
There’s a mental health cost to constant exposure to highlight reels. Scrolling through polished images while eating a reheated hot dog can trigger comparison and shame. I feel it too. Posting photos of my own body can bring anxiety because expectations sometimes clash with reality. Still, that’s exactly why showing a range of bodies and experiences matters.
I believe most bloggers genuinely try to provide useful advice. People I respect care about their reputation and the trust of their audience. They remember that not everyone has the same access — at least, the ones I choose to follow do.
That’s my main point: curate the feeds that help you. Follow accounts that inspire, educate, and make you feel better, not worse. I don’t follow many bloggers who make me feel inadequate. Comparison and cliques add pressure, and I choose not to let them change my priorities. Follow those who encourage you to learn, grow, and work harder — not those who make you feel you must be someone else.
If you take one thing from this: you are not unworthy of health, happiness, or self-love because social media makes your life look ordinary. Health is within reach even if someone else’s feed makes it seem impossible.
You don’t need to be perfect — as a person, parent, or poster. You don’t have to buy what you can’t afford or do classes you don’t enjoy. You don’t need to be an expert in nutrition overnight. Your job is to show up for yourself, in whatever way you can, and keep doing your best. Keep learning, growing, and curate an Instagram experience that leaves you inspired — or maybe just hungry.