Really, You're A Dietitian?

Some thoughts on being a fat dietitian

M.C. Escher Waterfall

When people hear that I’m a dietitian, I often get “the look.” You know the one—the quick up-and-down scan, the slight narrowing of the eyes, the hesitation in their response. Sometimes, they’ll blurt out something like, “Oh, I wouldn’t have guessed!” or “Really?” as if my body is a puzzle they’re trying to solve. One person said, “You’re joking, right?” Other times, there’s just silence, thick with unspoken assumptions.

I hate telling people what I do for a living. Most of the time, it’s because they are going to spout off some monologue about what they eat or don’t eat (FYI unless you are someone I’m working with. I don’t want to hear about what you are or are not eating). But mostly, I hate telling folks what I do because I can see the judgment in their eyes.

There’s an expectation that dietitians should look a certain way—that our bodies should be walking billboards for our profession, proof that we practice what we preach (whatever that means). “Your body is your business card,” one person told me. When someone doesn’t fit the expected mold, it’s like people’s brains glitch, that this does not compute. Then, they start questioning our credibility, knowledge, and ability to do this work.

Let’s be honest; the same judgment happens in my profession. Attending conferences with other dietitians or eating disorder professionals, there are very few folks there who look like me. Dr. Rebecca Puhl studies weight stigma and found that, just like other healthcare providers, many professionals treating eating disorders hold negative weight stereotypes. While most feel confident and prepared to treat higher-weight patients, over half have witnessed colleagues making negative comments. A significant portion believes that their colleagues often harbor weight bias, feel uncomfortable treating higher-weight patients, and hold negative attitudes toward them.

Sometimes, I feel I don’t fit in the world or my profession because of my size.

Let’s be clear: being a fat dietitian doesn’t disqualify me from my profession. If anything, it makes me uniquely equipped for it.

I live in this body every single day. I experience firsthand how weight stigma operates in doctor’s offices, in clothing stores, in restaurants, on airplanes, and in casual conversations. I know what it’s like to have my health concerns dismissed or reduced to “just lose weight.” I know what it’s like to avoid seeing a healthcare provider for fear of how they will treat me during the appointment. I know what it’s like to feel unseen in spaces that claim to be about health. I know what it feels like to walk into a clothing store and find nothing will fit me. I know what it’s like to not fit on the ride at the amusement park. I know what it feels like to have everyone around you talking about how they don’t eat this or that because they need to lose weight. I know how much it hurts because when they say that, they subtly say, ‘I’d never want to look like you.’ Sure, it’s veiled under the idea, ‘It’s because of my health,’ but it’s also because many of us have such strong negative feelings about being fat.

This isn’t just theoretical knowledge—it’s lived experience. And that experience gives me a depth of empathy that can’t be taught in any nutrition program.

When my clients come to me struggling with body image, I don’t need them to explain what it feels like to live in a world that constantly tells them their bodies are wrong. I already know. I understand the fear of being judged at the gym, the exhaustion of navigating diet culture messaging, and the complicated relationship with food that develops after years of internalizing weight bias. I also know what it’s like to still struggle with accepting my body, to feel the pull of dieting again, even when I know it won’t work. I understand the grief of letting go of the pursuit of thinness. That grief is real; my lived experience helps me hold space for it.

Let me be clear: you don’t have to be fat to be able to hold these things. I have plenty of colleagues in smaller bodies who do this with grace and empathy every single day. They do amazing work and have spent hours unlearning their own internalized bias. Yet, they still might not get the same looks from others when they tell them what they do for a living.

Being a fat dietitian also means pushing back against a field that has long upheld weight-centric models of health. It means advocating for a more inclusive approach to nutrition that doesn’t assume that a smaller body equals a healthier one. It also means understanding the very real, day-to-day logistical challenges of living in a larger body—finding comfortable seating, finding clothes that fit, putting on socks, accessing medical care without bias, or navigating a world that isn’t designed with body diversity in mind.

Yes, I am a dietitian. Yes, I am fat. These two truths are not in conflict. If anything, they make me better at my job in ways specific to my lived experience. That doesn’t mean thin dietitians can’t do this work—they absolutely can, and many do it with great care and compassion. But my experience as a fat person allows me to bring an additional layer of understanding, especially when it comes to the grief, the struggle, and the reality of moving through the world in a larger body.

So, the next time you meet a fat dietitian, resist the urge to be surprised. Instead, consider what our presence in this field means. It means challenging outdated beliefs, making space for body diversity, and, most importantly, that people with larger bodies can finally work with someone who gets it.

And that? That is powerful.