Welcome to part three of the Disordered Eating for Naturopaths series. In the last two instalments, we explored the spectrum of disordered eating and the red flags practitioners should never miss.
Now, we’re looking at the uncomfortable middle ground: The place where disordered eating and naturopathic practice intersect.
It happens in two key ways:
Let’s be honest: this one’s going to sting a little. But it’s also where real growth starts. So let's go!
Now, we’re looking at the uncomfortable middle ground: The place where disordered eating and naturopathic practice intersect.
It happens in two key ways:
- When clients seek affirmation of their disordered eating through naturopathic care.
- When naturopaths unintentionally - or sometimes directly - reinforce those patterns.
Let’s be honest: this one’s going to sting a little. But it’s also where real growth starts. So let's go!
1. Clients Seeking Affirmation of Disordered Eating in Naturopathic Care
One of the biggest challenges in our work is that clients often come to us hoping we’ll affirm their restrictive behaviours.
Unlike a dietitian or a GP, who might (sometimes) warn against excessive dieting (although with the rise and allure of GLP-1 medications prescribed for weight concerns, I'm seeing this tendency start to diminish), naturopaths are often perceived as more likely to give the green light to clean eating, fasting, and detoxes with the holy water of “holism.”
I’ve seen this play out countless times in clinic.
Clients say things like:
“I think I need to detox my liver after bingeing on party food!”
This sounds responsible, even virtuous - the classic Monday-morning wellness confession. And we, as naturopaths, know the drill: cue the conversation about hepatic clearance, Phase I and II detox pathways, methylation, sulfonation, glucuronidation. Maybe a sprinkle of B-vitamins, NAC, and turmeric for good measure.
But this isn’t a liver crying for help - it’s a person feeling shame. After eating more or differently than usual, the nervous system tips into threat mode. Cortisol rises, digestion slows, and guilt gets translated into “I feel toxic.” The urge to “detox” is the psyche’s way of seeking purification, not the liver’s way of asking for support.
Physiologically, the body is already detoxing - constantly! Hepatocytes don’t clock off for the weekend. What spikes after a single binge isn’t toxin load as much as it’s stress hormones and self-criticism. Restricting food again or launching into a juice fast only worsens the cortisol rollercoaster and perpetuates the binge-restrict cycle.
The irony is that restriction impairs detoxification. Phase II liver conjugation needs amino acids, sulfur donors, and glycogen - all of which drop when someone under-eats. So the very act of “cleansing” or juice fasting (because there's stuff all protein coming in with your typical 3-day juice cleanse!) can leave the liver less supported.
Our job isn’t to hand over another detox protocol. It’s to gently name the shame beneath the science talk, re-frame “bingeing” as a signal of deprivation, and remind clients that nourishment - not punishment - is what truly supports hepatic resilience. Shame can’t be methylated away.
“My gut is inflamed; I can only tolerate ‘clean’ foods now.”
This one sounds so clinical that it’s easy to take at face value. Words like inflammation, intolerance, gut permeability, and yes, even clean eating feel safely nestled in our naturopathic lexicon. But underneath that polished language is often a body in distress, and a nervous system stuck in protection mode.
When someone reports that “everything I eat upsets my gut,” it’s tempting to reach for the SIBO breath test kit, a low-FODMAP protocol, or a list of “gut-healing” powders. Yet chronic restriction itself is one of the most potent gut irritants there is!
Here’s why:
Add in social media messaging that glorifies “clean” or “anti-inflammatory” diets, and you have the perfect storm for orthorexia disguised as gut healing.
We can still talk about intestinal permeability and inflammatory pathways, sure! Maybe even methylation cofactors if it helps contextualise things... but only after addressing the foundational issue: safety and sufficiency.
Food variety, adequate calories, and nervous-system regulation are gut healing.
So when a client insists they can only tolerate “clean” foods, it’s worth gently asking:
Often, what we uncover isn’t a fragile gut - it’s a fragile sense of safety.
“I don’t get hungry until the afternoon, so I skip breakfast.”
From a naturopathic lens, this one can quickly lead us into conversations about cortisol curves, circadian rhythm, or blood sugar regulation. I've also heard from clients who were congratulated on their inadvertent intermittent fasting when they disclosed their lack of morning appetite (d'oh!). But let’s zoom out...
When someone doesn’t feel hungry until later in the day, it’s rarely because their metabolism is “efficient.” More often, it’s a physiological hangover from chronic restriction or stress.
What’s really going on here? When you regularly suppress food intake (whether through dieting, fasting, skipping meals, or consistent lack of access to food), the body adapts. Cortisol and adrenaline rise to keep blood glucose stable and maintain alertness. Those stress hormones blunt hunger cues by dampening ghrelin (the hunger hormone) and numbing interoceptive awareness. Over time, your body learns: “We don’t eat in the mornings - hunger isn’t safe or useful. Let's use what little energy we have for other, more important functions.”
This adaptation can look like “discipline” or "metabolically adapted" from the outside, but often it’s actually a dysregulated stress response. When the body is stuck in fight-or-flight, hunger is postponed in favour of survival.
Then, come afternoon, cortisol dips, adrenaline wanes... and hunger surges back, often fiercely. That’s when clients say they’re “fine all day” but can’t stop eating at 4pm, or at night. It’s not lack of willpower, but rather biology rebounding.
So when someone says, “I’m just not hungry in the morning,” it’s worth exploring why. The goal isn’t to force breakfast, but to rebuild safety and trust around consistent nourishment. Skipping breakfast isn’t a sign of balance - it’s often a sign of a body still waiting for permission to eat.
Unlike a dietitian or a GP, who might (sometimes) warn against excessive dieting (although with the rise and allure of GLP-1 medications prescribed for weight concerns, I'm seeing this tendency start to diminish), naturopaths are often perceived as more likely to give the green light to clean eating, fasting, and detoxes with the holy water of “holism.”
I’ve seen this play out countless times in clinic.
Clients say things like:
“I think I need to detox my liver after bingeing on party food!”
This sounds responsible, even virtuous - the classic Monday-morning wellness confession. And we, as naturopaths, know the drill: cue the conversation about hepatic clearance, Phase I and II detox pathways, methylation, sulfonation, glucuronidation. Maybe a sprinkle of B-vitamins, NAC, and turmeric for good measure.
But this isn’t a liver crying for help - it’s a person feeling shame. After eating more or differently than usual, the nervous system tips into threat mode. Cortisol rises, digestion slows, and guilt gets translated into “I feel toxic.” The urge to “detox” is the psyche’s way of seeking purification, not the liver’s way of asking for support.
Physiologically, the body is already detoxing - constantly! Hepatocytes don’t clock off for the weekend. What spikes after a single binge isn’t toxin load as much as it’s stress hormones and self-criticism. Restricting food again or launching into a juice fast only worsens the cortisol rollercoaster and perpetuates the binge-restrict cycle.
The irony is that restriction impairs detoxification. Phase II liver conjugation needs amino acids, sulfur donors, and glycogen - all of which drop when someone under-eats. So the very act of “cleansing” or juice fasting (because there's stuff all protein coming in with your typical 3-day juice cleanse!) can leave the liver less supported.
Our job isn’t to hand over another detox protocol. It’s to gently name the shame beneath the science talk, re-frame “bingeing” as a signal of deprivation, and remind clients that nourishment - not punishment - is what truly supports hepatic resilience. Shame can’t be methylated away.
“My gut is inflamed; I can only tolerate ‘clean’ foods now.”
This one sounds so clinical that it’s easy to take at face value. Words like inflammation, intolerance, gut permeability, and yes, even clean eating feel safely nestled in our naturopathic lexicon. But underneath that polished language is often a body in distress, and a nervous system stuck in protection mode.
When someone reports that “everything I eat upsets my gut,” it’s tempting to reach for the SIBO breath test kit, a low-FODMAP protocol, or a list of “gut-healing” powders. Yet chronic restriction itself is one of the most potent gut irritants there is!
Here’s why:
- Under-eating slows motility. Without enough energy or dietary variety, peristalsis becomes sluggish, leading to bloating, constipation, or nausea - which clients may then interpret as further “intolerance”.
- Low food volume thins the mucosal barrier. The gut lining relies on regular contact with food and short-chain fatty acids (SCFAs) from fibre fermentation. When intake is limited, SCFA production drops and the mucus layer thins, leaving the barrier more sensitive, not less (Desai et al., 2016).
- The nervous system amplifies sensation. Chronic stress and hypervigilance heighten interoceptive awareness, so normal digestive sensations feel painful or alarming - a well-recognised feature of functional gut disorders (Mayer & Tillisch, 2011)
- Malnutrition alters microbiota balance. Restrictive eating reduces microbial diversity and shifts metabolite profiles, often worsening the very symptoms it was meant to solve (Sonnenburg & Sonnenburg, 2017).
Add in social media messaging that glorifies “clean” or “anti-inflammatory” diets, and you have the perfect storm for orthorexia disguised as gut healing.
We can still talk about intestinal permeability and inflammatory pathways, sure! Maybe even methylation cofactors if it helps contextualise things... but only after addressing the foundational issue: safety and sufficiency.
Food variety, adequate calories, and nervous-system regulation are gut healing.
So when a client insists they can only tolerate “clean” foods, it’s worth gently asking:
- “What does clean mean to you?”
- “What happens if you eat something outside that list?”
Often, what we uncover isn’t a fragile gut - it’s a fragile sense of safety.
“I don’t get hungry until the afternoon, so I skip breakfast.”
From a naturopathic lens, this one can quickly lead us into conversations about cortisol curves, circadian rhythm, or blood sugar regulation. I've also heard from clients who were congratulated on their inadvertent intermittent fasting when they disclosed their lack of morning appetite (d'oh!). But let’s zoom out...
When someone doesn’t feel hungry until later in the day, it’s rarely because their metabolism is “efficient.” More often, it’s a physiological hangover from chronic restriction or stress.
What’s really going on here? When you regularly suppress food intake (whether through dieting, fasting, skipping meals, or consistent lack of access to food), the body adapts. Cortisol and adrenaline rise to keep blood glucose stable and maintain alertness. Those stress hormones blunt hunger cues by dampening ghrelin (the hunger hormone) and numbing interoceptive awareness. Over time, your body learns: “We don’t eat in the mornings - hunger isn’t safe or useful. Let's use what little energy we have for other, more important functions.”
This adaptation can look like “discipline” or "metabolically adapted" from the outside, but often it’s actually a dysregulated stress response. When the body is stuck in fight-or-flight, hunger is postponed in favour of survival.
Then, come afternoon, cortisol dips, adrenaline wanes... and hunger surges back, often fiercely. That’s when clients say they’re “fine all day” but can’t stop eating at 4pm, or at night. It’s not lack of willpower, but rather biology rebounding.
So when someone says, “I’m just not hungry in the morning,” it’s worth exploring why. The goal isn’t to force breakfast, but to rebuild safety and trust around consistent nourishment. Skipping breakfast isn’t a sign of balance - it’s often a sign of a body still waiting for permission to eat.
Ah yes, the universal symbol of health: women laughing at lettuce.
“I feel puffy whenever I eat carbs - should I cut them out?”
Cue discussions of insulin sensitivity and inflammation. But that transient “puffiness” is usually just water, not “toxins” or fat gain, and not inflammation.
When you’ve been restricting carbohydrates for a while, your body’s glycogen stores (its form of stored carbohydrate) become depleted. Each gram of glycogen binds to roughly 3-4 grams of water, so when you start eating carbs again, your body naturally replenishes those stores... and holds onto the associated water. The result is a temporary feeling of fullness or “bloat” that’s completely normal and actually a sign of re-nourishment, not dysfunction.
Ironically, chronic restriction itself can also drive water retention. When the body perceives scarcity - whether through low calorie intake, stress, or dehydration - cortisol rises, sodium handling shifts, and tissues may hold more fluid. So what looks like “carb bloat” is often the body finally exhaling.
Cutting carbs in response only deepens the cycle:
restriction → water loss → temporary “lightness” → reintroduction → water return → panic → restriction again.
It’s not pathology... it’s physiology. Plus, cutting carbs is usually cutting connection to body trust.
“I’m highly sensitive to processed food - I can only eat organic wholefoods.”
This one’s a cousin of the "I can only eat clean" narrative, but with an added dose of classism, ableism, and moral superiority disguised as health. On the surface, this sounds sophisticated, even admirable. The language of sensitivity and purity fits perfectly within modern wellness culture, where “clean eating” has become shorthand for moral worth. But under that polished phrasing often lies fear, not actual physiology.
Sometimes, clients truly do have reactions to certain additives or preservatives. But more often, “sensitivity” becomes a socially sanctioned way to describe anxiety about contamination and loss of control.
The idea that only organic, “natural” food is safe offers a sense of order in a world that feels chaotic.
And this is where classism, ableism, and moralism creep in.
Wellness culture rarely acknowledges that “organic-only” eating requires money, time, and privilege... luxuries that not every body has. For many clients, these strict food rules begin as a health pursuit and end as a burden: socially isolating, financially draining, and shame-inducing whenever “lesser” foods are eaten.
Physiologically, chronic restriction and stress can lower digestive capacity, making even small deviations feel uncomfortable: a self-fulfilling loop that reinforces fear. The nervous system tightens around food rules, and the body mirrors that tension in the gut.
When we, as practitioners, celebrate “purity” without examining its roots, we unintentionally reinforce disordered eating... wrapped in ethical, environmental, or spiritual virtue.
So instead of nodding along, we can gently widen the frame:
This isn’t about dismissing organic food. It’s about dismantling the hierarchy that makes someone feel “dirty” for eating anything else. Our role isn’t to moralise food choices; it’s to return clients to the radical, nourishing truth that all foods can belong - because they truly do!
“I know I’m eating too much - can you help me with portion control or increasing my metabolism?”
Ah yes... the metabolism question, diet culture’s favourite pseudoscience dressed up as biochemistry. It sounds rational: If I could just speed up my metabolism, I’d finally eat “normally” and not gain weight. And it’s so easy, as naturopaths, to meet that question with talk of thyroid function, adrenal fatigue, mitochondrial cofactors, or methylation support.
But underneath it all, this isn’t really a question about metabolism - it’s a question about permission. About who is allowed to eat, how much, and without apology.
The funny (but not funny) thing is that most people asking this are already under-eating. Chronically restricted intake slows resting metabolic rate as the body adapts to perceived famine (Keys et al., 1950). It’s a protective mechanism, not a personal failure. When food becomes unpredictable (through dieting, fasting, or endless Whole 30 “resets”), the body lowers energy expenditure, conserves glycogen, and increases efficiency. In other words: the “broken metabolism” is usually a smart metabolism responding to chronic scarcity!
When nourishment finally increases, glycogen stores refill, digestion ramps up, and thermogenesis returns. That can feel like “eating too much,” but it’s actually restoration... the metabolism turning back on.
Diet culture hijacked this concept decades ago. Now, “boosting metabolism” is code for “how to eat less without your body noticing.” Supplements, detox powders, and so-called “metabolic resets” all exploit that anxiety. Even practitioner-only protocols promise to “rebalance metabolism” or “reset leptin sensitivity”, language that sounds scientific but usually just means calorie restriction with methyl donors chucked in.
True metabolic support looks far less glamorous: consistent meals, adequate carbohydrate intake to suppress cortisol, enough protein and micronutrients to rebuild muscles and enzymes, and permission to rest. Sometimes the most effective metabolic tonic is a friggin' sandwich and a nap.
When clients frame eating in terms of metabolic optimisation, we can gently redirect the conversation:
After all, the goal of naturopathy isn’t metabolic manipulation, it’s metabolic safety.
Cue discussions of insulin sensitivity and inflammation. But that transient “puffiness” is usually just water, not “toxins” or fat gain, and not inflammation.
When you’ve been restricting carbohydrates for a while, your body’s glycogen stores (its form of stored carbohydrate) become depleted. Each gram of glycogen binds to roughly 3-4 grams of water, so when you start eating carbs again, your body naturally replenishes those stores... and holds onto the associated water. The result is a temporary feeling of fullness or “bloat” that’s completely normal and actually a sign of re-nourishment, not dysfunction.
Ironically, chronic restriction itself can also drive water retention. When the body perceives scarcity - whether through low calorie intake, stress, or dehydration - cortisol rises, sodium handling shifts, and tissues may hold more fluid. So what looks like “carb bloat” is often the body finally exhaling.
Cutting carbs in response only deepens the cycle:
restriction → water loss → temporary “lightness” → reintroduction → water return → panic → restriction again.
It’s not pathology... it’s physiology. Plus, cutting carbs is usually cutting connection to body trust.
“I’m highly sensitive to processed food - I can only eat organic wholefoods.”
This one’s a cousin of the "I can only eat clean" narrative, but with an added dose of classism, ableism, and moral superiority disguised as health. On the surface, this sounds sophisticated, even admirable. The language of sensitivity and purity fits perfectly within modern wellness culture, where “clean eating” has become shorthand for moral worth. But under that polished phrasing often lies fear, not actual physiology.
Sometimes, clients truly do have reactions to certain additives or preservatives. But more often, “sensitivity” becomes a socially sanctioned way to describe anxiety about contamination and loss of control.
The idea that only organic, “natural” food is safe offers a sense of order in a world that feels chaotic.
And this is where classism, ableism, and moralism creep in.
Wellness culture rarely acknowledges that “organic-only” eating requires money, time, and privilege... luxuries that not every body has. For many clients, these strict food rules begin as a health pursuit and end as a burden: socially isolating, financially draining, and shame-inducing whenever “lesser” foods are eaten.
Physiologically, chronic restriction and stress can lower digestive capacity, making even small deviations feel uncomfortable: a self-fulfilling loop that reinforces fear. The nervous system tightens around food rules, and the body mirrors that tension in the gut.
When we, as practitioners, celebrate “purity” without examining its roots, we unintentionally reinforce disordered eating... wrapped in ethical, environmental, or spiritual virtue.
So instead of nodding along, we can gently widen the frame:
- “What does ‘processed’ mean to you?”
- “How do these food choices impact your sense of freedom and connection?”
- “What would balance look like if health wasn’t equated with purity?”
This isn’t about dismissing organic food. It’s about dismantling the hierarchy that makes someone feel “dirty” for eating anything else. Our role isn’t to moralise food choices; it’s to return clients to the radical, nourishing truth that all foods can belong - because they truly do!
“I know I’m eating too much - can you help me with portion control or increasing my metabolism?”
Ah yes... the metabolism question, diet culture’s favourite pseudoscience dressed up as biochemistry. It sounds rational: If I could just speed up my metabolism, I’d finally eat “normally” and not gain weight. And it’s so easy, as naturopaths, to meet that question with talk of thyroid function, adrenal fatigue, mitochondrial cofactors, or methylation support.
But underneath it all, this isn’t really a question about metabolism - it’s a question about permission. About who is allowed to eat, how much, and without apology.
The funny (but not funny) thing is that most people asking this are already under-eating. Chronically restricted intake slows resting metabolic rate as the body adapts to perceived famine (Keys et al., 1950). It’s a protective mechanism, not a personal failure. When food becomes unpredictable (through dieting, fasting, or endless Whole 30 “resets”), the body lowers energy expenditure, conserves glycogen, and increases efficiency. In other words: the “broken metabolism” is usually a smart metabolism responding to chronic scarcity!
When nourishment finally increases, glycogen stores refill, digestion ramps up, and thermogenesis returns. That can feel like “eating too much,” but it’s actually restoration... the metabolism turning back on.
Diet culture hijacked this concept decades ago. Now, “boosting metabolism” is code for “how to eat less without your body noticing.” Supplements, detox powders, and so-called “metabolic resets” all exploit that anxiety. Even practitioner-only protocols promise to “rebalance metabolism” or “reset leptin sensitivity”, language that sounds scientific but usually just means calorie restriction with methyl donors chucked in.
True metabolic support looks far less glamorous: consistent meals, adequate carbohydrate intake to suppress cortisol, enough protein and micronutrients to rebuild muscles and enzymes, and permission to rest. Sometimes the most effective metabolic tonic is a friggin' sandwich and a nap.
When clients frame eating in terms of metabolic optimisation, we can gently redirect the conversation:
- “What would it feel like to focus less on speeding up your metabolism, and more on trusting that your body knows how to find equilibrium when it’s fed?”
After all, the goal of naturopathy isn’t metabolic manipulation, it’s metabolic safety.
When Helping Hurts: The Line Between Healing and Harm
At first glance, all these client statements sound familiar, even reasonable. They use the same language we’re trained to respond to: toxicity, inflammation, sluggish metabolism, imbalance.
But beneath those clinical phrases is often a plea for control, safety, and validation. They’re often expressions of fear, shame, and control, not physiological dysfunction.
Our job is to listen for the story underneath the story.
What sounds like a request for naturopathic care is often really a request for permission to continue restrictive or compensatory behaviours.
And this is where things get tricky. Because if we don’t pause and examine what’s driving those “symptoms,” we risk becoming diet culture’s most credentialed accomplices.
But beneath those clinical phrases is often a plea for control, safety, and validation. They’re often expressions of fear, shame, and control, not physiological dysfunction.
Our job is to listen for the story underneath the story.
- When a client says “toxic,” do they mean guilt?
- When they say “clean,” do they mean safe?
- When they say “balanced,” do they mean smaller?
What sounds like a request for naturopathic care is often really a request for permission to continue restrictive or compensatory behaviours.
And this is where things get tricky. Because if we don’t pause and examine what’s driving those “symptoms,” we risk becoming diet culture’s most credentialed accomplices.
2. When Naturopaths Actively Encourage Disordered Eating (Without Realising It)
Sometimes the problem isn’t just what clients bring - it’s what we prescribe. And to be clear, I'm sure most (well, hopefully all!) naturopaths don’t intend to do harm.
We enter this profession because we care deeply, because we want to help people feel better in their bodies.
But intention doesn’t cancel impact.
Many of the popular “clinical” nutrition programs in naturopathy are diet culture in a lab coat. They look scientific. They sound sophisticated. They’re often expensive. But they reinforce restriction, guilt, and shame.
Let’s talk about the biggest culprits.
We enter this profession because we care deeply, because we want to help people feel better in their bodies.
But intention doesn’t cancel impact.
Many of the popular “clinical” nutrition programs in naturopathy are diet culture in a lab coat. They look scientific. They sound sophisticated. They’re often expensive. But they reinforce restriction, guilt, and shame.
Let’s talk about the biggest culprits.
Metabolic Balance (yep, I'm going there).
When nourishment turns into numbers, “balance” becomes just another form of control.
Take a deep breath - this one’s going to be a full dissection.
Let me preface this by saying: if you’re a practitioner using Metabolic Balance, this isn’t a personal attack. I know and respect many naturopaths who are certified in the program. I also know that you genuinely want to help your clients feel better, and I get it. The system is seductive. It looks clinical. It sounds scientific. It’s packaged as personalised, balanced, holistic.
And hey, let’s not ignore the cherry on top: it’s a pretty lucrative offering.
Where It Comes From - and How It’s Sold
Metabolic Balance was developed in Germany in the early 2000s by Dr Wolf Funfack (a physician) and Silvia Bürkle (a food scientist). The program claims to “balance your metabolism” through a nutrition plan calculated from your blood values - marketed as personalised nutrition based on science.
It was introduced to Australia around 2011 - 2012, and is now offered through the official Metabolic Balance Australia network, which recruits naturopaths, nutritionists, GPs, and other natural health practitioners as licensed coaches. It is marketed to practitioners as an evidence-informed, personalised approach to metabolic health - yet there is currently no published peer-reviewed research validating its claims of biochemical personalisation or long-term metabolic benefit.
The website calls it “the program with a side effect of weight loss.” In other words: still a diet, just rebranded as biochemistry.
There’s no publicly available data on how many Australian naturopaths are certified MB practitioners... which in itself speaks volumes about transparency. But a quick scan of naturopathic websites shows hundreds of practitioners across Queensland, Victoria, and New South Wales promoting MB as a premium “clinical” service.
The standard program cost in Australia sits between AUD $1600 and $1800, often packaged as a 12-week plan that includes pathology testing, a personalised food list, and follow-up sessions. Payment plans are offered, and the marketing frequently frames this as an “investment in your biochemistry."
That’s a steep price for what is, functionally, a glorified meal plan.
The Four Phases (and Why They’re Harmful)
Phase 1: “Cleansing”
Two days of low-calorie eating: soups, juices, sometimes fasting. This phase primes clients for restriction and frames the body as dirty or toxic, a narrative straight from diet culture’s playbook. The program’s website claims that during this time, “the body feeds itself from within, from the fat reserves (keto metabolism)” and that “hunger is minimised.”
That might sound reassuring - but physiologically, it doesn’t hold up. When calorie intake drops suddenly, the body initially suppresses appetite through a short-term surge in stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol. This can create a temporary illusion of reduced hunger - a kind of metabolic shock response. But it’s not balance; it’s survival. Within days, hunger hormones such as ghrelin and neuropeptide Y rise sharply to restore energy intake (Rosenbaum & Leibel, 2010). In other words, any absence of hunger isn’t a sign of metabolic harmony... it’s the body sounding the alarm more quietly before turning up the volume later.
Also... true ketosis doesn’t occur in two days of low calorie restriction or “cleansing.” Most people require several days - and some closer to a week - of <50 g carbohydrate intake and significant glycogen depletion to enter nutritional ketosis (Bergman, 2025; Ketosis.Org, 2025; Skartum et al., 2025).
In practice, the claim that “hunger is minimised" teaches clients to mistrust their bodies. When hunger appears (as it inevitably will), it’s interpreted as failure rather than feedback. This lays the groundwork for the shame-and-suppression cycle that so often follows in restrictive eating: hunger pathologised, fullness moralised, and body wisdom overruled by external rules.
Phase 2: “Conversion” or "Detox"
The Metabolic Balance Australia & New Zealand website describes this phase as lasting “at least 14 days,” during which “the body needs time to detoxify and adjust your metabolism in order to get back into a healthy balance.”
It promises that “a little bit of discipline is worthwhile,” that “alkaline minerals bind acids and allow them to be removed,” and - in what might be the most telling line - that “if you want, you can stay longer in the DETOX phase.”
Let’s unpack that.
First, the idea of “detoxifying” for two weeks is biochemically meaningless. The liver’s phase I and II detoxification enzymes are working continuously, not on a schedule (Rang et al., 2024). They don’t need 14 days of restriction and alkaline vegetables to do their job... they need consistent energy, amino acids, and micronutrients. The notion that alkaline foods “bind acids” is also pseudoscientific. Systemic acid–base balance is tightly regulated by respiration and renal function; food has a minimal effect on blood pH (Remer & Manz, 1995).
Second, the claim that one should “stay longer if you wish” raises a serious ethical red flag. Fourteen days of restrictive eating is already sufficient to alter thyroid hormones, resting metabolic rate, and gut motility (Keys et al., 1950; Rosenbaum & Leibel, 2010). Encouraging people to extend this period risks pushing clients into chronic under-fueling, electrolyte imbalance, and disordered eating patterns. In plain terms: why would you want to prolong a phase that deprives the body of the very nutrients it needs to detoxify and heal?
Third, the insistence on “discipline” - no oils, no snacks, five-hour fasting windows, one protein per meal, foods are weighed... and then there are obscure items like carp or eel appear on meal plans that are supposedly “personalised.” All of this reframes obedience as wellness. These rules may generate short-term weight loss, but physiologically they reflect energy deficit, not metabolic magic. Hunger suppression, fatigue, and mood swings are interpreted as “adjustment,” when in reality they’re the predictable effects of under-eating and low blood glucose.
And perhaps most concerningly, this language teaches clients that wellbeing is something they must earn through compliance. For anyone with a history of food restriction or body shame, that spells relapse, dressed in the language of biochemistry and moral virtue. It teaches compliance, rather than connection. Hunger becomes failure. Clients - especially those who are neurodivergent or have trauma histories - internalise that their body’s cues are wrong.
Phase 3: “Achieve Your Goal” (a.k.a. Conditional Freedom)
The Metabolic Balance AU & NZ website reassures clients that “now it will get easier,” because “no one can achieve a goal through constant restriction.” Gotta love it when diets pretend not to be diets! In Phase 3, participants are invited to “experiment” with foods not on their list, and to enjoy occasional “treat meals,” described as “a highlight” - a brief relaxation of the rules where you can “eat what you feel like.”
At first glance, this sounds great! A gentle reintroduction, some flexibility. But on closer look, it’s still deeply rooted in diet logic. The structure teaches that pleasure must be rationed and spontaneity earned. “Treat meals” imply that all other meals are treatment - a kind of ongoing penance for being in a body that needs management.
From a behavioural perspective, this planned rebellion doesn’t resolve restriction; it reinforces it. Alternating between tight control and sanctioned indulgence keeps the brain locked in a reward-punishment loop. Dopamine and endorphins spike during “treats,” followed by guilt, fear, or renewed restriction: classic diet-binge conditioning (Polivy & Herman, 1985).
Physiologically, this pattern is destabilising. Periodic over- and under-eating disrupt insulin sensitivity and appetite regulation, making it harder - not easier - for the body to find equilibrium (Sumithran & Proietto, 2013). The pattern of restriction and release the program claims to resolve is, in practice, reinforced by its design.
Even the language of “achieving your goal” is telling. What if the goal is simply nourishment? Or peace with food? In that context, Phase 3 isn’t progress, it’s probation. A period of conditional freedom where eating without fear is permitted only sometimes. For anyone healing from disordered eating, this doesn’t build body trust. It fractures it.
True metabolic balance isn’t achieved through controlled rebellion. It’s achieved when food no longer carries moral weight... when the body’s cues, not an MB practitioner's list, set the rhythm.
Phase 4: “Live Your Life” (a.k.a. Maintenance Mode)
According to the Metabolic Balance website, this is the triumphant finale:
“You did it. Your metabolism has reset, and your weight regulation is visible in so many ways beyond a number on the scales. You feel good, sleep well, and your rejuvenated appearance gives you new self-confidence.”
Let me be blunt: your metabolism hasn’t “reset.” You’ve just been semi-starved.
After weeks or months of energy restriction, metabolic rate doesn’t reboot - it slows down. The body conserves energy through adaptive thermogenesis, decreasing thyroid output, reproductive hormones, and non-exercise activity to protect against further energy loss (Leibel et al., 1995; Rosenbaum & Leibel, 2010). The “reset” people feel at this point... the lightness, the calm... is often the dopamine hit of control and the short-term relief that comes before rebound hunger inevitably sets in.
The claim that “weight regulation is visible in so many ways beyond the scales” sounds holistic, but it’s still aesthetic. It’s still about visibility. A “rejuvenated appearance” isn’t a marker of metabolic balance; it’s a marketing promise dressed as physiology.
Then comes the bait-and-switch:
“Avoid diets that are not conducive to you or cause discomfort.”
Wow, now that's a clever rhetorical pivot. The program positions itself as anti-diet while functioning exactly like one - teaching people to distrust their appetite, outsource food decisions to a plan, and moralise hunger as imbalance. It’s the diet that swears it isn’t a diet.
And perhaps the most insidious part:
“If you still get into trouble with your metabolism, you always have your Metabolic Balance practitioner to turn to and your plan to go back to.”
That isn’t empowerment; that’s dependency. It ensures clients remain tethered to the system: financially, psychologically, and metabolically. Once the inevitable rebound weight gain or digestive discomfort appears (because the body is finally refuelling), clients are encouraged to see it as a personal failing or metabolic “trouble,” not the predictable aftermath of chronic restriction. The “plan” becomes both problem and product. A lifelong subscription to control.
So no, your metabolism hasn’t reset. It’s been suppressed, defended, and exhausted.
And while you might feel temporarily in control, your body is just biding its time - waiting, as bodies always do, for safety, for enough, for permission to eat again.
The Bigger Picture: What “Balance” Really Means
If you zoom out, the four phases of Metabolic Balance read like a case study in how diet culture adapts and survives. Restriction disguised as cleansing. Compliance repackaged as self-discipline. Conditional freedom renamed as intuition. Dependence framed as empowerment.
And this is where we, as naturopaths, herbalists, and nutritionists, need to take a good look at what we’re endorsing, and what we’re enabling. Programs like this trade on the language of “metabolism,” “detox,” and “balance,” yet they operate on the same physiological principle as every other diet: energy deficit equals weight loss... until it doesn’t. They offer biochemical mystique, but their true currency is body control.
As practitioners guided by principles like Primum non nocere (First, do no harm) and Tolle totum (Treat the whole person), we’re called to do better. Balance isn’t achieved through depletion; it’s restored through nourishment, connection, and safety. The real reset happens not in the mitochondria, but in the nervous system, when clients finally trust that they don’t have to earn their food, or their worth.
So if you want to talk about metabolic balance, let’s redefine it.
It’s regular meals.
Enough carbs.
Rest.
Pleasure.
A metabolism that hums because it’s fed... not because it’s fighting for survival.
That’s the kind of balance worth teaching.
What Clients Are Saying
A quick scroll through Reddit threads paints a more complex picture of Metabolic Balance than its glossy marketing suggests.
Some participants report early enthusiasm - “I’m on Phase 2 and love it,” one commenter wrote - describing rapid weight loss and the comforting structure of having every meal prescribed. Others said the plan felt empowering, even transformative. One person shared that both she and her partner lost weight, improved sleep, reduced inflammation, and “rediscovered their love for cooking.”
But for every glowing testimonial, there are stories that tell a different truth:
“It’s too extreme, restrictive, and unsustainable,” wrote one user. “I thought this would be a nutritional re-education, not another impossible standard.”
Another participant realised they were eating fewer than 1000 calories a day, despite the program being marketed as “balanced.” Others reported side effects like fatigue, anxiety, and eczema flares:
“I lost weight, sure, but I was eating under 1000 calories. My body crashed and I gained it all back.”
From an eating disorder dietitian’s standpoint, this is a serious red flag.
Eating under 1000 calories a day isn’t “metabolic balance” - it’s metabolic shutdown! At that level of intake, the risk of refeeding complications, nutrient deficiencies, and cardiovascular strain rises sharply. Clinical guidelines for eating disorder management recommend prophylactic thiamine supplementation whenever energy intake drops below 1000 cal per day or during reintroduction after restriction (Hay et al., 2022).
Thiamine depletion can occur within 2-3 weeks of inadequate intake and may lead to neurological and cardiac complications such as Wernicke’s encephalopathy, a preventable, sometimes fatal condition. In other words: if a program leaves clients so under-fueled that thiamine deficiency becomes a foreseeable risk, it’s not “balanced.” It’s medically negligent.
But I digress... let's continue with the client experiences.
Several users highlighted the program’s rigidity and opacity - confusion over food lists featuring obscure fish like carp and eel, and frustration that the reasoning behind food prescriptions was withheld as proprietary “intellectual property.”
As one commenter put it:
“They said my blood tests were sent to Germany, but I’m not allowed to know what they found because it’s the company’s intellectual property. There’s no published science, just marketing.”
And the financial strain was not lost on participants. Multiple users described it as an “expensive waste of time” once the initial novelty wore off, citing costs around $1700 AUD and disappointment that the promised “personalisation” was really just a restrictive meal plan.
Taken together, these stories reveal a familiar pattern: the program works for some (at least temporarily), but for many others, it delivers the same arc as any other diet. Restriction, weight loss, exhaustion, rebound. The same shame cycle, just dressed in clinical language.
These online stories echo what I’ve heard countless times in clinic. Clients who come to me months after completing Metabolic Balance (or programs similar to it) describe feeling confused, guilty, or physically unwell. Many say it started off feeling “empowering,” and “scientific,” but quickly turned into another cycle of fear and fatigue. Some arrive with disrupted digestion, stalled or wacky periods, or a sense of failure because they “couldn’t stick with it."
Even more concerning - and honestly, infuriating - are the clients who’ve told their naturopath they have a long history of disordered eating, sometimes even a diagnosed eating disorder, and were still put on a Metabolic Balance plan. Maybe with a few “minor tweaks” to make it sound softer... but the core remains the same: restriction, food weighing, calorie counting dressed up as “clinical.” I cannot tell you how wild it is to hear this over and over again. Because when a client is still weighing food, still tracking every bite, still being told their body can’t be trusted, that’s not holistic care. That’s retraumatising someone who came to you for help.
That’s active harm. Full stop.
And this is what worries me most: when programs like this are framed as “holistic” or “evidence-based,” they gain legitimacy within naturopathy. We mistake rigidity for rigour. We confuse compliance with healing. And we end up colluding - often unknowingly - with the very diet culture we claim to oppose every time we say, “It’s not a diet!”
When people leave these programs ashamed, disconnected from their bodies, or financially depleted, that isn’t healing. It’s harm. And it’s happening under our professional banner.
And it directly contradicts the principles we’re supposed to uphold as naturopaths:
Why It Appeals to Practitioners
This might be a "well, duh" moment. But I'll say it out loud for those at the back. Metabolic Balance offers naturopaths something the industry rarely provides: a turnkey product that promises results, authority, and financial security.
It’s marketed as a way to “differentiate your clinic,” complete with scripts, branded materials, and coaching certification.
For practitioners under financial strain (which soooo many are) that’s an attractive proposition. But it comes at a cost: ethical compromise and erosion of trust.
When clients hand over $1700 for “metabolic balance,” and it triggers restriction, bingeing, or body distrust, they don’t just lose faith in MB - they lose faith in naturopathy.
The Myth of “Metabolic Fixing”
Another thing I feel the need to say out loud (there are a lot of them!): metabolism doesn’t need “balancing.”
It needs feeding.
Restrictive, low-energy diets slow metabolic rate - the opposite of what MB claims to do (Keys et al., 1950; Leibel et al., 1995). This program marketed as “metabolic restoration” actually teaches the body to conserve energy and distrust hunger.
And when practitioners package that as personalised care, we become complicit in metabolic confusion... selling suppression while calling it science.
Sorry... You Can’t Have It Both Ways.
Finally (I know this has been a lot, thanks for reading this far!) - it’s a select few naturopaths - but the ones who publicly claim to reject dieting while selling Metabolic Balance make me fucking furious.
Here’s my message to them:
You can’t sell Metabolic Balance and also say you practise body trust.
You can’t promote trauma-informed care and enforce rigid food rules.
You can’t claim to help clients heal their relationship with food while centring weight loss.
If your “wellness” program only works when people eat less, it’s not wellness... it’s dieting with better branding, and a $1700 price tag.
Let me preface this by saying: if you’re a practitioner using Metabolic Balance, this isn’t a personal attack. I know and respect many naturopaths who are certified in the program. I also know that you genuinely want to help your clients feel better, and I get it. The system is seductive. It looks clinical. It sounds scientific. It’s packaged as personalised, balanced, holistic.
And hey, let’s not ignore the cherry on top: it’s a pretty lucrative offering.
Where It Comes From - and How It’s Sold
Metabolic Balance was developed in Germany in the early 2000s by Dr Wolf Funfack (a physician) and Silvia Bürkle (a food scientist). The program claims to “balance your metabolism” through a nutrition plan calculated from your blood values - marketed as personalised nutrition based on science.
It was introduced to Australia around 2011 - 2012, and is now offered through the official Metabolic Balance Australia network, which recruits naturopaths, nutritionists, GPs, and other natural health practitioners as licensed coaches. It is marketed to practitioners as an evidence-informed, personalised approach to metabolic health - yet there is currently no published peer-reviewed research validating its claims of biochemical personalisation or long-term metabolic benefit.
The website calls it “the program with a side effect of weight loss.” In other words: still a diet, just rebranded as biochemistry.
There’s no publicly available data on how many Australian naturopaths are certified MB practitioners... which in itself speaks volumes about transparency. But a quick scan of naturopathic websites shows hundreds of practitioners across Queensland, Victoria, and New South Wales promoting MB as a premium “clinical” service.
The standard program cost in Australia sits between AUD $1600 and $1800, often packaged as a 12-week plan that includes pathology testing, a personalised food list, and follow-up sessions. Payment plans are offered, and the marketing frequently frames this as an “investment in your biochemistry."
That’s a steep price for what is, functionally, a glorified meal plan.
The Four Phases (and Why They’re Harmful)
Phase 1: “Cleansing”
Two days of low-calorie eating: soups, juices, sometimes fasting. This phase primes clients for restriction and frames the body as dirty or toxic, a narrative straight from diet culture’s playbook. The program’s website claims that during this time, “the body feeds itself from within, from the fat reserves (keto metabolism)” and that “hunger is minimised.”
That might sound reassuring - but physiologically, it doesn’t hold up. When calorie intake drops suddenly, the body initially suppresses appetite through a short-term surge in stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol. This can create a temporary illusion of reduced hunger - a kind of metabolic shock response. But it’s not balance; it’s survival. Within days, hunger hormones such as ghrelin and neuropeptide Y rise sharply to restore energy intake (Rosenbaum & Leibel, 2010). In other words, any absence of hunger isn’t a sign of metabolic harmony... it’s the body sounding the alarm more quietly before turning up the volume later.
Also... true ketosis doesn’t occur in two days of low calorie restriction or “cleansing.” Most people require several days - and some closer to a week - of <50 g carbohydrate intake and significant glycogen depletion to enter nutritional ketosis (Bergman, 2025; Ketosis.Org, 2025; Skartum et al., 2025).
In practice, the claim that “hunger is minimised" teaches clients to mistrust their bodies. When hunger appears (as it inevitably will), it’s interpreted as failure rather than feedback. This lays the groundwork for the shame-and-suppression cycle that so often follows in restrictive eating: hunger pathologised, fullness moralised, and body wisdom overruled by external rules.
Phase 2: “Conversion” or "Detox"
The Metabolic Balance Australia & New Zealand website describes this phase as lasting “at least 14 days,” during which “the body needs time to detoxify and adjust your metabolism in order to get back into a healthy balance.”
It promises that “a little bit of discipline is worthwhile,” that “alkaline minerals bind acids and allow them to be removed,” and - in what might be the most telling line - that “if you want, you can stay longer in the DETOX phase.”
Let’s unpack that.
First, the idea of “detoxifying” for two weeks is biochemically meaningless. The liver’s phase I and II detoxification enzymes are working continuously, not on a schedule (Rang et al., 2024). They don’t need 14 days of restriction and alkaline vegetables to do their job... they need consistent energy, amino acids, and micronutrients. The notion that alkaline foods “bind acids” is also pseudoscientific. Systemic acid–base balance is tightly regulated by respiration and renal function; food has a minimal effect on blood pH (Remer & Manz, 1995).
Second, the claim that one should “stay longer if you wish” raises a serious ethical red flag. Fourteen days of restrictive eating is already sufficient to alter thyroid hormones, resting metabolic rate, and gut motility (Keys et al., 1950; Rosenbaum & Leibel, 2010). Encouraging people to extend this period risks pushing clients into chronic under-fueling, electrolyte imbalance, and disordered eating patterns. In plain terms: why would you want to prolong a phase that deprives the body of the very nutrients it needs to detoxify and heal?
Third, the insistence on “discipline” - no oils, no snacks, five-hour fasting windows, one protein per meal, foods are weighed... and then there are obscure items like carp or eel appear on meal plans that are supposedly “personalised.” All of this reframes obedience as wellness. These rules may generate short-term weight loss, but physiologically they reflect energy deficit, not metabolic magic. Hunger suppression, fatigue, and mood swings are interpreted as “adjustment,” when in reality they’re the predictable effects of under-eating and low blood glucose.
And perhaps most concerningly, this language teaches clients that wellbeing is something they must earn through compliance. For anyone with a history of food restriction or body shame, that spells relapse, dressed in the language of biochemistry and moral virtue. It teaches compliance, rather than connection. Hunger becomes failure. Clients - especially those who are neurodivergent or have trauma histories - internalise that their body’s cues are wrong.
Phase 3: “Achieve Your Goal” (a.k.a. Conditional Freedom)
The Metabolic Balance AU & NZ website reassures clients that “now it will get easier,” because “no one can achieve a goal through constant restriction.” Gotta love it when diets pretend not to be diets! In Phase 3, participants are invited to “experiment” with foods not on their list, and to enjoy occasional “treat meals,” described as “a highlight” - a brief relaxation of the rules where you can “eat what you feel like.”
At first glance, this sounds great! A gentle reintroduction, some flexibility. But on closer look, it’s still deeply rooted in diet logic. The structure teaches that pleasure must be rationed and spontaneity earned. “Treat meals” imply that all other meals are treatment - a kind of ongoing penance for being in a body that needs management.
From a behavioural perspective, this planned rebellion doesn’t resolve restriction; it reinforces it. Alternating between tight control and sanctioned indulgence keeps the brain locked in a reward-punishment loop. Dopamine and endorphins spike during “treats,” followed by guilt, fear, or renewed restriction: classic diet-binge conditioning (Polivy & Herman, 1985).
Physiologically, this pattern is destabilising. Periodic over- and under-eating disrupt insulin sensitivity and appetite regulation, making it harder - not easier - for the body to find equilibrium (Sumithran & Proietto, 2013). The pattern of restriction and release the program claims to resolve is, in practice, reinforced by its design.
Even the language of “achieving your goal” is telling. What if the goal is simply nourishment? Or peace with food? In that context, Phase 3 isn’t progress, it’s probation. A period of conditional freedom where eating without fear is permitted only sometimes. For anyone healing from disordered eating, this doesn’t build body trust. It fractures it.
True metabolic balance isn’t achieved through controlled rebellion. It’s achieved when food no longer carries moral weight... when the body’s cues, not an MB practitioner's list, set the rhythm.
Phase 4: “Live Your Life” (a.k.a. Maintenance Mode)
According to the Metabolic Balance website, this is the triumphant finale:
“You did it. Your metabolism has reset, and your weight regulation is visible in so many ways beyond a number on the scales. You feel good, sleep well, and your rejuvenated appearance gives you new self-confidence.”
Let me be blunt: your metabolism hasn’t “reset.” You’ve just been semi-starved.
After weeks or months of energy restriction, metabolic rate doesn’t reboot - it slows down. The body conserves energy through adaptive thermogenesis, decreasing thyroid output, reproductive hormones, and non-exercise activity to protect against further energy loss (Leibel et al., 1995; Rosenbaum & Leibel, 2010). The “reset” people feel at this point... the lightness, the calm... is often the dopamine hit of control and the short-term relief that comes before rebound hunger inevitably sets in.
The claim that “weight regulation is visible in so many ways beyond the scales” sounds holistic, but it’s still aesthetic. It’s still about visibility. A “rejuvenated appearance” isn’t a marker of metabolic balance; it’s a marketing promise dressed as physiology.
Then comes the bait-and-switch:
“Avoid diets that are not conducive to you or cause discomfort.”
Wow, now that's a clever rhetorical pivot. The program positions itself as anti-diet while functioning exactly like one - teaching people to distrust their appetite, outsource food decisions to a plan, and moralise hunger as imbalance. It’s the diet that swears it isn’t a diet.
And perhaps the most insidious part:
“If you still get into trouble with your metabolism, you always have your Metabolic Balance practitioner to turn to and your plan to go back to.”
That isn’t empowerment; that’s dependency. It ensures clients remain tethered to the system: financially, psychologically, and metabolically. Once the inevitable rebound weight gain or digestive discomfort appears (because the body is finally refuelling), clients are encouraged to see it as a personal failing or metabolic “trouble,” not the predictable aftermath of chronic restriction. The “plan” becomes both problem and product. A lifelong subscription to control.
So no, your metabolism hasn’t reset. It’s been suppressed, defended, and exhausted.
And while you might feel temporarily in control, your body is just biding its time - waiting, as bodies always do, for safety, for enough, for permission to eat again.
The Bigger Picture: What “Balance” Really Means
If you zoom out, the four phases of Metabolic Balance read like a case study in how diet culture adapts and survives. Restriction disguised as cleansing. Compliance repackaged as self-discipline. Conditional freedom renamed as intuition. Dependence framed as empowerment.
And this is where we, as naturopaths, herbalists, and nutritionists, need to take a good look at what we’re endorsing, and what we’re enabling. Programs like this trade on the language of “metabolism,” “detox,” and “balance,” yet they operate on the same physiological principle as every other diet: energy deficit equals weight loss... until it doesn’t. They offer biochemical mystique, but their true currency is body control.
As practitioners guided by principles like Primum non nocere (First, do no harm) and Tolle totum (Treat the whole person), we’re called to do better. Balance isn’t achieved through depletion; it’s restored through nourishment, connection, and safety. The real reset happens not in the mitochondria, but in the nervous system, when clients finally trust that they don’t have to earn their food, or their worth.
So if you want to talk about metabolic balance, let’s redefine it.
It’s regular meals.
Enough carbs.
Rest.
Pleasure.
A metabolism that hums because it’s fed... not because it’s fighting for survival.
That’s the kind of balance worth teaching.
What Clients Are Saying
A quick scroll through Reddit threads paints a more complex picture of Metabolic Balance than its glossy marketing suggests.
Some participants report early enthusiasm - “I’m on Phase 2 and love it,” one commenter wrote - describing rapid weight loss and the comforting structure of having every meal prescribed. Others said the plan felt empowering, even transformative. One person shared that both she and her partner lost weight, improved sleep, reduced inflammation, and “rediscovered their love for cooking.”
But for every glowing testimonial, there are stories that tell a different truth:
“It’s too extreme, restrictive, and unsustainable,” wrote one user. “I thought this would be a nutritional re-education, not another impossible standard.”
Another participant realised they were eating fewer than 1000 calories a day, despite the program being marketed as “balanced.” Others reported side effects like fatigue, anxiety, and eczema flares:
“I lost weight, sure, but I was eating under 1000 calories. My body crashed and I gained it all back.”
From an eating disorder dietitian’s standpoint, this is a serious red flag.
Eating under 1000 calories a day isn’t “metabolic balance” - it’s metabolic shutdown! At that level of intake, the risk of refeeding complications, nutrient deficiencies, and cardiovascular strain rises sharply. Clinical guidelines for eating disorder management recommend prophylactic thiamine supplementation whenever energy intake drops below 1000 cal per day or during reintroduction after restriction (Hay et al., 2022).
Thiamine depletion can occur within 2-3 weeks of inadequate intake and may lead to neurological and cardiac complications such as Wernicke’s encephalopathy, a preventable, sometimes fatal condition. In other words: if a program leaves clients so under-fueled that thiamine deficiency becomes a foreseeable risk, it’s not “balanced.” It’s medically negligent.
But I digress... let's continue with the client experiences.
Several users highlighted the program’s rigidity and opacity - confusion over food lists featuring obscure fish like carp and eel, and frustration that the reasoning behind food prescriptions was withheld as proprietary “intellectual property.”
As one commenter put it:
“They said my blood tests were sent to Germany, but I’m not allowed to know what they found because it’s the company’s intellectual property. There’s no published science, just marketing.”
And the financial strain was not lost on participants. Multiple users described it as an “expensive waste of time” once the initial novelty wore off, citing costs around $1700 AUD and disappointment that the promised “personalisation” was really just a restrictive meal plan.
Taken together, these stories reveal a familiar pattern: the program works for some (at least temporarily), but for many others, it delivers the same arc as any other diet. Restriction, weight loss, exhaustion, rebound. The same shame cycle, just dressed in clinical language.
These online stories echo what I’ve heard countless times in clinic. Clients who come to me months after completing Metabolic Balance (or programs similar to it) describe feeling confused, guilty, or physically unwell. Many say it started off feeling “empowering,” and “scientific,” but quickly turned into another cycle of fear and fatigue. Some arrive with disrupted digestion, stalled or wacky periods, or a sense of failure because they “couldn’t stick with it."
Even more concerning - and honestly, infuriating - are the clients who’ve told their naturopath they have a long history of disordered eating, sometimes even a diagnosed eating disorder, and were still put on a Metabolic Balance plan. Maybe with a few “minor tweaks” to make it sound softer... but the core remains the same: restriction, food weighing, calorie counting dressed up as “clinical.” I cannot tell you how wild it is to hear this over and over again. Because when a client is still weighing food, still tracking every bite, still being told their body can’t be trusted, that’s not holistic care. That’s retraumatising someone who came to you for help.
That’s active harm. Full stop.
And this is what worries me most: when programs like this are framed as “holistic” or “evidence-based,” they gain legitimacy within naturopathy. We mistake rigidity for rigour. We confuse compliance with healing. And we end up colluding - often unknowingly - with the very diet culture we claim to oppose every time we say, “It’s not a diet!”
When people leave these programs ashamed, disconnected from their bodies, or financially depleted, that isn’t healing. It’s harm. And it’s happening under our professional banner.
And it directly contradicts the principles we’re supposed to uphold as naturopaths:
- First, do no harm. Rigid restriction is harm - especially for someone vulnerable to disordered eating.
- Treat the whole person. MB treats blood test results, not human beings with histories, preferences, and nervous systems.
- Healing power of nature. This isn’t nature. It’s control. And control isn’t healing.
Why It Appeals to Practitioners
This might be a "well, duh" moment. But I'll say it out loud for those at the back. Metabolic Balance offers naturopaths something the industry rarely provides: a turnkey product that promises results, authority, and financial security.
It’s marketed as a way to “differentiate your clinic,” complete with scripts, branded materials, and coaching certification.
For practitioners under financial strain (which soooo many are) that’s an attractive proposition. But it comes at a cost: ethical compromise and erosion of trust.
When clients hand over $1700 for “metabolic balance,” and it triggers restriction, bingeing, or body distrust, they don’t just lose faith in MB - they lose faith in naturopathy.
The Myth of “Metabolic Fixing”
Another thing I feel the need to say out loud (there are a lot of them!): metabolism doesn’t need “balancing.”
It needs feeding.
Restrictive, low-energy diets slow metabolic rate - the opposite of what MB claims to do (Keys et al., 1950; Leibel et al., 1995). This program marketed as “metabolic restoration” actually teaches the body to conserve energy and distrust hunger.
And when practitioners package that as personalised care, we become complicit in metabolic confusion... selling suppression while calling it science.
Sorry... You Can’t Have It Both Ways.
Finally (I know this has been a lot, thanks for reading this far!) - it’s a select few naturopaths - but the ones who publicly claim to reject dieting while selling Metabolic Balance make me fucking furious.
Here’s my message to them:
You can’t sell Metabolic Balance and also say you practise body trust.
You can’t promote trauma-informed care and enforce rigid food rules.
You can’t claim to help clients heal their relationship with food while centring weight loss.
If your “wellness” program only works when people eat less, it’s not wellness... it’s dieting with better branding, and a $1700 price tag.
Practitioner-Only Weight Loss: The “Shake It” Program
Because nothing says “balance” like replacing food with a powder.
Let's switch gears now to another practitioner endorsed diet in disguise. Metagenics - one of Australia’s biggest supplement companies - runs a practitioner-only program called the Shake It Practitioner Weight Management Program. Marketed as a “clinically supported, personalised approach to weight loss,” it’s pitched to naturopaths and nutritionists as an all-in-one solution: meal plans, behavioural scripts, and branded shakes and bars - all neatly packaged under the banner of science and individualisation (Metagenics Institute Australia, Shake It Practitioner Guide).
The framework is simple: clients choose between a low-carb or low-fat plan, replace meals with Metagenics products, and are coached by practitioners who undergo company training. The marketing language mirrors that of Metabolic Balance - “metabolic reset,” “hormonal balance,” “science-based fat loss” - but at its core, it’s just another structured calorie-restriction program.
Practitioners are encouraged to present Shake It as a “clinical intervention” rather than a diet, reinforcing the same logic that keeps weight-loss culture alive in wellness spaces: if it’s wrapped in biochemistry and practitioner branding, it must be different! (Le sigh).
Let’s be honest: a shake-and-bar meal-replacement plan that markets weight loss as a measure of health is dieting, not medicine.
What makes programs like this particularly insidious is that they blur the line between therapeutic care and commercial interest. When supplement companies supply the training, the talking points, and the products - and practitioners sell those products back to their clients - conflicts of interest are baked into the model. This is not holistic care... it’s multi-level marketing disguised as natural medicine.
If naturopathy truly stands for treating the whole person and first, do no harm, then weight-loss programs built on restriction, dependency, and branded supplementation simply don’t belong in our profession.
The framework is simple: clients choose between a low-carb or low-fat plan, replace meals with Metagenics products, and are coached by practitioners who undergo company training. The marketing language mirrors that of Metabolic Balance - “metabolic reset,” “hormonal balance,” “science-based fat loss” - but at its core, it’s just another structured calorie-restriction program.
Practitioners are encouraged to present Shake It as a “clinical intervention” rather than a diet, reinforcing the same logic that keeps weight-loss culture alive in wellness spaces: if it’s wrapped in biochemistry and practitioner branding, it must be different! (Le sigh).
Let’s be honest: a shake-and-bar meal-replacement plan that markets weight loss as a measure of health is dieting, not medicine.
What makes programs like this particularly insidious is that they blur the line between therapeutic care and commercial interest. When supplement companies supply the training, the talking points, and the products - and practitioners sell those products back to their clients - conflicts of interest are baked into the model. This is not holistic care... it’s multi-level marketing disguised as natural medicine.
If naturopathy truly stands for treating the whole person and first, do no harm, then weight-loss programs built on restriction, dependency, and branded supplementation simply don’t belong in our profession.
The Fine Line Between Elimination Diets and Harm
Elimination without reintroduction isn’t healing - it’s harm in slow motion.
And now, we reach elimination diets. These can be powerful tools when used judiciously. But they can also slide into restriction and obsession when used without context or adequate monitoring.
For many naturopaths, the challenge lies in knowing when a targeted elimination is therapeutically justified, and when it’s simply another way to control the body under the guise of “healing.”
Two examples illustrate this clearly:
Before reaching for food lists, it’s worth first addressing the root causes of histamine intolerance (from undernourishment and gut dysbiosis to chronic stress, nutrient depletion, and unopposed oestrogen) through gentler interventions that don’t erode body trust.
And for neurodivergent clients the stakes are even higher. Sensory sensitivities, executive functioning challenges, and a history of being pathologised around eating mean that restriction can hit harder, and last longer. A “simple” elimination diet can quickly become unmanageable when food preparation, planning, or tolerance are already strained. Instead of assuming non-compliance or “low motivation,” we need to ask whether the plan is even accessible to their nervous system. Supporting flexibility, predictable structure, and sensory safety often does more for gut health than any restrictive list ever could (Kinnaird et al., 2019).
As practitioners, we need to remember that “elimination” is a means, not an end. Every restrictive phase should be followed by reintroduction, reflection, and rebuilding - otherwise, we risk reinforcing the very rigidity we’re meant to help clients heal from.
For many naturopaths, the challenge lies in knowing when a targeted elimination is therapeutically justified, and when it’s simply another way to control the body under the guise of “healing.”
Two examples illustrate this clearly:
- Low FODMAP diet for SIBO or IBS. Evidence-based when properly implemented and reintroduced, but potentially disastrous when the reintroduction phase is skipped, or when safer, less restrictive strategies (like fibre modification, gut-directed hypnotherapy, reducing irritants, or improving the eating environment) aren’t explored first, as happens far too often (Halmos et al., 2014).
- Low histamine diet for perimenopausal symptoms or “oestrogen dominance.” Can be a useful short-term tool for reducing symptom burden... if used with close monitoring and a plan for re-expansion. But when prescribed without screening for disordered eating, or when clients are left without clear timelines or reintroduction steps, it can easily drifts into unnecessary long-term restriction.
Before reaching for food lists, it’s worth first addressing the root causes of histamine intolerance (from undernourishment and gut dysbiosis to chronic stress, nutrient depletion, and unopposed oestrogen) through gentler interventions that don’t erode body trust.
And for neurodivergent clients the stakes are even higher. Sensory sensitivities, executive functioning challenges, and a history of being pathologised around eating mean that restriction can hit harder, and last longer. A “simple” elimination diet can quickly become unmanageable when food preparation, planning, or tolerance are already strained. Instead of assuming non-compliance or “low motivation,” we need to ask whether the plan is even accessible to their nervous system. Supporting flexibility, predictable structure, and sensory safety often does more for gut health than any restrictive list ever could (Kinnaird et al., 2019).
As practitioners, we need to remember that “elimination” is a means, not an end. Every restrictive phase should be followed by reintroduction, reflection, and rebuilding - otherwise, we risk reinforcing the very rigidity we’re meant to help clients heal from.
Supplements as Permission Slips
Supplements are tools, not substitutes for nourishment.
Here’s another subtle trap: prescribing digestive supplements (e.g. enzymes, bitters, magnesium citrate, PHGG, hydrochloric acid, or “gut motility blends”) to manage symptoms that are actually the physiological consequences of under-eating.
Let me be clear: I use these things all the time in clinic, often alongside clients recovering from disordered eating. They can absolutely have their place: bitters can support cephalic phase digestion, magnesium can relieve constipation, and PHGG can feed beneficial gut flora. But alone, they are far from an adequate solution. If the gut is sluggish because the person isn’t eating enough, no supplement in the world can replace the mechanical, hormonal, and neurological effects of regular, sufficient nourishment.
If a client’s “SIBO” is really low motility from chronic energy restriction, magnesium won’t fix it - nourishment will. Peristalsis requires adequate caloric intake, fat, and carbohydrate to stimulate migrating motor complexes. When the gut isn’t being fed enough, it slows down - not because it’s broken, but because it’s conserving energy. The constipation, bloating, and “food sitting like a rock” sensations that follow are often signs of starvation physiology.
When we reach for supplements instead of asking why someone’s gut has gone quiet, we medicalise starvation. We turn the body’s cry for food into a biochemical “imbalance” to be treated... usually with more capsules, powders, or pills.
This is how the wellness industry quietly colludes with diet culture.
Clients leave with a bottle of enzymes or magnesium instead of a reminder to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Restriction gets reinforced under the illusion of sophistication: it’s not that they’re hungry, it’s that their agni (digestive fire) is weak, or their “motility needs support.”
A supplement is not a substitute for a sandwich.
And when we prescribe in ways that enable ongoing undernourishment, we’re simply not practising holistically.
Let me be clear: I use these things all the time in clinic, often alongside clients recovering from disordered eating. They can absolutely have their place: bitters can support cephalic phase digestion, magnesium can relieve constipation, and PHGG can feed beneficial gut flora. But alone, they are far from an adequate solution. If the gut is sluggish because the person isn’t eating enough, no supplement in the world can replace the mechanical, hormonal, and neurological effects of regular, sufficient nourishment.
If a client’s “SIBO” is really low motility from chronic energy restriction, magnesium won’t fix it - nourishment will. Peristalsis requires adequate caloric intake, fat, and carbohydrate to stimulate migrating motor complexes. When the gut isn’t being fed enough, it slows down - not because it’s broken, but because it’s conserving energy. The constipation, bloating, and “food sitting like a rock” sensations that follow are often signs of starvation physiology.
When we reach for supplements instead of asking why someone’s gut has gone quiet, we medicalise starvation. We turn the body’s cry for food into a biochemical “imbalance” to be treated... usually with more capsules, powders, or pills.
This is how the wellness industry quietly colludes with diet culture.
Clients leave with a bottle of enzymes or magnesium instead of a reminder to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Restriction gets reinforced under the illusion of sophistication: it’s not that they’re hungry, it’s that their agni (digestive fire) is weak, or their “motility needs support.”
A supplement is not a substitute for a sandwich.
And when we prescribe in ways that enable ongoing undernourishment, we’re simply not practising holistically.
How to Practise Without Harming
So what do we do instead?!
We don’t need to ditch naturopathy or pretend our $85K degree was a bad investment.
We just need to take it back - from the detoxes, from the diets, from the BS.
True naturopathic medicine, when practised with integrity, is meant to restore harmony and trust in the body - not reinforce control over it.
1. Return to Core Principles
Our roots already hold the answers. We just need to remember them.
2. Learn to See the Red Flags
Screen. Reflect. Ask why.
When “gut healing” smacks of perfectionism, or when “listening to your body” sounds like fear in disguise - pause. Use tools like the SCOFF, ED-15, or EAT-26 questionnaires to start conversations early.
If you need a refresher on what to look for, revisit my blog The Eating Spectrum and Five Red Flags of Disordered Eating - they map out the subtle ways disordered eating shows up in clinical practice long before it looks like an “eating disorder.”
And if a client seems relieved when you validate their restriction, that’s your cue to slow down!
3. Build Collaborative Pathways
You don’t have to fix everything! But, you do need to know when not to try.
Collaborate with GPs, non-diet dietitians, psychologists, and trauma-trained practitioners. Knowing your lane and widening the safety net for your clients is a massive strength.
Remember: while naturopaths can’t diagnose eating disorders, we can and should recognise the warning signs. When restriction, bingeing, purging, or obsessive food behaviours appear, flag your concerns with the client’s GP and recommend further assessment. A simple, respectful letter outlining what you’ve observed can make a huuuge difference... and it keeps care coordinated, transparent, and within scope.
If you can’t find trusted colleagues yet, start building those bridges now.
4. Hold Space for Complexity
Sometimes the most healing thing you can say is:
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
Or,
“What would it feel like to make this less about control, and more about care?”
This is real naturopathy. The kind that listens, adapts, and refuses to confuse purity with professionalism.
And if you want to go much deeper into how to actually do this in practice - from screening and red-flag recognition to case studies and scope navigation - we dive into it in detail inside my upcoming practitioner course, Body as Earth: A Root-Cause Approach to Disordered Eating for Naturopaths.
We don’t need to ditch naturopathy or pretend our $85K degree was a bad investment.
We just need to take it back - from the detoxes, from the diets, from the BS.
True naturopathic medicine, when practised with integrity, is meant to restore harmony and trust in the body - not reinforce control over it.
1. Return to Core Principles
Our roots already hold the answers. We just need to remember them.
- Tolle Totum: Treat the whole person - body, mind, and social context. When a client says they feel “toxic,” look beyond biochemistry. Ask about stress, shame, housing, hunger, and rest.
- Primum Non Nocere: First, do no harm - even when “help” sells better. That means pausing before prescribing another restrictive plan, even if it’s trending or super lucrative (maybe, especially then?!).
- Docere: Teach, don’t control. Support curiosity rather than compliance. Empower clients to understand their bodies, rather than fear or micromanage them. This is what separates healing from health marketing.
2. Learn to See the Red Flags
Screen. Reflect. Ask why.
When “gut healing” smacks of perfectionism, or when “listening to your body” sounds like fear in disguise - pause. Use tools like the SCOFF, ED-15, or EAT-26 questionnaires to start conversations early.
If you need a refresher on what to look for, revisit my blog The Eating Spectrum and Five Red Flags of Disordered Eating - they map out the subtle ways disordered eating shows up in clinical practice long before it looks like an “eating disorder.”
And if a client seems relieved when you validate their restriction, that’s your cue to slow down!
3. Build Collaborative Pathways
You don’t have to fix everything! But, you do need to know when not to try.
Collaborate with GPs, non-diet dietitians, psychologists, and trauma-trained practitioners. Knowing your lane and widening the safety net for your clients is a massive strength.
Remember: while naturopaths can’t diagnose eating disorders, we can and should recognise the warning signs. When restriction, bingeing, purging, or obsessive food behaviours appear, flag your concerns with the client’s GP and recommend further assessment. A simple, respectful letter outlining what you’ve observed can make a huuuge difference... and it keeps care coordinated, transparent, and within scope.
If you can’t find trusted colleagues yet, start building those bridges now.
4. Hold Space for Complexity
Sometimes the most healing thing you can say is:
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
Or,
“What would it feel like to make this less about control, and more about care?”
This is real naturopathy. The kind that listens, adapts, and refuses to confuse purity with professionalism.
And if you want to go much deeper into how to actually do this in practice - from screening and red-flag recognition to case studies and scope navigation - we dive into it in detail inside my upcoming practitioner course, Body as Earth: A Root-Cause Approach to Disordered Eating for Naturopaths.
Final Thoughts
Clients are coming to us first... often before anyone else! That’s a huge responsibility. Let’s meet it with integrity, rather than ideology.
We don’t need to be dietitians to support clients with disordered eating.
But we do need humility, discernment, and the courage to question our tools.
It’s time to unlearn the diets disguised as protocols and return to what we do best: helping people come home to their bodies, not escape them.
✨ Want to bring this into your own practice?
If this resonated - if you’re ready to practise naturopathy that nourishes rather than restricts! - I’ve created a free guide to help you start.
👉 Download my free practitioner resource: Working with Clients with Disordered Eating for Naturopaths - filled with practical, weight-neutral strategies to help you recognise red flags and offer care that heals, not harms.
🌿 When you sign up, you’ll also join the waitlist for my upcoming course, Body as Earth: A Root-Cause Approach to Disordered Eating for Naturopaths - launching mid-2026. You’ll get early access, special bonuses, and supportive emails to help you integrate non-diet, trauma-informed, and neuroaffirming care into your work.
Reclaiming naturopathy starts here... in the messy, beautiful work of helping people come home to their bodies.
We don’t need to be dietitians to support clients with disordered eating.
But we do need humility, discernment, and the courage to question our tools.
It’s time to unlearn the diets disguised as protocols and return to what we do best: helping people come home to their bodies, not escape them.
✨ Want to bring this into your own practice?
If this resonated - if you’re ready to practise naturopathy that nourishes rather than restricts! - I’ve created a free guide to help you start.
👉 Download my free practitioner resource: Working with Clients with Disordered Eating for Naturopaths - filled with practical, weight-neutral strategies to help you recognise red flags and offer care that heals, not harms.
🌿 When you sign up, you’ll also join the waitlist for my upcoming course, Body as Earth: A Root-Cause Approach to Disordered Eating for Naturopaths - launching mid-2026. You’ll get early access, special bonuses, and supportive emails to help you integrate non-diet, trauma-informed, and neuroaffirming care into your work.
Reclaiming naturopathy starts here... in the messy, beautiful work of helping people come home to their bodies.
References
Bergman, C. (2025, June 7). How long does it take to get into ketosis? Verywell Health. https://www.verywellhealth.com/how-long-does-it-take-to-get-into-ketosis-8402250
Desai, M. S., Seekatz, A. M., Koropatkin, N. M., et al. (2016). A Dietary Fiber-Deprived Gut Microbiota Degrades the Colonic Mucus Barrier and Enhances Pathogen Susceptibility. Cell, 167(5), 1339-1353.e21. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/27863247/
Skartum, O., Smith, C. R., Laupsa-Borge, J., Dankel, S. N. (2025). Symptoms during initiation of a ketogenic diet: a scoping review of occurence rates, mechanisms, and relief strategies. Frontiers in Nutrition. https://www.frontiersin.org/journals/nutrition/articles/10.3389/fnut.2025.1538266/pdf
Halmos, E. P., Power, V. A., Shepherd, S. J., Gibson, P. R., & Muir, J. G. (2014). A diet low in FODMAPs reduces symptoms of irritable bowel syndrome. Gastroenterology, 146(1), 67–75.e5. https://doi.org/10.1053/j.gastro.2013.09.046
Hay, P., Mitchison, D., Bussey, K., Pike, K. M., Mond, J., Rodgers, B., … & Maguire, S. (2022). Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists clinical practice guidelines for the treatment of eating disorders, version 2022. Australian & New Zealand Journal of Psychiatry, 56(12), 1321–1422. https://www.ranzcp.org/getmedia/0ee7d923-af5f-44ad-b411-46edf10ba0b8/eating-disorders-cpg.pdf
KetosisDiet.org. (2024). How long on keto diet to reach ketosis? Accelerating the process. https://ketosisdiet.org/plans/how-long-on-keto-diet-to-reach-ketosis-accelerating-the-process/
Keys, A., Brožek, J., Henschel, A., Mickelsen, O., & Taylor, H. L. (1950). The biology of human starvation (Vols. 1–2). University of Minnesota Press. https://www.cabidigitallibrary.org/doi/full/10.5555/19512901515
Kinnaird, E., Norton, C., Stewart, C., & Tchanturia, K. (2019). Same behaviours, different reasons: What do patients with co-occurring autism and eating disorders want from treatment? International Journal of Eating Disorders, 52(7), 661–670. https://doi.org/10.1002/eat.23068
Leibel, R. L., Rosenbaum, M., & Hirsch, J. (1995). Changes in energy expenditure resulting from altered body weight. New England Journal of Medicine, 332(10), 621–628. https://doi.org/10.1056/NEJM199503093321001
Mayer, E. A. & Tillisch, K. (2011). The Brain-Gut Axis in Abdominal Pain Syndromes. Annual Review of Medicine, 62, 381-396. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev-med-012309-103958
Polivy, J., & Herman, C. P. (1985). Dieting and binge eating: A causal analysis. American Psychologist, 40(2), 193–201. https://doi.org/10.1037/0003-066X.40.2.193
Rang, H. P., Dale, M. M., Ritter, J. M., Flower, R. J., & Henderson, G. (2024). Rang & Dale’s Pharmacology (10th ed.). Elsevier.
Remer, T., & Manz, F. (1995). Potential renal acid load of foods and its influence on urine pH. Journal of the American Dietetic Association, 95(7), 791–797. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0002-8223(95)00219-7
Rosenbaum, M., & Leibel, R. L. (2010). Adaptive thermogenesis in humans. International Journal of Obesity, 34(Suppl 1), S47–S55. https://doi.org/10.1038/ijo.2010.184
Sonnenburg, E. D. & Sonnenburg, J. L. (2017). Diet-induced extinctions in the gut microbiota compound over generations. Nature, 529(7585), 212-215. https://doi.org/10.1038/nature16504
Sumithran, P., & Proietto, J. (2013). The defence of body weight: A physiological basis for weight regain after weight loss. Clinical Science, 124(4), 231–241. https://doi.org/10.1042/CS20120223
Desai, M. S., Seekatz, A. M., Koropatkin, N. M., et al. (2016). A Dietary Fiber-Deprived Gut Microbiota Degrades the Colonic Mucus Barrier and Enhances Pathogen Susceptibility. Cell, 167(5), 1339-1353.e21. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/27863247/
Skartum, O., Smith, C. R., Laupsa-Borge, J., Dankel, S. N. (2025). Symptoms during initiation of a ketogenic diet: a scoping review of occurence rates, mechanisms, and relief strategies. Frontiers in Nutrition. https://www.frontiersin.org/journals/nutrition/articles/10.3389/fnut.2025.1538266/pdf
Halmos, E. P., Power, V. A., Shepherd, S. J., Gibson, P. R., & Muir, J. G. (2014). A diet low in FODMAPs reduces symptoms of irritable bowel syndrome. Gastroenterology, 146(1), 67–75.e5. https://doi.org/10.1053/j.gastro.2013.09.046
Hay, P., Mitchison, D., Bussey, K., Pike, K. M., Mond, J., Rodgers, B., … & Maguire, S. (2022). Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists clinical practice guidelines for the treatment of eating disorders, version 2022. Australian & New Zealand Journal of Psychiatry, 56(12), 1321–1422. https://www.ranzcp.org/getmedia/0ee7d923-af5f-44ad-b411-46edf10ba0b8/eating-disorders-cpg.pdf
KetosisDiet.org. (2024). How long on keto diet to reach ketosis? Accelerating the process. https://ketosisdiet.org/plans/how-long-on-keto-diet-to-reach-ketosis-accelerating-the-process/
Keys, A., Brožek, J., Henschel, A., Mickelsen, O., & Taylor, H. L. (1950). The biology of human starvation (Vols. 1–2). University of Minnesota Press. https://www.cabidigitallibrary.org/doi/full/10.5555/19512901515
Kinnaird, E., Norton, C., Stewart, C., & Tchanturia, K. (2019). Same behaviours, different reasons: What do patients with co-occurring autism and eating disorders want from treatment? International Journal of Eating Disorders, 52(7), 661–670. https://doi.org/10.1002/eat.23068
Leibel, R. L., Rosenbaum, M., & Hirsch, J. (1995). Changes in energy expenditure resulting from altered body weight. New England Journal of Medicine, 332(10), 621–628. https://doi.org/10.1056/NEJM199503093321001
Mayer, E. A. & Tillisch, K. (2011). The Brain-Gut Axis in Abdominal Pain Syndromes. Annual Review of Medicine, 62, 381-396. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev-med-012309-103958
Polivy, J., & Herman, C. P. (1985). Dieting and binge eating: A causal analysis. American Psychologist, 40(2), 193–201. https://doi.org/10.1037/0003-066X.40.2.193
Rang, H. P., Dale, M. M., Ritter, J. M., Flower, R. J., & Henderson, G. (2024). Rang & Dale’s Pharmacology (10th ed.). Elsevier.
Remer, T., & Manz, F. (1995). Potential renal acid load of foods and its influence on urine pH. Journal of the American Dietetic Association, 95(7), 791–797. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0002-8223(95)00219-7
Rosenbaum, M., & Leibel, R. L. (2010). Adaptive thermogenesis in humans. International Journal of Obesity, 34(Suppl 1), S47–S55. https://doi.org/10.1038/ijo.2010.184
Sonnenburg, E. D. & Sonnenburg, J. L. (2017). Diet-induced extinctions in the gut microbiota compound over generations. Nature, 529(7585), 212-215. https://doi.org/10.1038/nature16504
Sumithran, P., & Proietto, J. (2013). The defence of body weight: A physiological basis for weight regain after weight loss. Clinical Science, 124(4), 231–241. https://doi.org/10.1042/CS20120223
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