The Connection Between High Control Religion and Women’s Disordered Eating

The new year often brings a surge of pressure to start dieting, driven by societal expectations and resolutions promising transformation. This focus on weight loss as a marker of success can overshadow the importance of mental and physical well-being, turning food into a source of stress rather than nourishment. While there is nothing wrong with wanting to be healthier and lose weight, dieting often stems from external pressures rather than personal health goals, leading to unsustainable habits and frustration. I have experienced this struggle in my own life.

The Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB) church wasn’t just a place where I worshipped, it shaped how I saw the world, how I understood my role in it, and most critically, how I viewed myself. For years, I didn’t realize how much the environment I grew up in influenced my relationship with food, exercise, my body, and my self-worth. It’s only after stepping away that I’ve begun to connect the dots between the rigid expectations of the IFB and the subtle, yet pervasive, way they contributed to the disordered eating in my life and the lives of other women like me.

At first glance, it might not seem obvious how a religious community could fuel something like disordered eating. After all, the IFB didn’t preach diet plans from the pulpit or hand out weight-loss flyers during Sunday school. But what they did preach, and what they didn’t say, set the stage for a culture where women’s bodies were constantly under scrutiny, both explicitly and implicitly (1 Timothy 2:9-15 and 1 Peter 3:3-4). Messages about modesty, self-denial, and submission created an atmosphere where controlling one’s body became an act of spiritual devotion and self-worth often felt tied to outward appearance (Romans 12:1-2 and 2 Corinthians 10:5).

Modesty was a cornerstone of my upbringing. Women were taught to cover their bodies to avoid being a “stumbling block” for men (Luke 17:1-2, Romans 14:13, Ezekiel 14:3-7). Hemlines and necklines were policed with precision, and the unspoken message was clear: Your body is dangerous. It’s something to be hidden, controlled, and subdued. This idea planted the seeds of shame in many of us. We learned to view our bodies as a problem, something to fix or diminish, rather than something to embrace or celebrate.

Then came the relentless emphasis on self-denial (Matthew 16:24-26,Luke 9:23-24, Romans 12:1-2). The IFB held up sacrifice as the ultimate virtue, particularly for women. We were told to put others before ourselves, to be servants in our homes, and to carry our crosses daily (Philippians 2:3-4, Ephesians 6:4-9, Matthew 16:24-26, Galatians 5:13). Food and body control naturally became an outlet for this teaching. Skipping meals or dieting wasn’t just a matter of fitting into societal beauty standards, it became a subconscious way to live out the church’s doctrine of self-sacrifice. For many women, this manifested in extreme calorie restriction, bingeing and purging, fad diets, or obsessively exercising, all framed in their minds as acts of discipline and devotion. Prayer and fasting were often regarded as a pious and spiritual method of seeking divine intervention or demonstrating devotion, but they could also serve as a socially acceptable excuse for disordered eating.

In this environment, thinness often became an unspoken measure of holiness. While no one said it outright, there was an underlying belief that a thin, modestly dressed woman embodied discipline, self-control, and godliness. On the other hand, a woman who was overweight, or even just content in her body, was often viewed as lazy or lacking spiritual discipline. I remember how women who gained weight after having children would apologize for their appearance, as though they had failed not only themselves but God as well. This association between body size and spiritual worth created an impossible standard that many of us felt compelled to meet.

The IFB, like many high control religions, also had little room for emotions like anger, sadness, or frustration. Women were expected to be joyful, submissive, and quietly supportive at all times (Ephesians 5:22-24, 1 Peter 3:1-6, Titus 2:3-5). For some, food became the only place to process or numb those suppressed feelings. Emotional eating or food restriction often filled the void where emotional honesty should have been. In a church culture that prized silence over confrontation, controlling food became a way to deal with emotions that had no other outlet (Proverbs 10:19, Proverbs 17:27, James 1:19, Colossians 4:6).

Stepping away from the high control of the IFB has given me a new perspective on these patterns. It’s clear now that the disordered relationship I developed with food and my body wasn’t just about societal pressures or personal insecurities, it was deeply tied to the messages I absorbed in church. It took years to untangle the connection, and even now, I find myself unraveling layers of guilt and shame that I didn’t even know I was carrying.

What’s heartbreaking is how common this story is. In speaking with other women who left the IFB, and other high control religions, I’ve heard countless variations of the same struggle. We were taught to shrink ourselves, physically, emotionally, and spiritually, and that shrinking became second nature. Some have fought to reclaim their bodies and their worth, while others are still wrestling with the aftershocks of those teachings.

Reclaiming a healthy relationship with food and my body has been a slow and ongoing journey. It’s meant learning to listen to my body instead of punishing it. It’s meant dismantling the belief that my worth is tied to my appearance or my ability to control my physical self. And perhaps most importantly, it’s meant giving myself permission to take up space, in my body, in my emotions, and in my life.

The IFB’s teachings about women’s roles, modesty, and self-denial were never meant to cause harm, but the ripple effects have been profound (1 Timothy 2:9-15, 1 Peter 3:1-6, Ephesians 5:22-24, Colossians 3:18-24). For many women, they’ve resulted in a quiet hunger, not just for food, but for freedom, self-acceptance, and a life free from the constant pressure to shrink. By shedding those harmful beliefs, I’ve found a new kind of fullness, one that no diet or doctrine can ever take away.

If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder or disordered eating, it’s important to reach out for support. Seeking assistance from friends, family, or mental health professionals can make a significant difference in navigating these challenges. Remember that you don’t have to face it alone, and there are resources available to help you on the path to recovery. Prioritize your well-being and take the first step toward seeking the support you need.

**I’ve included some resources and references below.**

Disclaimer: I am not an expert on eating disorders or disordered eating. The information provided is based on general knowledge and personal experience and should not be considered as a substitute for professional medical advice or treatment. While I am a registered nurse, I am not your personal healthcare provider. It is advisable for you to consult with your own designated healthcare professional to determine the best course of action for your specific situation for personalized guidance and recommendations tailored to your specific needs.

**Resources:

https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/contact-helpline

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/eating-disorders/in-depth/eating-disorder-treatment/art-20046234

https://www.eatingdisorderhope.com/

https://anad.org/

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/eating-disorders

https://www.theprojectheal.org/