“I let myself go.” “I look disgusting.” “I need more discipline.” These are not the words of people who are vain or clueless. They’re the words of people in pain. But the pain isn’t really about the body. It’s about the terror of facing our own limits, vulnerability, and the fact that we have choices—and that those choices matter.
According to Psytheater.com, existential therapy sees harshness toward the body as a coping strategy for the anxiety of being alive. The body pays the price for our attempts to manage that anxiety.
Content:
The Body as a Reminder
In the culture of self-improvement, we rarely notice that our bodies are constant, silent reminders of mortality. Bodies get sick, age, tire, and fall out of shape. They resist the fantasy of endless progress. For anyone who craves control, this is intolerable.
So we tell ourselves, “I’ll whip my body into shape.” Not because we hate our stomachs or cellulite, but because if we can force our bodies to obey—at least in weight, muscle, or diet—it feels, for a moment, like we’ve beaten randomness and death. Like we’re in charge.
It’s an illusion. But it works, briefly.
Control vs. Contact
Existential theory names four givens of existence: death, freedom, isolation, and meaninglessness. Harshness toward the body is a classic escape from freedom and uncertainty.
Living in a body means accepting its flaws, unpredictability, and spontaneous wants: hunger at the “wrong” time, fatigue when you “should” be running, illness without warning. That’s scary. Living above the body—through control, restriction, punishing diets, and grueling workouts—offers a false sense of clarity: I know what’s good, what’s bad, when to punish myself.
“Getting it together” isn’t care. It’s a refusal to listen. Dialogue means the body has a voice. Control means silencing it.
Shame and Belonging
Ask someone, “What if you stopped controlling yourself?” The answer is often, “I’d become a lazy mess. No one would love me. I’d be cast out.”
This isn’t just shame. It’s the terror of social nonexistence—the fear that if you don’t measure up, you’ll disappear from others’ lives. Better to punish yourself than risk rejection.
So cruelty to the body becomes the price of belonging. “I’ll destroy my body so I can be accepted.” It sounds absurd, but it’s a common bargain.
Consider a man in his forties who says, “I can’t make myself eat right or exercise. I’m worthless.” Dig deeper, and you find a father who taught him, “A real man endures. The body is just a tool.” For years, he ignores back pain, exhaustion, the inability to rest. He’s not cruel to his body because he loves suffering. He’s cruel because he fears being “weak”—and in his world, weakness means no respect, not even from himself.
Choosing a Different Path
Existential therapy doesn’t fixate on childhood or command you to “love yourself.” That’s just more control. Instead, it brings you back to choice.
The therapist might ask, “Can you feel your breath right now—not how you look, but how you breathe?” Or, “What would you choose if no one was watching?” Or, “Can you treat your body not as a project, but as the place you live?”
Gradually, courage grows—not discipline. The courage to admit you’re not the master of your body, just its temporary resident. The body stops being the enemy when you allow yourself to be imperfect and alive. A living body gets tired, hungers, aches, wants sex, or just wants to lie down and do nothing.
Cruelty fades not when you defeat your “inner critic,” but when you stop demanding the impossible: that your body be eternal proof of your worth.
We’re harsh because we’re afraid—afraid that without control, we’ll collapse, be rejected, or fail in a world with no clear rules. But real change starts not with “pull yourself together,” but with quietly allowing, “I can be imperfect and still deserve to exist.”
Existential therapy doesn’t promise thinness. It offers a choice: keep fighting your body, or try peace. Peace is scarier—there are no guarantees. But in peace, you stop trying to earn your right to exist. You just live. The body isn’t a project to fix. It’s the reason you get to experience life at all. That’s what makes gentleness not a moral duty, but a natural step.
I’ve lived this myself, and I help clients face it every day. Thank you for your trust.
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Existential therapy focuses on helping people face the realities of mortality, freedom, and meaning, rather than offering quick fixes or surface-level affirmations. It encourages clients to make conscious choices about how they relate to their bodies and their lives, fostering a sense of agency and acceptance. This approach can be especially helpful for those who struggle with chronic self-criticism, perfectionism, or the relentless pursuit of control. By shifting the focus from external standards to internal experience, existential therapy helps people build a more compassionate and sustainable relationship with themselves.
