My biggest regret is putting my body through fad diets - Atkins

When Jennie Garth said, “My biggest regret is putting my body through fad diets — Atkins, cleanses, the hCG diet,” she gave voice to one of the oldest and deepest lessons in human experience: that the pursuit of perfection without wisdom leads to suffering. Her words are not merely about food or fashion—they are a confession born of hard-won clarity, a realization that the body, once treated as a thing to be conquered, must ultimately be treated as a companion to be respected. Through her regret, she speaks the same truth the ancients knew well: that excess, whether of indulgence or denial, destroys harmony.

In her lament, we hear the echo of those who sought mastery over nature but forgot that they themselves were part of it. The ancients called this hubris—the arrogance that invites one’s own undoing. To impose upon the body every “fad diet,” every fleeting promise of transformation, is to demand from the earth more than it can yield, to mistake violence for virtue. Like Icarus, who flew too close to the sun on wings of wax, Garth’s words remind us that the pursuit of control without balance leads not to liberation, but to collapse. The body, neglected or abused, exacts its quiet revenge.

The origin of such regret lies deep in the modern world’s worship of image. In ancient times, the Greeks sought the ideal of kalokagathia—the unity of physical beauty and moral goodness—but they knew that beauty without virtue was hollow. Today, that harmony is forgotten. We chase thinness instead of wellness, aesthetics instead of alignment. Garth’s confession emerges from this cultural dissonance—a soul awakening from the illusions of perfection. Her regret is the wisdom of experience, the dawning realization that health cannot be purchased through extremes, nor can peace be found in the war against one’s own flesh.

Consider the story of Pythagoras, who preached the discipline of moderation in both diet and spirit. His followers ate simply—not to punish themselves, but to honor the body as a vessel of the soul. They understood that to deprive the body of nourishment is to starve the mind of strength. In contrast, the “cleanses and hCG diets” of Garth’s world represent a spiritual inversion of this truth: they promise purity but deliver fragility. The ancient philosophers would have called such efforts misguided asceticism—a confusion of deprivation with enlightenment.

Her “biggest regret” is, therefore, not simply about food—it is about the loss of trust in the body’s wisdom. The body speaks in hunger, in fatigue, in craving—not as an enemy, but as a teacher. Yet in the noise of trends and advice, that voice is drowned out. When Garth speaks of regret, she mourns the years spent silencing that inner language, believing instead in the false prophets of diet culture. The ancients would have pitied such noise, for they revered silence as the birthplace of understanding. To heal, one must first listen again—to the quiet rhythms of the self.

But from this regret comes redemption. For no lesson learned through suffering is truly wasted. The wise of every age have taught that failure, when faced with humility, becomes a form of awakening. In recognizing the harm of her choices, Garth begins the journey toward forgiveness—of the self, of the body, of the mistakes born from longing. Her words carry the same humility found in the Stoic philosophers, who saw wisdom not in perfection, but in the courage to begin anew after error.

And so, let her experience stand as a modern parable for all who seek transformation: that the path to harmony lies not in force, but in understanding. Treat the body as a temple, not as a battlefield. Feed it with gratitude, not guilt; move it with joy, not punishment. Let food be not an enemy, but an offering. For as Jennie Garth discovered, the body remembers everything—the cruelty, the care, and the healing. Its loyalty is profound, its forgiveness divine.

The lesson she leaves us is both simple and eternal: love the vessel that carries you. Do not chase perfection in fleeting methods, but cultivate wisdom in lasting balance. For in the end, the truest diet is not of calories or rules—it is the discipline of kindness, the daily practice of honoring the miracle of being alive.