Picture This.
Your body is a bustling factory. In the back room is a worker named Dwayne. Dwayne’s job? Break down boxes — food boxes. Every time you eat, boxes arrive on the conveyor belt. Some are small and easy to manage (like a bowl of veggies). Others are big, heavy, and sealed with industrial-grade tape (hello, loaded nachos).
Dwayne is good at his job. Give him a reasonable number of boxes, and he’ll sort, dismantle, and send off each part to where it belongs: energy here, nutrients there, and waste out the door.
But what happens when the boxes keep coming? Not just at mealtimes—but all day, every day. Snacks between snacks. Meals that feel more like celebrations. Sugary drinks that arrive like a fleet of express deliveries.
At first, Dwayne tries to keep up. He works overtime. He sweats. He mutters to himself. But eventually, he can’t.
So what does he do?
He starts stacking the boxes in storage. It’s not that he’s lazy. It’s not that you’re broken. It’s that there’s too much to process, and no pause in the flow. The warehouse gets full. Then it expands. More shelves. More rooms. More fat cells to hold what Dwayne can’t get to.
This is how our bodies respond to constant input. They don’t judge. They just adapt.
But, you know …
This isn’t just a story about metabolism. It’s about life.
We live in a culture of “more.” More food. More stress. More content. More expectations.
We admire hustle and speed, but we forget the quiet worker inside—the one who needs space, time, and compassion to do his job.
Fat isn’t failure.
It’s evidence.
Evidence that your body is trying to help. Trying to survive. Trying to store what it couldn’t process—physically, emotionally, and energetically.
Sometimes the boxes are meals.
Sometimes the boxes are grief.
Or trauma.
Or unmet needs.
So What Do We Do?
We slow the conveyor belt.
We give Dwayne a break. We offer him water. We schedule meals with more intention, more nutrition, and fewer delivery trucks screaming into the warehouse unannounced.
We remember that metabolism isn’t magic. It’s a system. One that needs rhythm, not chaos.
Final Thought:
You are not lazy. You are not broken. You are not weak.
You are a miraculous warehouse—doing the best it can under the load it’s been given.
Maybe today’s the day you stop yelling at the worker… and start managing the shipping schedule instead.
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