You can be doing beautifully in recovery and still get knocked sideways by a single sentence at a family dinner. Diet talk is everywhere — the office kitchen, the group chat, the aunt who narrates everyone's plate. You can't mute the whole world, but you can be ready for it. Here is actual language, ready to use.
For comments about your body
The "compliment": "I'd rather talk about literally anything other than my body — how's the new job?" Redirect fast; you don't owe an explanation.
The concerned relative: "I'm working with a professional on my health, and it's going well. What would help me most is not discussing food or bodies together."
The repeat offender: "I've asked before, so I'm going to be direct: comments about my body aren't okay with me, even kind ones." Short. No footnotes.
For diet talk at the table
The plate narrator ("I'm being so bad today"): you don't have to correct anyone's relationship with food. A neutral "food doesn't have a report card" with a shrug — or simply changing the subject — both count as wins.
The diet evangelist: "That's not something I do anymore — it didn't make my life better. Tell me about your trip instead?"
When you need out entirely: "Excuse me a moment." Leaving the room to reset is not rude. It's skillful.
For your own head afterward
Even with perfect scripts, some comments land. Afterward, try naming it plainly: "That was diet culture talking, and it got loud for a second." Then reach for the next anchored thing — text someone from your support circle, get to your next meal or plan as usual, tell your therapist about it instead of carrying it alone. The comment was a moment; don't let the eating disorder turn it into a mandate.
When the environment is the problem
If certain gatherings reliably flood you with diet talk, it's legitimate to plan for them like weather: arrive with an exit time, a person who knows the deal, and permission to leave early. And if some relationships never respect the boundary no matter how clearly you set it, that's information worth bringing to therapy — because you deserve rooms where recovery isn't a fight.