Estimated reading time: 5 minutes

The rise of the self help vultures

There’s a certain kind of person I’ve learned to spot over the years. They are called self-help vultures. They don’t always look like what you expect. Not every one of them slides into your DMs with a “life-changing” course. Sometimes they’re closer than that—the ones you admire, the ones who say they’re here to help. The ones who circle when you’re trying to crawl out of rock bottom. That’s when they swoop in.

When trust turns transactional

When I first started my journey, there was this coach I kept seeing in gym photos and videos shared by a friend. She appeared strong, confident, lean. Everything I wasn’t yet—and everything I thought I needed to be. So when she agreed to coach me, I was all in. But later that evening, she pulled me aside and got serious. “I’ll coach you,” she said, “but I need you to show me you’re serious. You need to trust me.”

And apparently, trust meant signing up for this MLM wellness company—we’ll call it Timeless Vitality. She told me I needed their products for my weight loss journey. Essential oils. Powders. Detox this, balance that. A whole catalog of promises in tiny glass bottles.

I was desperate to prove myself. And the vulture could smell it.

Desperation has a scent—and if you’ve ever been there, you know. They circle when you’re tender. I figured if I followed her lead, maybe she’d believe in me too. Maybe I’d finally “get it right.” So I bought in. Not just emotionally, but financially. Desperate for someone—anyone—to believe in me.

Six. Hundred. Dollars. A month. Outside of training. On products I didn’t understand, for problems I couldn’t name, chasing healing I didn’t know how to ask for.

Cracks in the foundation

Looking back, it wasn’t just about the money. It was about the power dynamic. I wanted to change so badly that I didn’t see what was really happening. I thought I was investing in myself, but really, I was being exploited.

It took five months. Five long months of boxes showing up at my door like clockwork—more than I could ever use. More than I even wanted. They piled up in drawers and cabinets; a reminder that I still wasn’t “fixed.” Still not enough.

The night I decided to fire her wasn’t a moment of triumph. It was heartbreak. I sat alone in my favorite chair, clutching yet another unopened box, and just broke. I cried—hard. I was mourning the belief I had in her. The belief I thought she had in me. I felt ashamed. Embarrassed. Like I’d handed someone the most vulnerable parts of me and they’d sold them back to me.

That decision hurt more than I ever expected. It wasn’t just the end of a coaching relationship—it felt like I’d just escaped the claws of something that had been slowly bleeding me dry.

Walking away

I felt strong when I walked away but didn’t realize I also walked away wary. Extremely guarded of all coaches who came after, and doubting myself most of all for not seeing it sooner. It felt like a betrayal. That moment rewired something in me. Even now, there are times I struggle to separate real support or genuine curiosity from hidden agendas.

That betrayal planted something deeper. A kind of internal radar that’s always scanning. Always watching. That’s the damage this kind of betrayal leaves behind. It teaches you to question kindness. To side-eye encouragement. To look for strings even when there might not be any.

It’s exhausting. But it’s also armor. And once you’ve been used that way, you don’t just learn—you change.

When the price becomes proof

Paying for support isn’t the issue. Coaching matters. Guidance matters. I am a coach. I believe in investing in the right help.

The problem is when the price becomes proof. When your bank account is treated as a litmus test for your commitment. When questioning the process makes you “ungrateful.” That’s not empowerment—that’s pressure diffused in lavender oil. 

It’s subtle, but dangerous. Because it confuses trust with obedience.  And when you’re in a vulnerable place, that kind of pressure feels a lot like support—until it doesn’t.

Behind the friendly face

That’s the sneaky thing about self-help vultures—they don’t always look like vultures. Sometimes they look like coaches. Mentors. People you believe are on your side. But instead of supporting you, they start selling to you. Instead of helping you understand your body, your habits, your pain… they distract you with products. They profit from your desperation. And they wrap it all in nice little phrases like “commitment” and “investing in yourself.”

You are not for sale

There’s nothing wrong with products. Nothing wrong with oils or supplements or a protein shake that actually helps. But healing doesn’t live in a shopping cart. And if someone’s making you feel like you have to buy your way to worthiness? That’s not coaching. That’s manipulation.

Your journey deserves more than that. You deserve more than that.

Healing is messy, beautiful, uncomfortable work. And it might involve movement, nutrition changes, mindset, therapy, real conversations, tough reflections……but it should never come with pressure to prove you’re committed. Commitment should be lived—not leveraged.

There’s a difference between saying, “I’m serious. I’m ready to change,” and being told, “Prove it—buy this.”

Wanting to change is powerful. Readiness matters. But somewhere along the way, “readiness” got twisted into revenue. 

Watch the skies

If you’re in that place right now—wanting to change, craving support—please hear this: the right kind of help won’t make you feel small.

Real help? It empowers. It educates. It reminds you that you are the most valuable part of the process.

So the next time someone swoops in with a miracle product, a must-have oil, or a life-changing bundle… pause. Look a little closer.

Is this support—or just another self help vulture circling?

Are they helping you rise—or just pecking at your pain?

You deserve guidance rooted in care—not commission. And the right support will never make you question that truth.