I’ve been working in the wellness space for nearly a decade now, and I love it. I believe in the power of movement, mindfulness, good nutrition, and community to transform lives. I’ve seen it happen in my yoga classes, in workshops, and in my own life.

But I also need to be honest about something: the wellness industry has a credibility problem. And if those of us who work in this space don’t address it, we risk losing the trust of the people who need us most.

The supplement problem

Let’s start with the obvious. The Australian supplement industry is worth over $6 billion, and a significant portion of it is selling products that either don’t do what they claim or aren’t necessary for most people.

Collagen powders marketed as miracle skin solutions, despite limited evidence that oral collagen supplements improve skin health in well-nourished adults. Greens powders positioned as replacements for actual vegetables, when the fibre and micronutrient profile of whole foods can’t be replicated in a scoop of powder. Nootropic stacks promising cognitive enhancement through ingredient combinations that have never been studied together.

The TGA regulates supplements in Australia, but the bar for “listed” products is relatively low. The result is a marketplace full of expensive products wrapped in health claims that range from mildly exaggerated to completely unsupported.

The influencer issue

Social media has democratised wellness in some wonderful ways. People who might never set foot in a clinic or studio can access information about mental health, nutrition, and movement from their phone. That’s genuinely positive.

But it’s also created a landscape where anyone with a large following can position themselves as a health authority, regardless of their qualifications. A 2024 analysis by the Australian Science Media Centre found that more than 60% of popular wellness influencers on Australian social media had no formal health or science qualifications.

This wouldn’t be a problem if they were sharing personal experience clearly labelled as such. But too often, personal anecdote gets presented as universal advice. “This supplement cured my anxiety” becomes a recommendation to thousands of followers, some of whom might delay seeking professional help as a result.

The price tag problem

There’s a persistent and troubling trend in wellness that equates expense with effectiveness. The $200 wellness retreat. The $80 adaptogenic mushroom blend. The $150-per-session breathwork facilitator.

Some of these things are worth the money for some people. I’m not making a blanket judgment. But the implication that you need to spend significant money to be well is both false and exclusionary.

The most evidence-based wellness practices are free or very cheap. Walking. Sleeping well. Eating mostly whole foods. Spending time with people you care about. Being in nature. Breathing slowly. These don’t make for compelling product launches, but they’re what the research consistently points to.

Meanwhile, many organisations across Australia are investing in evidence-based approaches to employee wellbeing. Some are working with specialists like AI consultants Sydney to identify which wellness initiatives actually move the needle on staff health outcomes, rather than just ticking a box with a flashy program that looks good in a corporate newsletter.

What honest wellness looks like

I’ve thought a lot about what it means to operate in this space with integrity. Here’s what I’ve landed on:

Say “I don’t know” more often. Not every question has a clear answer. The honest response to “Should I take magnesium for sleep?” is “Maybe — there’s some evidence it helps for people who are deficient, but it depends on your individual situation and it’s worth talking to your GP.”

Distinguish between evidence and anecdote. “This worked for me” and “the research shows” are different statements. Both can be valuable, but they shouldn’t be confused.

Be transparent about financial incentives. If someone is recommending a product they’re paid to promote, that context matters. Affiliate links and sponsorship deals aren’t inherently wrong, but hiding them is.

Refer out. If someone in a yoga class tells me they’re experiencing symptoms of depression, my job isn’t to fix them with breathwork. It’s to listen, validate their experience, and suggest they talk to a mental health professional. Knowing the limits of your scope is a sign of competence, not weakness.

Make wellness accessible. Price shouldn’t be a barrier to wellbeing. Share free resources. Offer sliding-scale pricing where possible. Write content that doesn’t assume everyone has disposable income.

The industry I want to be part of

I want to be part of a wellness culture that’s warm but honest. That’s enthusiastic about what works and transparent about what doesn’t. That respects both traditional practices and modern science without blindly worshipping either.

That’s what I try to do here at SoulShine. Not every post will have all the answers. Some will ask more questions than they resolve. And I’ll get things wrong sometimes — when I do, I’ll correct them.

Because the most radical thing you can do in an industry full of hype is tell the truth.

Even when it’s not as marketable.