And Now Keto's Mental Health Claims
Keto Promises Many Cures — and Now Even Mental Health?
There’s a growing chorus on social media claiming that keto diets have magical effects on mental health.
Claims like “keto cured my depression” or “I’ve never felt clearer” show up often enough to raise eyebrows -- but is there substance behind the hype?
It might sound like a stretch. Keto cure claims run rampant.
So let’s take a closer look.
What the Science Says
Several studies have been circulated on social media to suggest that ketogenic diets (or, better said, diets that trigger ketosis) might have a positive impact on mental health.
For instance:
Bostock et al. (2020) – A review published in Frontiers in Psychiatry found that ketogenic diets could positively influence mood and cognition by improving mitochondrial function, reducing oxidative stress, and regulating neurotransmitters like GABA and glutamate -- two major players in mental well-being.
→ Frontiers in Psychiatry, 2020
Phelps et al. (2013) – This small but compelling study explored the effects of a ketogenic diet on individuals with bipolar disorder. Some participants experienced a significant reduction in manic and depressive episodes while maintaining the diet -- suggesting real mood-stabilizing potential.
→ Neurocase, 2013
Kraeuter et al. (2020) – A review in Frontiers in Neuroscience showed that ketogenic diets might be neuroprotective and beneficial for patients with schizophrenia by modulating neurotransmitter systems and reducing inflammation.
→ Frontiers in Neuroscience, 2020
And there are more. So it seems fair to suggest that there is a link between ketosis, or the circumstances that create it, and mental health.
And, as always, that leads me to ask a deeper question: Why?
The Leopard and the Neuropathway
Inspired by Rudyard Kipling’s Just So stories -- like “How the Leopard Got His Spots” -- I often turn to biology and human history for clues to today’s modern challenges. This keto-mental health link stirred something for me, and it turned up a pattern worth exploring.
Let’s begin with brain plasticity -- though frankly, that’s a terrible name in a world where microplastics are now turning up in human brains. A better term might be “neuro-flexibility.”
Neuro-flexibility refers to the brain’s capacity to rewire itself based on repeated thought patterns and behaviors. Imagine your brain as an organic circuit board: every time you think a thought, you send a signal between two neurons, creating a pathway. The more often that circuit is used -- especially if fueled by strong emotion -- the thicker and more dominant it becomes.
This is how learning happens.
This is also how dysfunction happens.
You start with a thought -- a figurative and, perhaps, even literal, breakthrough
You repeat the thought over time -- strengthening or thickening the circuit.
Eventually, the thought becomes automatic -- what we call “muscle memory.”
And in extreme cases, the thought form can become so entrenched it drives compulsions, reactivity, and even neurosis.
For our ancestors, this wasn’t a problem. They lived in a world that required constant adaptation. Seasons changed. Food sources shifted. Threats evolved. And so did they. Neurological patterns were built for utility and then allowed to fade. Neuroflexibility is a feature of being human: the ability to wire and rewire for the changing conditions of our lives. But if the conditions don’t change and thought patterns are repeated indefinitely, it appears that they get locked in or ‘hardwired.’
Today this is a serious problem.
We live in a world of repetition without variation. We wake to the same foods, stare into the same screens, respond to the same triggers, and repeat the same thoughts. We thicken the same neurological ruts day after day -- and then wonder why we’re stuck.
The Autumn Trap
Our bodies have two primary fuel modes: sugar-burning and fat-burning. (Protein burning is a different function; learn more about that in PostDiabetic, Hay House, 2023.)
Our ancestors cycled between them seasonally, based on food availability. During autumn, carbohydrates were plentiful -- fruits, berries, starchy tubers. The body adapted by shifting into sugar-burning. Cravings rose. Blood sugar spiked and crashed. Mood may have fluctuated with it. Assertiveness and competitiveness likely increased -- survival meant securing enough calories for the coming winter.
These weren’t just metabolic states -- they were cognitive and emotional states too.
Autumn had a mindset. So did winter. And spring. And summer.
But today? We’re stuck in a perpetual autumn. We’re constantly surrounded by processed carbs and sugar. Our physiology is stuck in a mode it was only ever meant to visit -- briefly -- before transitioning into something else.
We now know that this has had a profound impact on health; the current diabetes and obesity epidemics are growing more serious, as discussed in PostDiabetic.
But today we are thinking about mental health. And this same perpetual autumn has us stuck, and our thoughts reflect that. We crave. We obsess. We ruminate. We replay the same mental patterns again and again -- and we never reset.
Reclaiming Neuro-Flexibility
What I’m proposing is simple: metabolic flexibility leads to neuro-flexibility.
In PostDiabetic, we describe how the pancreas developed dual functions to help us survive the natural cycles of feast and famine. In autumn, with fruits and starchy roots abundant, the pancreas ramped up insulin production to manage the carbohydrate load. Then, when those foods disappeared with the onset of winter and spring, the pancreas shifted gears, producing glucagon instead, and triggering ketosis -- our built-in fat-burning and brain-fueling system.
This shift wasn’t just metabolic -- it was cognitive. It forced the body and brain to operate differently, activating entirely different hormonal states, neurotransmitter profiles, and likely, thought patterns.
Today, with constant access to carbohydrates, that gear-shift almost never happens. We live in a state of perpetual autumn. The result? Our minds, like our metabolisms, get stuck.
When we allow our bodies to cycle between energy modes -- moving periodically into ketosis, then returning to carbohydrate metabolism -- we restore a natural rhythm. We shake up established circuits. We create new patterns. We allow our brains a chance to reset and rewire. We reclaim our neuroflexibility and create a foundation for mental health.
This isn’t about going “keto for life.” It’s about reclaiming an ancient, biologically encoded pattern. Something seasonal. Something neurologically freeing.
It’s about using metabolism not just to change our weight -- but to change our minds.
In a large poll of clients who have completed the WILDFIT Challenge, the third most commonly reported benefit of seasonal cycling was ‘increased sense of wellbeing,’ which was described variously as ‘happiness’, ‘end of depression,’ ‘getting off meds’ and the end of suicide ideation.
Conclusion
Keto isn’t a miracle cure for mental health -- but it is a clue.
It points to a forgotten truth: our biology evolved for rhythm, variation, and seasonality. And when we get stuck -- metabolically, emotionally, or cognitively -- it may be because we’ve lost touch with that rhythm.
The ketogenic state, with its sharp shifts in energy usage and neurotransmitter balance, may act as a simulated “season change” for the brain -- one that temporarily restores the kind of neuro-flexibility that was once baked into our lives by nature itself.
In this way, metabolic flexibility isn’t just a tool for weight loss or diabetes prevention. It’s a tool for mental resilience. For emotional clarity. And maybe, just maybe, for breaking through the thought loops that keep us stuck.
In a world that’s forgotten its seasons -- maybe it’s time to bring them back.
Starting in the brain.