Two Years on a GLP-1: What Changed, What Didn’t, and Why I’m Still Here

When I started a GLP-1 in February of 2024, I had a decision to make—with myself.

Not with the internet.
Not with other people’s opinions.
With me.

At the time, I had a three-year-old and a twelve-year-old. I was vegan. I worked out four to five times a week. I moved my body consistently. I lifted heavy things. I walked. I did all the “right” things.

To say I was living an active, health-conscious lifestyle would be an understatement.

And yet—none of it was enough.

I had also just turned 40.

Suddenly, the game I had been playing my entire adult life—maintaining my weight, staying strong, moving freely in my body—went from challenging to impossible. The scale wouldn’t budge. My body felt inflamed. My joints hurt. My recovery lagged. And the voice in my head got louder.

The old voice.

The one that says:
You’re not disciplined enough.
You should try harder.
You should restrict more.
You did this to yourself.

Every Sunday night felt like a reckoning. Three slices of vegan pizza? A beer? I’d spiral into shame like I had failed some invisible moral test. I wasn’t just uncomfortable in my body—I was actively punishing myself for having one.

I didn’t know then what I know now: diet and exercise alone were no longer enough for my body.

But I didn’t blame my hormones.
I blamed myself.

So I asked the real question:
What do I actually have to lose?

Starting Without Certainty

I signed up knowing there could be consequences. I didn’t do it casually. I didn’t do it impulsively. I did it because I was tired of hating myself for something that no amount of “doing more” seemed to fix.

I remember the medication arriving when I got home from gymnastics championships. Within days, things felt… different.

I was less hungry.
I felt mildly nauseated in the mornings.
And oddly—I had more mental clarity.

I want to be clear: I’m not a medical doctor, and this isn’t medical advice. This is just my experience.

It was slow. Painfully slow at times.

Someone told me early on, “Take the pictures. You’ll want them.”
So I did. I contemplated posting them, but I’m still so vulnerable about the place that I started. I look back at that first picture and all I see is someone who is in misery.

Every week I looked—searching for change. At six months, the scale had maybe moved ten pounds. But my body? My body was transforming.

The inflammation in my joints eased. The bulk I had been carrying—physically and emotionally—started to lift. I slept better. My mental health improved. Movement began to feel familiar again.

At the gym, things I hadn’t felt since my twenties came back. Pull-ups didn’t feel like a negotiation with gravity anymore. I remember one moment thinking I might launch myself into the ceiling because my strength was still there—but now the weight I was carrying matched it.

That mattered more than the number on the scale ever did.

“You’ll Be On It Forever”

One of the loudest criticisms I hear is this: You’ll be on it for life.

Maybe.

But here’s what I was already doing for life:
Hating my body.
Distrusting myself.
Living in constant food noise.
Believing my worth was tied to restraint.

If those were the long-term consequences of not doing anything differently, then staying exactly where I was didn’t feel noble—it felt cruel.

Inside, I have always been an athlete. I move like one. I think like one. I set physical goals. I train with intention. But the outside didn’t match anymore. Carrying fifty extra pounds was exhausting—physically and mentally.

So yes, two years later, I’m still using a GLP-1.

And I’m happy.

Not euphoric. Not “fixed.”
Just… at peace.

It quieted the constant chatter around food. It changed my relationship with alcohol—what used to be “social” actually feels social now. One drink doesn’t turn into mental gymnastics. My endurance is back. My goals feel reachable again.

This wasn’t the easy way out for me.

I had already done the hard work.
The routines were in place.
The movement was there.
The commitment existed.

This medication didn’t replace that work—it supported it.

A Final Thought on Judgment

If someone finds something that helps them feel at home in their body again—just stop judging.

Not everything that works is visible.
Not every solution looks the same.
And not everyone’s body responds to the same inputs.

If it works for them, let it work.
If it brings peace, let them have it.

We spend far too much time policing how people try to feel okay in their own skin.

I don’t regret starting.
I don’t regret staying.
And I don’t owe anyone an explanation beyond that.