Obesity and Me
August 3, 2026
TRIGGER WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This post talks extensively about weight and weight loss as well as the toll that these things can have on both physical and mental health. I use terms to describe myself that may make some folks uncomfortable, including “fat” and “obese”. My intention isn’t to bring myself or others down, but rather just to share my thoughts around the topic and hopefully start a conversation with others. In addition, I do briefly mention things such as bullying and suicidality. If you’re not in the best head space to read about these topics right now, no hard feelings if you need to skip over this post.
Since I was a small child, I’ve been overweight to some degree. My first memories of doctor’s appointments are negative ones where I left the appointments feeling worse about my body. Some family members assured me that I would lose the baby fat as I grew older, but my mid section in particular continued to balloon as I went through puberty. I was devastated by my weight throughout my school years and did my best to hide in the baggiest of clothes. These clothes, of course, only made me look even bigger, but they provided a sense of security nonetheless. In the almost ten years since high school, I have gained around a hundred pounds more and now weigh in at 320lbs. I’m 5’8” tall, so this makes my BMI 48.7. This means that I’m considered to be “extremely obese” by medical professionals.
Being labeled as obese doesn’t come without its fair share of shame, especially now with GLP-1 drugs being all the rage. Even before the widespread use and normalization of these drugs, fat people were being taught to hate our bodies. Magazines frequently are selling us weight loss regimens and mocking celebrities who have seemingly gained weight. These messages don’t go unnoticed by fat people and instead instill in us a message from broader society: we’re not good enough. Of course, this goes far beyond print media. TV shows and movies commonly only use fat characters as the comic relief, if featured at all. And with the rise of social media came the rise of people, particularly young girls, comparing themselves to unrealistic standards of beauty. Putting thinness on a pedestal for so long has made many people view their bodies negatively. I learned at a young age to start counting calories in the middle school cafeteria, but even that didn’t stop classmates from gawking at my body in the locker room before gym class.
So why not lose the weight if I feel so bad about it? Weight loss is arguably easier now more than ever, and while people online and in my personal life shrink, I’m left wondering if I should do the same. At first, I was wary of weight loss drugs not because of potential side effects or wanting to lose the weight more “naturally” so to speak, but rather because much of the marketing and conversation surrounding them is fatphobic and is meant to make people feel insecure. Quite frankly, the companies promoting these drugs are reminiscent of my middle school bullies.
In the twenty-teens, I followed a lot of body positive influencers on social media. This felt pivotal and revolutionary for me, as I was a teenager and at war with my body. I still struggled with accepting my weight throughout this period and by no means am saying that instagram influencers are the only thing that got me through, but they did help me see that fat people could be just as interesting and live just as good of a life as their thin or mid-sized peers. Throughout these years, the pendulum frequently swung back and forth between the extremes of me trying to actively diet and lose weight and me saying “fuck it” to diet culture and eating all of the junk food I could get my hands on.
When discussing my lingering body image issues recently with my therapist, she suggested that I read The Body is Not an Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor. I borrowed the ebook from my local library that day and I was pleasantly surprised with the somewhat radical approach the book had. In the book, Taylor argues that radical self-love, which is her term that somewhat encapsulates body positivity and much more, is not an entirely solo effort. Rather, she says that “radical self-love is not the act of superheros but of community and connection” (pg.96). This means that communities need to practice extending care to one another and to themselves, which unfortunately seems rather unrealistic in western society. Capitalism sells us body shame and products to supposedly fix this shame, such as makeup, anti-aging creams, and yes, weight loss drugs. Not only this, but it sells us an ideal of rugged individualism that is often a part of our feelings of disconnection with our community members. It sometimes feels hopeless to try to fight against these larger powers at play, but Taylor reminds us that it is possible, and it starts with loving yourself and others. “Quite simply, we cannot build in the world that which we have not built in ourselves” Taylor states on page 109 of the book.
This may sound all fine and dandy, but I bet all two of you who are reading this are thinking the same thing: what about the health effects of obesity? This has always been a nagging thought in the back of my mind as well, even when I was following all of those body positive accounts ten years ago. I was diagnosed with obstructive sleep apnea a few years ago, and a recent X-ray shows that I have arthritis in my lower back. Both of these are likely due to my size. Obesity is also associated with greater health risks, such as a higher risk of heart disease and type 2 diabetes. I’m not a doctor or scientist and am not here to disregard those that are. However, I don’t think creating so much stigma and shame around being fat is good for anyone’s well-being long term. Sure, someone might be motivated to exercise and eat healthier or go on a GLP-1 following a doctor’s recommendation to lose weight. What concerns me the most is so many people having their entire sense of self tied up in seeing the numbers on scale go down from week to week. I know that when I have tried to actively lose weight, it was all I could really think about. Maybe other people are able to still live well-rounded lives while trying to lose weight, but I worry that most of us aren’t.
I’m not saying that we ignore all indicators of health for the rest of our lives either. I’m all for promoting access to healthier foods and combating the sedentary lifestyle we have come accustomed to, but I don’t think focusing on weight helps us get any closer to that reality.
GLP-1 drugs do not, in my opinion, promote a healthier lifestyle. My overworked and fatigued mom, for example, still often eats fast foods despite taking a GLP-1. She just eats less of the meal before throwing the rest away. I don’t want to blame or demonize people for taking these these drugs, especially not my mom. She works long days as a supervisor in a busy factory and has been fat since childhood, much like myself. I can empathize and understand why the drug would appeal to her. She’s been told her entire life that she should lose weight, so when an easy way to do so presented itself, it seemed like a no-brainier. I don’t blame her for continuing to eat junk food either. It’s easier than cooking, and she lives alone with no one to cook for her. Even struggling with my chronic fatigue, I understand the huge hurdle it is to learn how to budget energy to prepare food. Obesity is a much more a larger societal issue than it is an individual choice, and weight loss shouldn’t be a burden for only the fat person to carry.
I wish I had the answers on how to continue. All I know is that I personally, at least right now, don’t wish to actively try to lose weight despite the increased health risks my current weight may give me. Perhaps this is silly and just because I’m not as mentally strong as other people. Focusing on the numbers makes my anxiety skyrocket and makes my already lingering suicidal thoughts intensify. So, for now, I’ll prioritize staying alive while being fat.
