My GLP One Holiday Spiral

A festive gift of oversharing

The other day I texted one of my best friends, “How much do you weigh?”
She responded, rightfully, “THIS IS AN INSANE TEXT.”
And I replied, “I am just trying to figure out weight and what everyone is at.”

She said, “You have been trying to figure out weight for ten years.”

She is so right. But weight is a journey and I am on it, so you are on it with me. And it’s the holidays and I’m feeling festive, and my gift is oversharing. I have technically never been skinnier and yet I have never felt fatter. Feeling fat is a state of mind that even when I was chubbier, I did not feel. Every holiday dinner annoys me. It all feels like a trap for gluttony that I personally have a tendency to fall into.

Here is the real question: Is my GLP-1 giving me an eating disorder or eating awareness?
Too hard to tell. Even harder to face, because the answer is obvious—or will be, after reading this ramble.

Almost three years ago, after hearing about a bunch of New York girls being prescribed Ozempic by their OBGYNs to lose the baby weight (right before the infamous Town & Country reveal), I got curious. Town & Country, by the way, did not get enough credit for breaking that story. That is the kind of post Vogue wishes they could’ve published.

I didn’t have an OBGYN willing to give me the goods, and I did what any mild maniac would do: I reached out to a telehealth company that seemed shady enough. They were already handing out ADHD medication to my friends with laziness, so I figured they could help solve another form of laziness—wanting to lose weight the easy way.

I wore an oversized sweater, comically oversized, angled my camera, and straight-up lied about my weight. I told this doctor, who was clearly in her condo, that I weighed forty-five pounds more than I did and that I had a challenging history with glucose. To this day I’m not sure what glucose is or does, but I got the shot.

I felt bad lying to this doctor, but somehow I think she understood, since she did not ask for any labs or proof—something you should probably look for in a doctor. She did require that I check in every two months for refills. I was not thinking ahead and agreed.

And I want to be very clear: yes, I lied to this doctor, but I never lied to friends or family. I was the first to declare I was on the shot, and I fielded calls and texts from anyone else curious. I was honest about the side effects—there are many—and the supplements you need to take to maintain your sanity in the beginning (which deserve their own post).

As someone who has fluctuated twenty pounds for years in the blink of an eye or a vacation, I had no idea how useful this drug was going to be. And it worked. It really worked. But it also made me tired and lazy and vain. The vanity started to creep in. Suddenly I cared about all the things the other girls around me had always fixated on. I finally understood a language I had actively avoided learning—like refusing to learn the language of your hometown. And my hometown speaks skinny.

So by the next appointment, I was so excited to have lost the weight that I forgot the deep lie I was living with this Manhattan Beach telehealth doctor. She asked my weight, and I proudly told her my real weight. She gasped and said, “You lost seventy pounds in two months,” and I froze. “Oh my God, no, my scale is broken—let me try again,” I said, and made up a more reasonable number. Why she believed me is between her and God, but she did.

This lie and this drug were exhausting me. I was annoyed at her for making me lie, which is honestly how I approach most things. Other people did this to me.
But again, by the grace of God, she refilled my Ozempic.

I spent two beautiful years at a stable weight and eventually weaned off the drug, living a sort of carefree existence. I learned to eat smaller portions and protein, all the things the TikTok advocates tell you to do. I was high on stability and the fantasy of being “Ozempic sober.”

Until last holiday season.

Part of my maintenance was weighing myself—just to keep an eye on things—and my scale broke, and so did my process. I gained twenty-five pounds just like that. All my cheating to get the shot and all my hard work maintaining post-shot evaporated.

Back to the telehealth company I went. This time she was on to me. She asked for labs, and I had a plan. Not a good plan, but a plan. I put two small dumbbells in my oversized sweatpants and got weighed with all my clothes on. I was proud I hadn’t gone so far as to wear a weighted vest. I still had some mental limits.

Yes, I got the drug again.

And now I’m in the weaning-off phase—taking it twice a month—and already dreading my checkup in two months because I no longer want to lie, but I also cannot promise I will not. And it’s the holiday season, which is driving me insane. Indulgence is no longer enjoyable. It is a full threat.

So I say this to the people who envy being on this drug:
I do not wish this psychosis on anyone.

And for the record, I have also lost weight the old-fashioned way: counting calories on the MyFitnessPal app. Here is what I learned: a tablespoon of olive oil is rarely worth it. And do you know how many calories are in a muffin? Go have a donut. You’re better off.

This is the mental gymnastics weight makes you do, and I’m not sure what the solution is. I’m not trying to impress anyone but myself anymore, but I also don’t fully trust myself. I don’t trust my hunger, my reflection, my scale, or the tiny narrator in my head who thinks she is the CEO of my body, when really she is being run by a pharmaceutical company I willingly handed my power to.

I want peace with food, peace with my body, peace with my mind. But right now it all feels like negotiation—a constant diplomacy with a country that keeps changing its borders.

And honestly, I probably should have given a trigger warning for all of this, but I’m currently too triggered to do that.

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Holiday Recommendations From Someone Who Should Not Be Giving Holiday Recommendations

• Have a protein drink before the party. It’s not glamorous, but it works.
• If you’re going to eat the cookie, eat the cookie you actually want. The half-satisfied bite diet is a lie.
• If you feel shame coming on, walk outside. Cold air is free therapy.
• Take photos of nothing. Not people. Not food. Not parties. Take a picture of a lamp or a rug. It breaks the comparison cycle and makes you seem artsy, which is a bonus.
• Above all: remember that holidays are temporary, and so are feelings. Especially the ones created by a pharmaceutical journey that should have come with its own trigger warning.