I’ve struggled with my weight my entire life, and I initially decided to become a dietitian, in part, to help myself. I thought if I could learn the secrets to nutrition, I could solve all my problems, including, but not limited to, my weight.
And I learned a lot — like the science of metabolism and calories, the magic of lean protein, and that being too restrictive backfires. Just as important, I began to consider how social determinants of health and the systemic exclusion of marginalized people from equitable healthcare impacted weight.
Changing my habits
I implemented behavior-change tools that helped. I fell in love with strength training. I started meal prepping. I learned how to counsel other people to eat well and, at the same time, counsel myself towards a more realistic and sustainable approach. It was admittedly frustrating at times, and it took a lot of intentionality. I made my weight management a non-negotiable aspect of my life.
It was, without a doubt, absolutely exhausting.
Despite my hard work, I still had a lot of excess weight. I was always the biggest dietitian in any room of dietitians, and felt like I had to prove myself extra because of my size. But additional efforts to lose more weight were short-lived and unsustainable.
As I got older, my health got worse. I developed hypertension. The GERD I experienced from a hiatal hernia made me miserable. The pandemic made me terrified that my larger body put me at a higher risk. Heart disease runs in my family, and I painfully witnessed my father undergo open-heart surgery.
I had the motivation. I had the education. I had the resources. I had the social support, the gym memberships, the personal trainers, and the privilege to access and afford all the foods. The thing is, no amount of knowledge or good intentions could change the fact that I had the chronic disease of obesity. I had an insatiable appetite. You could fill me up with all the lean proteins, vegetables, and fiber, and I’d still be hungry.
I had a voice in my head — which I now recognize as “food noise” — that never stopped reminding me that I could go get some food. I ate in secret. I ate past the point of physical comfort. I ate when I was happy or sad; stressed or relaxed. I ate when I was bored. I ate when I was busy. I could eat mindlessly and also intentionally, depending on the amount of mental effort I was willing to expend to fight my own biology.
Sometimes I would fight myself about it, shame myself, or beat myself up. Sometimes it would win. Sometimes I’d have to decide to just brush my teeth and go to bed early to stop thinking about food. Sometimes I would pull a half-eaten treat out of the trash. Sometimes the food noise would control my entire day and take away enjoyment from any activity that involved food. And if food wasn’t immediately available, I’d anxiously await the next opportunity to eat.
Beginning my GLP-1 weight-loss journey
Then, one day, I saw Dr. Spencer Nadolsky, D.O. talking on Twitter (now known as X) about a newer class of anti-obesity medicines known as GLP-1s.
When I first became a dietitian, I started following Dr. Spencer on social media because I really appreciated his approach to nutrition. He was funny yet empathetic, and always spot-on with his takes. His memes made people laugh and mad as hell. He was especially critical of nutrition extremes. He constantly reinforced the power of strength training. I trusted him.
He understood obesity — and said it was a chronic, progressive, recurrent, relapsing disease that had zero to do with willpower. He explained that GLP-1s help people stick to the lifestyle skills and tools they already have.
Intrigued, I read the clinical studies. I found people online taking these medications. Eventually, I joined Sequence — the virtual weight-loss clinic where Dr. Spencer worked, now a part of WeightWatchers — as a member. My only regret? That I didn’t join sooner.
I started my GLP-1 medication and, suddenly, that food noise that consumed my entire brain at all hours of the day was gone. I could drive past a Starbucks, still satisfied from my nourishing breakfast, without the mental gymnastics of “should I, could I, will I, maybe, tomorrow.”
I tweeted Dr. Spencer: “This is wild, my entire brain is different.” Suddenly, I could eat foods that I love and know are nutritious — I am a dietitian after all — and, for the first time in my life, stop when full. I had no more interest in stealing chicken nuggets from my kids. After the first week, I thought even if I don’t lose a pound, the benefit to my mental health would be worth it.
I didn’t realize how much mental space was consumed by thoughts about food until it was gone.
Now, I’m the type of person who can stop after one cookie and not even think about the candy jar at work. I hardly drink alcohol anymore — those two margaritas on vacation were tasty, sure, but I had no desire to get intoxicated. I’ve never felt so safe around food.
Helping others with WeightWatchers Clinic
After a few months as a patient, I tweeted Dr. Spencer again: “Hey man, y’all hiring dietitians?” And well, here I am. I’ve lost 145 pounds. I’m part of an incredible team of highly skilled, compassionate, empathetic dietitians delivering life-changing 1:1 nutrition counseling and behavior-change techniques alongside obesity-informed clinicians. I’m helping others, sharing my story, enjoying a healthy body weight, and absolutely loving my life.
For the first time, my weight is finally just a number. Let's be really honest here: It is a whole lot easier to work on your relationship with food and your body — and unpack the ways you were impacted by diet culture — when you aren’t hungry all of the time.
If you’re frustrated with diets, I hear you. But I need you to know: Just because the diets didn’t work for you doesn’t mean that the problem was you.
Obesity is a chronic disease — not a lack of willpower or skill or education — and there is not a one-size-fits-all approach. That’s something everyone at WeightWatchers Clinic understands, and that’s why our members feel like they have finally found a place where they feel seen, heard, and understood. They have found peace with their biology.
This content is for informational purposes only and does not constitute medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. It should not be regarded as a substitute for guidance from your healthcare provider.