The body image discussion is a never-ending cycle: from heroin chic to body positivity and everything in between, someone, somewhere, is telling us how we should look. On top of that, they are telling us how she should, and should not get there. Very rarely, in all these decisions being made for us, is there an open and honest discussion about our differences and or health. On top of that, there is now an added dimension, because so many people are taking these super drugs that help weight loss. Of course, as always, everyone has an opinion (I was initially going to say everyone and their dog, but we all know that dogs are just happy for you, and don’t judge).
These days, whenever someone loses a lot of weight, people immediately jump into the weight loss medication discussion. “Oh, she must have used Ozempic,” or “there’s no way she did that on her own.” In my experience, the judgement coming from most people is almost immediate. To counter that, people who have lost a lot of weight will respond with some variation of the statement: “oh no, I didn’t take any weight loss drugs, I actually worked hard for this.” As though taking the medication was equivalent to cheating at an Olympic sport.
This is just so dangerous, it’s infuriating. Equating good health to size and weight is almost always false, and none of us can truly know or understand someone else’s journey, what they have done or what they need to do to get to where they are now. Mentally and physically, those on the outside just don’t have any clue, outside of what those same people tell us. And why should they tell us anything if we continue to judge their choices anyway?
We all know this, though most of us still deal with some kind of unconscious bias when it comes to size: when we see someone slim, we assume they are healthy. But we know this is not the case. Time and time again people who lose weight tell stories about how many complements they got when they were profoundly unwell: cancer treatments, eating disorders, and mental illness, can all lead to significant weight loss. Yet, when they are seen out in the world, they are seen as somehow superior, healthier and more in line with societal expectations, than those who don’t fit the required shape standards.
Meanwhile, across the board, people who are chunky are considered unhealthy, when often they are active and happy, living their best lives. The recent Olympics have given some great examples: US Rugy player IIlona Maher has spoken about her experience of being considered overweight from a young age, and Simone Biles was even told by her coaches that she was too fat and needed to lose weight if she wanted to succeed as a gymnast. I think we can all agree that neither of these women are anywhere near fat. They are powerful and glorious.
While the general mindset is starting to change with various body positivity campaigns, but a lot of it is still very much on the surface, pandering to the wider community to increase sales (is there a body positivity version of pink washing?).
In the end, as long as the medical community (not just specialists but your GP/family doctor) don’t take the time to really understand you as a person and your weight loss journey, instead of just saying: “your BMI is too high, exercise more and cut out on the cookies” (side rant: at some point we really should talk about how BMI is absolutely unsuitable for measuring one’s health considering it was developed in the 19th century for … shockingly… white men), the overall discussion about healthy weight will not change, no many how many soap advertisements say otherwise. So, while are bombarded from all sides on how we should look and how we should feel, we can’t then later ostracise people for looking for, and happily finding, a solution to help them lose the extra weight.
For most who do want / need to lose weight: there’s a piece of news that is both shocking and revolutionary. In fact, spoiler alert, I may be the first to expose this massive informational breakthrough. Losing weight is hard. Everybody is different: age, hormones, stress, trauma, general health, not to mention the overall relationship with food (stress eating anyone?) – so many things come into play when it comes to weight. So many of us work really hard, and have been doing it for years, trying to get our weight down: be it through working out, healthier eating, changing overall habits, or a combination of the three. Sometimes, it just isn’t enough. Unlike celebrities and the wealthy who have personal chefs, trainers and a life that revolves around what they look like, most people also have jobs to go to, and so cannot schedule their lives around food and exercise. They must work so that they can eat at all. Life is stressful, and most people are doing the best they can do be healthy.
What’s particularly dangerous in all of this is that so many people assume that there has to be a certain amount of suffering for health: that we have to somehow earn the right to lose weight. This is especially true of celebrities, who when asked about the physical change, will be quick to deny any outside help (surgery, medication, whatever), and then talk about how hard they worked. The thing is, the two aren’t mutually exclusive. You can try, you can work hard, and then suddenly get a boost to help you hit your goal. Because you needed the boost and it actually worked, it doesn’t make you any less deserving of the weight loss, or more importantly, the better health (mental and physical) that comes with it. If you do need to lose weight to be healthier and happier (and I’m not talking about losing 3 kgs to look good at your cousin’s wedding), why are you not deserving of some extra help?
Now, a confession, so I definitely have a personal stake in all of this. I have been overweight for 12 years. In 2012 I stopped smoking, and in my eternal wisdom, I replaced cigarettes with croissants. Alongside my stellar judgement, I’d never really been taught about healthy eating (that’s a whole other story), and so that, coupled with my penchant for dealing with every kind of emotion with food, there was no way I wasn’t going to gain weight. At my heaviest I was at 80kgs, over 20kgs higher than what I was when I started smoking. Plus, it’s not like I’m tall. I’m all of a towering 158cm, so I can barely see over the steering wheel of any car that’s not a sedan. Basically, I had transformed into a donut shaped Hobbit. For a while I was in denial, but then I really tried to get my shit together to lose weight. I tried Weight Watchers, weightlifting diets (basically an entire year of eating chicken and green beans), specialist nutritionists, Keto, calorie counting using various apps, aesthetic procedures (no surgery though): you name it, I tried it. When I went to see a various doctors about it, the answer was the same: work out more, eat less, and count your calories. I must want to lose weight, I just had to work at it, and for sure it would happen. I’d lose a bit, but inevitably, it would always bounce back, and my weight would go even higher. Then I’d get depressed and eat more. Shockingly to everyone who has ever struggled with their weight, over the long term, I failed miserably.
Of course, time stops for no one, and over that whole period, I (shockingly) got older. With age comes even more changes in our bodies, hormonal fluctuations, and all sorts of other pre-menopausal chaos. So, I struggled even more. I exercised, I tried to take care, but in the end, I’d stand on the scale and end up in tears. I stopped dressing well, I didn’t think I deserved nice clothes, so I’d just buy cheap fast fashion whenever I needed something new. But I tried to avoid shopping for clothes as much as possible. It wasn’t worth the depression that came after I tried for the hundredth time to buy a pair of jeans.
A good friend of mine had been on Ozempic for a few years already and had lost a lot of weight. She was ecstatic with the results. We’d both had the same issues, and she’d been bugging me for years to try it, but I was in that terrible cycle: I had to earn it. Do I deserve to be healthy if it comes that easily?
Finally, depressed and frustrated, I went to the doctor again, a new GP, and this time, I was ready for battle. I didn’t want to be told I just had to work out more, that I wasn’t pushing or taking my health seriously. I didn’t know what I wanted, I didn’t necessarily think I would ask for weight loss drugs specifically, I just wanted some help that wasn’t made up of “just eat more vegetables and work out”. This time though, I was lucky. Instead of the usual speech, she immediately spoke to me about weight loss drugs. We spoke at length about my various health issues due to my weight (all my joints were hurting, I couldn’t climb more than one flight of stairs without exhaustion, I wasn’t sleeping well, I had a ton of back pain, etc), and how, as I am getting older, it wasn’t going to get better if I didn’t get this in hand. Instead of shaming me, she offered a potential solution. It wasn’t Ozempic the magic injection, but something similar, just in pill form, called Rybelsus. My doctor wanted to give me Ozempic, but as there as a shortage for diabetics, they weren’t prescribing it to non-diabetics, which is fair enough. I did not want to be the reason someone with diabetes was not able to get lifesaving medicine. I’d never heard of the pill, but did some research (and by research, I mean I wrote to my friend who’s an MD and she basically did the research and told me it was ok), and then agreed to try it, under the supervision of my doctor. I kept working out, and I was still being conscious and responsible about what, when and why I ate, and this was going to be an extra boost to get me there.
Gentle reader (if you don’t hear Julie Andrews and see Nicola Coughlan when reading those two words, can we even be friends?), let me be clear: it was magic. Over the next 12-14 months, the weight started coming off. It was like a dream. Suddenly, my knees and ankles weren’t constantly in pain. My hips didn’t hurt going up a flight of stairs. I could breathe. Life was suddenly easier. My self-confidence went up too. I felt better in my clothes: I took better care of how I looked and what I wore. I didn’t hide in black and grey all the time (I still wear a ton of black and grey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, but I don’t mind adding other colours … sometimes). I even went out and bought a new pair of jeans (and they were on sale!).
In my mind, it wasn’t about meeting a body standard – according to those same standards, I still need to lose a good 5-8 kgs, but there’s no way I’m doing that. I feel great as I am – now, it’s about maintaining it, being strong and healthy, like so many other Queens out there. It’s about being healthy, not skinny. And I will never give up chocolate.
None of this means that I didn’t work for my health: that I don’t deserve this happiness, this renewed health and energy because I took these pills. I deserve all of it. I will not hide how I lost my weight, or the fact that I needed extra help, because I did, and I am so happy and grateful that I got it.
Instead of judging people who need extra help to get their health in hand, let’s cheer them on, however they decide to do so. They deserve it.
(Note to reader, this is not an ad, none of these companies paid me to advertise their medications. And please, whenever taking any kind of medication, do so under the supervision of a medical professional).
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