If you've struggled with weight for years—maybe decades—before finding GLP-1 medication, there's probably a younger version of you who could have used some compassion. Who deserved to know it wasn't their fault. Who needed to hear that help was coming.
This letter is for that version of you. And for everyone still in the thick of it.
Dear You,
I know how tired you are. Not just physically—though carrying extra weight is exhausting—but bone-deep tired. Tired of trying. Tired of failing. Tired of the hope-disappointment cycle that feels like it will never end.
I know about the diets. So many diets. The counting and restricting and white-knuckling through hunger that never got easier. The brief victories followed by inevitable regains. The voice in your head calling you weak, undisciplined, broken.
That voice is wrong.
You're not broken. You never were. You were fighting your own biology—survival mechanisms honed over millions of years that were never designed for a world of constant food abundance. You were trying to will your way through a problem that willpower alone cannot solve. Not because you're weak, but because that's not how bodies work.
The shame you carry—it was never yours to carry. You absorbed messages from a world that didn't understand obesity as a medical condition. You internalized the judgment. You believed you were the problem.
You weren't the problem. You were a person with a condition that, until very recently, we didn't have effective tools to treat. You did your best with what you had. Every diet you tried, every gym you joined, every morning you started over—that was strength, not weakness.
I want you to know: help is coming. Real help. Not another diet. Not another promise that ends in disappointment. Actual medical treatment that works with your biology instead of against it. Treatment that quiets the food noise, reduces the hunger, makes the impossible possible.
It's not magic. You'll still need to make choices and build habits. But the fight won't be so hard anymore. The constant willpower battle—it ends. You'll be able to just... eat. Like it was never a big deal. Like other people always seemed to do while you wondered what was wrong with you.
Nothing was wrong with you.
The years you spent struggling—they weren't wasted. They taught you resilience. They showed you who supports you and who doesn't. They made you determined to feel better in your body. That determination matters now.
So hang on. Keep going. The next chapter is different. You're going to feel things you haven't felt in years—maybe ever. Freedom from food obsession. Peace with your body. Energy to live instead of just survive.
You deserve this. You always did.
If You're Still in the Thick of It
Maybe you haven't started medication yet. Maybe you're on the fence, skeptical that anything could really be different this time. That skepticism makes sense—you've been burned before.
But this is different. Not because I say so, but because the mechanism is different. This isn't another behavior-based approach asking you to try harder at something that never worked. It's a medical intervention that changes the underlying biology.
You don't have to believe it will work. You just have to be willing to try.
If You're on the Other Side
Maybe you've been on GLP-1 medication for a while now. You've experienced the quiet. You've lost weight. You've felt the relief.
Don't forget what it was like before. Not to torture yourself, but to have compassion—for your past self, and for everyone still struggling. The transformation can feel so complete that you almost forget the before. Remember it. It makes the now even more precious.
You did it. You kept going. You found your way here. That matters.
The Letter You Might Write
Consider writing your own letter—to the version of you who struggled. What would you want them to know? What compassion would you offer? What hope?
That exercise isn't just sentimental. It helps integrate the journey. It acknowledges both the difficulty of before and the possibility of now. It creates space for gratitude and healing.
You made it. Not everyone does. But you're here, reading this, probably healthier than you've been in years. That's worth celebrating. That's worth a letter.
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