As my metabolism turns: weight loss, inflammation, and designer bags…

My weight and I have been a complicated relationship my entire life. I was never the skinny girl. I was the girl with curves—or as my aunt liked to say, “a brick shithouse.” To this day, I’m still not entirely sure if that was a compliment or a construction assessment.

I had curves. Big boobs, small waist, and a butt. Then in my twenties, everything flipped. I dropped to a size 4 and stayed there for months—until I found out I had a severe case of Graves Disease.

I went through radioactive iodine treatment to shut down my overactive thyroid, and I’ve been euthyroid ever since. Through most of my 30s and 40s, I hovered around a size 8–10, cycling through fad diets like it was a part-time job with zero benefits.

Then 2020 hit.

COVID brought isolation, and I ate more. Then my dog died, and I ate to cope with the grief. Then my dad died… and I ate some more. Menopause showed up and weight gain followed—effortlessly and unapologetically, like it had been waiting for its moment. Then my medication failed, and food noise was all I could hear. It was like having a tiny, relentless food commentator living in my brain. “You could eat. You should eat. Why aren’t you eating?”

That’s when my body went completely off the rails.

Depression, menopause, and chronic inflammation collided and wrecked my mental and physical metabolism. Add in a steady stream of steroids to manage ongoing flares, and I gained over 80 pounds.

This time, nothing worked.

I tried a medically supervised liquid diet—and somehow gained weight, which honestly felt like a personal attack. I tried pre-packaged meal plans—no change. Every attempt felt like proof that I was failing, even though deep down I knew something bigger was going on.

I hated how I looked. I hated how I felt.

I stopped going out. Hid in baggy clothes. Avoided people whenever I could.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped recognizing myself.

In 2024, I finally approached my endocrinologist about a GLP-1. She explained that even if my insurance approved it, actually finding it in a pharmacy would be like trying to locate a unicorn in the wild. As it turns out, I didn’t need to worry about that problem—my insurance denied it, and the out-of-pocket cost was completely out of reach. My heart sank.

Fast forward to 2025, and I found myself in the emergency room—my body completely wrecked by inflammation in my joints and even my organs.

I had barely been eating for weeks because I felt so sick, and I lost 10 pounds. But once I started feeling better and tried to stick to a low-calorie diet, the scale didn’t budge. Not an ounce. Apparently, my metabolism had entered its “we’re keeping everything, thanks” era.

Around that time, I made a big life change. I sold my home to move closer to my family—and decided it was finally time to invest in myself.

I took some of that house money and committed to a six-month supply of a GLP-1.

I did the research. I looked at everything—brand-name options, compounded versions, all of it. Even though the name-brand medications have come down in price, they’re still out of reach for me financially.

So I went a different route.

I chose to work with a compounding pharmacy and started Tirzepatide.

What really sold me wasn’t just the weight loss. The more I researched, the more I saw potential benefits beyond the scale—reduced inflammation, and even lower risks for heart and kidney complications.

At that point, I was all in.

I started my injections in early January and have lost 27 pounds (on top of the 10 I lost when I was sick). For the first time in my life, I’m not obsessively counting calories. Instead, I focus on getting in about 100 grams of protein a day. I’m also taking supplements to help offset some of the less glamorous side effects—because no one signs up for hair loss and digestive drama.

I’ve been working on changing my eating habits, hoping that when I eventually wean off the medication, I’ll have something sustainable in place.

I may or may not be rewarding myself with new purses along the way. (Listen… personal growth comes in many forms.) When I hit the 50-pound milestone, I’m getting my dream bag—inspired by the designer version I’ve been side-eyeing for years. We’re on a budget, not a fantasy island.

Do I feel better? That’s a tricky question.

Mentally, yes. Absolutely. I feel more like myself again. I still have a long way to go, but for the first time in a long time, I feel encouraged instead of defeated.

Physically… it’s more complicated.

I’m still dealing with inflammation. My new medication hasn’t been the miracle cure I had hoped for. I’m still in pain. Still fatigued. Still fighting my body some days.

But I have something I didn’t have before.

Hope.

And that matters more than I can put into words.

It’s frustrating that access to these medications still comes with such a high cost, but I’m hopeful that will change in the coming years.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned through all of this?

Food noise was running the show.

And finally, for the first time, it’s quiet.