My Weight Loss Story
I didn’t know I was addicted — I thought I was just pathetic.
Other people who ate normally seemed like a completely different species to me.
You eat half a cookie and leave the rest for later? What?
You eat slowly to enjoy it longer? Come on… How is that even possible?
You skip a meal because you’re not hungry? I didn’t even know what real hunger felt like...
Still, a tiny flame of faith lived inside me — faith that one day I would achieve a normal weight. I never threw away my “slim clothes.” I kept them, believing somehow that I would need them again.
In my imagination, I lived an alternate life: slim, happy, productive, successful. I escaped into that fantasy instead of facing the reality of my destructive habits. I would eat until I was unconscious, fall asleep dreaming of the life I wished I had.
Now, looking back, I see how dangerous that was — but I also know it helped me survive the worst times.
The truth is, I hated myself — every single day, every single minute.
And honestly, can you blame me? I never kept a single promise I made to myself. If a friend treated me the way I treated myself, I would have ended that friendship long ago.
- “I promise I won’t snooze tomorrow.” — Snooze button, again.
- “I promise I won’t eat any sweets tomorrow.” — Walking to the store to buy a box of macadamia cookies… and eating the whole thing alone.
- “I promise I’ll work out tomorrow.” — “Oh, forget it. One missed day won’t matter anyway”
New Year’s resolutions, birthday promises:
I will be the woman of my dreams. I will become “that girl.” I will enter my 30s in the best shape of my life. I will look good at my sister’s wedding.
This misery lasted over 20 years. (Yes, you read that right — I started actively hating myself and trying to “fix” myself at 11 years old.)
It impacted every part of my life:
- Education: I procrastinated writing my university thesis for four years and barely graduated.
- Love life: I didn’t have a boyfriend through high school and university — too self-conscious to even try. (I did have an imaginary boyfriend, Adam. He was handsome and loved me dearly.)
- Friendships: I lost so many friends, convinced that nobody really wanted to spend time with me.
- Talents: My early musical talents — singing and piano — died because I couldn’t force myself to practice.
- Career: Imagine what I could have achieved if I had been able to just do what I needed to do, instead of procrastinating and barely getting by.
- Fitness: Every fitness plan lasted a couple of days max — then dissolved mysteriously, like magic.
My Weight Loss Story
Growing up, I was always the “tall girl,” the “big-boned girl,” as my mom kindly put it. In school, I stayed within a normal weight range. But once I moved out for university and started making my own food decisions, everything spiraled out of control.
Pasta for dinner? Sure — the entire bag.
Bread with butter? A whole loaf, gone.
Candy and chips instead of real meals? No problem.
Cereal? The whole box — just a snack.
Honestly, when I see people doing food challenges like eating 10,000 calories in one sitting, I’m not impressed. I lived it.
The weight crept on, slowly but surely. I became officially obese — the sobbing in dressing rooms and never leaving the house kind of obese.
After university, I moved to Canada with my then boyfriend. I thought it would be a fresh start. Instead, it was lonely, freezing, and depressing. No friends. No family. No job. And food became my only comfort.
Then alcohol.
Then weed.
I hit new weight milestones:
85kg, 90kg, 95kg… and finally 99.15kg. (Probably more — but I never saw 100 on the scale with my own eyes.)
Then came the side effects:
- Plantar fasciitis
- Loud snoring that made my husband consider sleeping separately
- Zero stamina — even slow walking was painful
- Skin rashes, scalp issues, pimples
- Visible veins popping on my legs
- Strechmarks
… to name a few.
My First Attempts at Weight Loss
First attempt: Keto diet in 2020. Lost over 10kg in two months.
Result: Gained it all back (plus some) as soon as I stopped obsessively counting net-carbs.
Second attempt: Ozempic. I asked my doctor for help when I was over 90kg. I scraped together the money for weekly injections. And yes — it was magical.
The hunger disappeared instantly. I ate tiny portions, lost weight rapidly, and basked in endless compliments. I felt amazing — fainted a few times, but wore that like a badge of honor.
Down to 75kg! I felt like I had arrived to a dream land.
Then real life hit again.
New job.
Stress.
Ozempic removed the feeling of hunger — but I needed food to deal with the pressure.
One stressful call?
Run to the store.
Buy candy.
Eat it in the elevator.
One bag of candy turned into two, then three. Always finishing all of it. Always needing more.
I kept taking Ozempic while binge-eating, but eventually, even I realized it made no sense.
I stopped the shots.
And within weeks, I gained it all back — over 90kg again.
The misery was unbearable.
I knew what it felt like to be healthy and happy.
I knew I could feel good.
And yet, I was back in my personal hell.
Breaking Point
One night, my husband asked if I wanted to watch Breaking Bad.
I said no.
But he watched anyway, and I caught a scene: Jesse, a young addict, sitting in a circle at an AA type of meeting.
And I thought to myself:
“I wish I was a drug addict or alcoholic. At least there’s help for that.”
That’s right.
I wished I was an alcoholic.
Because at least alcoholics had Alcoholics Anonymous.
Shortly after that thought, I found myself at my computer, googling:
“AA for food progblems.”
And there it was:
Overeaters Anonymous (OA).
I clicked on the site.
Meetings.
Thousands of them.
Any time zone.
Any day.
My First OA Meeting
I joined the first Zoom meeting I could find.
Camera off, of course.
Heart pounding.
The women were reading from something called the “Big Book.”
(Ah — it’s for alcoholics, but food addicts use it too.)
Then they started sharing.
One woman admitted to eating food out of the trash.
Another confessed to stealing food.
It was intense.
But they smiled at me.
Welcomed me.
Told me: “Keep coming back.”
That night, I still binged.
But I also knew:
There is help out there.
The Real Recovery
You cannot do this alone – people kept saying at meetings.
I kept attending random meetings, just listening.
I learned that recovery wasn’t about diets or fitness challenges.
It was about emotions.
About honesty.
About surrendering to a Higher Power.
(At first, I wasn’t interested in the “Higher Power” part. I just wanted to lose weight.)
But during a special “Newcomer Meeting,” someone said:
“You need a clear head to work on recovery. You can’t recover while you’re still bingeing.”
That stuck with me.
Someone offered to call me for support. I left my number.
A few days later, I got a text.
Then a video call with a young woman who became my temporary sponsor.
She wasn’t the “wise old mentor” I pictured.
She was young.
But she understood me completely.
She helped me define my abstinence:
- 3 meals a day
- No snacks
- Water, tea, and coffee as bevarages I don’t have to log
- No sugar, no white flour (my “alcoholic foods”)
- Food plan for the next day sent to her every night
At first, I resisted the “no sugar, no flour” rule.
I thought moderation would work for me.
But my sponsor stood firm:
If you plan to eat flour and sugar, I can’t sponsor you.
That stern love saved me.
One day at a time.
Only until bedtime.
Focus on today, and today only.
Where I Am Now
Those first two weeks were brutal.
I cried.
I was unproductive.
I was angry and scared.
But my sponsor reminded me:
If you were abstinent today, it was a success.
And now?
Almost nine months later:
- 66 pounds gone.
- Healthy weight.
- Strong and fit.
- I run. I lift weights.
- I feel alive for the first time.
And more importantly —
I am finally at peace.
With food.
With myself.
With life.
Now I’m using the 12 Steps to work on procrastination, fear of judgment, and self-doubt.
For the first time, I have a solid foundation to build a beautiful life.
I wake up excited.
I live in surrender.
I live in joy.
I live in faith.
Have a beautiful day, dear friends.
Kay