NO, I’M NOT ASHAMED.

Let’s get this out of the way first.

Yes. I used a GLP-1 during most of my weight-loss journey.

I’m not going to hide it.

I’m not going to whisper it.

And I’m definitely not going to let somebody else make me feel ashamed of it.

People love to call medication like this “the easy way out.”

The cheat code.

The shortcut.

Cool.

But there was nothing easy about rebuilding my entire life.

The medication didn’t wake up and do yoga for me.

It didn’t lace up my shoes and walk my dog.

It didn’t track my food, lift my dumbbells, choose the stairs, swim laps, ride my bike, take progress pictures or drag me through the days when I didn’t feel like doing any of it.

I did that.

The GLP-1 was a tool.

And I used the hell out of that tool.

I WAS READY TO CHANGE

When I started, I was in one of the darkest places of my life.

I had been laid off from work. I had some savings. And for once, instead of pouring everything I had into simply surviving, I decided I was going to invest some of it into me.

GLP-1 medication is expensive.

If I was going to spend that kind of money, I wasn’t screwing around.

Something clicked in my head:

If I’m doing this, I’m doing this.

I bought a cheap smartwatch.

A smart scale.

Four dumbbells.

A kettlebell.

I downloaded an app to track my food and exercise.

Nothing fancy.

No luxury home gym.

No celebrity trainer.

No secret meal delivery service.

Just some basic equipment, information, determination and a woman who had finally reached the point where staying the same hurt more than changing.

Then came the part I hated.

The photos.

I took the uncomfortable before pictures.

And when I say uncomfortable, I mean brutal.

At that point in my life, I barely wanted to look at myself in the mirror.

Standing in front of a camera and documenting the body I had spent so much time trying not to see felt almost impossible.

But I did it anyway.

Because I needed to stop hiding from myself.

THEN I GOT OBSESSED WITH KEEPING THE PROMISE

Not obsessed with being skinny.

Obsessed with proving to myself that I could follow through.

I researched.

I learned.

I created a routine.

And I moved.

A lot.

I did yoga twice a day.

I walked or ran with my dog twice a day.

I usually did another activity too, whether that was swimming, cycling or something else that got me moving.

I took the stairs instead of the elevator.

I parked at the far end of parking lots.

And apparently sitting normally on the couch was no longer an option because I would catch myself doing squat-to-stands off the damn thing.

😂

I could not sit still.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was actively fighting for my own life.

Not literally fighting my body.

Fighting for the life I wanted to live inside it.

“BUT THE MEDICATION DID THE WORK.”

No.

And this is exactly why I want to talk about it.

I’ve seen people take these medications expecting them to work like some magical fat-loss pill while changing absolutely nothing else.

That wasn’t my approach.

Medication gave me an opportunity.

I still had to decide what I was going to do with it.

I changed how I ate.

I tracked what I was eating.

I exercised.

I learned about nutrition.

I built routines.

I kept showing up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Did the GLP-1 help?

Absolutely.

That’s the whole point.

I’m not going to minimize what it did for me just so somebody else feels more comfortable with my weight loss.

It helped me tremendously.

And one of the biggest changes had nothing to do with some magical disappearance of effort.

It was finally getting some quiet inside my head.

THE FOOD NOISE GOT QUIETER

If you’ve never experienced intense food noise, this might be hard to understand.

It can sound like:

“What am I eating later?”

You just finished breakfast.

“There are cookies in the cupboard.”

You’re not hungry.

“Maybe I should grab something while I’m out.”

You already ate.

“I shouldn’t eat that. Now I really want it.”

“There are leftovers in the fridge.”

“I’ll start again tomorrow.”

“Just have one.”

Then somehow you spend the next hour thinking about the one.

It’s this constant background chatter around food.

Planning it.

Avoiding it.

Wanting it.

Feeling guilty about it.

Thinking about your next meal while you’re still eating the current one.

For me, the medication turned the volume down.

And when things finally got quieter, I had room to actually learn.

I HAD A LOT TO LEARN ABOUT FOOD

One of the biggest shocks during my journey was realizing how little I actually understood about nutrition.

There were foods I considered “healthy” that were easy to overconsume.

Foods I had no idea contained as much added sugar as they did.

Portion sizes that looked completely different once I actually measured them.

And carbohydrates?

For years, diet culture had practically convinced me they should come with a warning label.

Turns out carbs weren’t the enemy.

Neither was eating.

I needed to understand food instead of being afraid of it.

I learned about protein.

Calories.

Portions.

Whole foods.

Fiber.

Carbohydrates.

Fats.

Moderation.

And how foods can fit into your life without being classified as either GOOD or BAD.

That education changed everything.

Because I wasn’t just trying to lose weight anymore.

I was learning how to live differently.

I’VE BEEN THE “BIGGER GIRL” FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER

This story didn’t begin when I started medication.

It started when I was a kid.

I was overweight for most of my childhood.

And children notice when you’re different.

Sometimes they’re cruel.

Sometimes they don’t even realize what they’re saying.

Sometimes an innocent comment lands directly on the insecurity you’ve been desperately trying to hide.

Those comments stuck with me.

They made me feel less than.

Then I would go home carrying all of that while already trying to process difficult things happening within my family.

I didn’t have the emotional tools for any of it.

So being overweight became about far more than weight.

It became tied to how I saw myself.

My confidence.

My relationships.

My worth.

By adulthood, part of me genuinely believed I simply wasn’t worthy of good things.

“I’LL GIVE YOU $500 IF YOU LOSE 20 POUNDS.”

My mom used to offer me money for clothes if I lost weight.

Something like:

“I’ll give you $500 for new clothes if you lose 20 pounds.”

And as a kid, that was incredibly confusing.

Because nobody was teaching me how.

I wasn’t buying the groceries.

I wasn’t preparing all my meals.

I didn’t understand calories, protein, nutrition or energy balance.

I just understood:

My body is a problem.

My parents and my older sister were fit, and from my perspective, it often felt like they were embarrassed by me.

Whether every part of that feeling reflected what they intended or not, that is how I experienced it.

And those feelings followed me for years.

SO I TRIED EVERYTHING WE WERE TOLD WOULD WORK

Atkins.

Keto.

Whatever diet was having its fifteen minutes of fame.

I tried them.

Nothing lasted.

Eventually I decided maybe I needed professional help.

The recreation centre where I went swimming offered personal training, so I signed up.

I thought:

Finally. Someone is going to teach me what I’m doing wrong.

Instead, I was handed what felt like a generic five-page food guide.

Eat this.

Don’t eat that.

Very little explanation of nutrition.

Very little education.

Then I was put on a treadmill or elliptical for about twenty minutes and shown a couple of basic dumbbell exercises I already knew.

That was basically it.

I walked away feeling defeated.

Again.

Because when something doesn’t work, you start wondering whether you’re the thing that doesn’t work.

THEN I FOUND SOMETHING THAT HELPED ME

For me, GLP-1 medication was a game changer.

Actually, scratch that.

It was a life changer.

That does not mean it is right for everyone.

I’m not a doctor.

I’m not here to prescribe it.

I’m not here to convince you to take it.

And I’m definitely not here to sell you some fantasy where you take an injection and wake up in a different body.

If GLP-1 medication is something you’re interested in, that conversation belongs between you and a qualified healthcare professional who understands your medical history.

I am simply telling you what happened to me.

Truthfully.

Publicly.

And unapologetically.

Because people who choose medical help with their weight should not have to hide in the shadows pretending they did something shameful.

YOU DON’T GET EXTRA POINTS FOR SUFFERING

This is the part I really want women to hear.

You do not get a medal because you made something harder than it needed to be.

We use medication for countless health concerns without demanding that people prove they suffered enough first.

Yet weight loss comes with this strange moral scoreboard.

Did you lose it naturally?

Did you use medication?

Did you have surgery?

Did you count calories?

Were you miserable enough while doing it?

Did you struggle enough for us to decide you “earned” your results?

I’m not playing that game.

My transformation belongs to me.

The work belongs to me.

The tears belong to me.

The choices belong to me.

The medication was part of my story too.

And I refuse to erase that chapter just because somebody else doesn’t like the way I wrote it.

THE WEIGHT LOSS GAVE ME MORE THAN A SMALLER BODY

Losing weight gave me something I desperately needed.

Momentum.

I started doing the things I had spent years telling myself I wasn’t good enough to do.

Trying hobbies.

Learning skills.

Being active.

Going places.

Meeting people.

Wearing things I would have hidden from before.

Taking pictures.

Looking in mirrors.

Taking up space.

Building a career.

Building confidence.

Building relationships.

Building a life that once felt like it belonged to somebody else.

And that’s what CINDR is really about.

Not shrinking yourself until the world approves of you.

Building yourself until you recognize the woman staring back at you.

The medication helped me begin.

But I built the habits.

I built the strength.

I built the confidence.

I built the life.

And I’m still building.

Because this was never just about losing weight.

IT WAS ABOUT GETTING MYSELF BACK.

And no.

I’m not ashamed of how I did it.

CINDR // REBUILD YOURSELF. NOT YOUR EXCUSES.