Stop Asking People If They’re On Weight Loss Medication

I wasn’t going to publish this, but I changed my mind after a doctor’s appointment yesterday confirming I’ve lost about 65 pounds over the last two years.

And over that time I’ve been asked questions that irk me.

“Are you getting the shot?”

Remember when that used to mean something different than weight loss medication? I almost crave those days again, and they were terrible.

Now we have random strangers, acquaintances, well-meaning family, and judgmental friends, asking us if we’re on a GLP-1, or any number of other names for it.

It’s unacceptable and a violation of privacy.

If you’re not the person’s medical provider and it occurs to you to ask someone any variation of this question: Are you on a weight loss drug?

The answer is: It’s none of your fucking business.

Period.

Stop asking.

It’s rude.

Even if it’s totally innocent.

Even if you’re “just curious.”

And especially if you have one ounce of judgment or self-righteousness behind the question.

In which case, you can fuck right the fuck off.

How dare you? This is a deeply personal decision between an individual and their doctor. If they want you to know about it, they’ll tell you.

I know you’re curious.

I know, for the most part, you’re well-intentioned.

But it is a violation of someone’s privacy, health information, and, at least for me, an insertion into a deeply emotional and chaotic stew– the ingredients of which include: shame; self-worth; self-image; intimacy; physical aches and pains; abuse, and a whole bunch of other stuff I don’t want to unpack with you when you ask that irresponsible question, and, even worse, when its asked in front of other people.

It’s none of your fucking business.

If someone is losing weight, feeling better, getting healthier, let them. If you have an opinion about it other than, “Good for you!” or, “I’m proud of you,” then STFU.

Nothing beyond that is any of your concern.

Are there risks? Yes.

Risks they have inevitably discussed with their doctors or, these days, with ChatGPT. They know the risks. They’ve made their decision. Your opinion isn’t helping anyone but your ego.

You may think it’s about a shot, or a shortcut, or just another money-making fad. I’m not here to argue or dissuade you. Maybe you’re right. Doesn’t matter.

It’s none of your fucking business.

Maybe your concern is deeper. Maybe you’re worried that these weight loss drugs might have long-term negative effects on people you love (or total strangers). Valid. Could be a beautiful thing, caring about people like that. The reality is, we just don’t know those effects yet.

And…

It’s none of your fucking business.

There’s more at play here. And maybe you don’t get it. That’s okay. I’ll share my own story here, and this is my choice.

I’ve been on a weight loss drug for at least two years.

Maybe it will kill me eventually. Maybe whatever compounds God’s scientists have created will eventually cause the tumor that sucks the last bit of life from me in forty years. I’m 49. Who fucking cares?

You know what else is linked to cancer? Red meat. Processed meat. Alcohol. Sugar. So many things. It might take a hundred years to for them to kill us, but are you quitting them today because of that?

Maybe you are, and good for you, I’m proud of you, but for most of us, it’s not likely.

So chill.

Everything is killing us.

I saw a quote the other day that said something like, “Living healthier is simply dying slower.”

There’s no escape from the inevitable death of our physical bodies. But, we can use the miracles of modern science to live better while we’re here.

Sure, there’s a trade-off for this kind of treatment plan. There are side-effects. And there may be an unknown long-term impact.

But here’s the thing, there are risks that exist without the medication too.

Obesity kills.

The National Institute for Health says obesity can reduce life expectancy by several years to over a decade, depending on the severity of the excess weight and individual risk factors.

And that’s just the physical side.

There’s that whole chaotic emotional stew part too. I’ve been struggling with my self image and weight for decades now. It started when I was a kid, and I don’t know exactly why yet. Tracking the source keeps my therapist employed.

But according to my Mom, one day I was a joyful boy who would shuck his shirt and jump in the pool with other kids, and then one day I refused to ever take my shirt off in front of other people again.

That lasted until I was 35 years old.

And I didn’t start taking my shirt off at 35 because I suddenly got thin or fit, I just surrounded myself with people who appreciated a bigger build.

Less judgment there. But it still didn’t solve the problem. I still had pain. Despite playing sports, hiking, and remaining active and on my feet as I built businesses, I was still fat. My doctors still checked the “Morbid Obesity” box on my chart.

And the bigger I got, the more my body hurt. My hips ached. My knees wobbled. Walking, much less hiking, became painful, and not fun anymore, which made things worse. I got bigger.

The most painful thing to do was look at myself in the mirror. I started buying clothes that I thought hid my size. Double and triple XL shirts. Stretchy pants.

I stood behind people in group pictures. I sucked my stomach in so much you’d think I would have six-pack abs. Selfies were cropped just right.

My urge to socialize or go out diminished greatly, with no proper clothing, deep shame, and total insecurity. I could always blame my introversion for turning down an invite, but if I’m really honest with myself, I know it was my weight more times than I’m proud to admit.

And now, for the first time in decades, I feel good about my body and my physical progress. My hips don’t hurt. My back is better. I hike or walk 5-10 miles a day with joy in my heart.

For my birthday last week, I received the gift of a whole new wardrobe of bright, colorful shirts that actually fit my new body. Maybe that’s why this is so fresh on my mind, and why I feel so passionate about this right now.

Because, last week, when I looked in the dressing-room mirror after trying on that first shirt, the one I’ve avoided shopping for the last 15-20 years, where you actually go to a store and have to try it on, I liked what I saw.

Progress.

It’s interesting how you can be with yourself every moment of every day and not notice progress, isn’t it?

And one look at myself in clothing other than my standard XXL Orvis flyfishing shirts snapped me into reality. Yesterday’s trip to the doctor, measuring my overall weight loss, confirmed it. My hard work, done in collaboration with science, is working.

And I find myself excited to wake up and dress up again. I’m motivated to get to the next level, and just started a new daily push-up routine to build muscle and tone. I’m preparing to sojourn the Camino De Santiago through Portugal, Spain, and France, within the next two years.

Who knows what comes after that. Maybe even the gym.

So this is about more than a shot. More than weight or body fat. It’s about hope. It’s about loving and liking yourself again.

It’s about straining that chaotic emotional soup that weaves itself into nearly every aspect of one’s daily life when they’re overweight.

So let people be.

It’s choose your own adventure, and whatever I choose is my business. Same with your friends, family, acquaintances, or total strangers on the street. It’s their choice.

And… it’s none of your fucking business.