I've been on GLP-1 medication for just over a month now, and something has become clear: I had no idea how much my brain was controlling my eating behavior. Or maybe more accurately, how little control I actually had.

The word "addiction" feels dramatic. I wasn't shooting up in alleyways or stealing to support a habit. I was just... eating. Probably too much, definitely too often, but it was food. Normal, socially acceptable food.

But now that the constant mental chatter about food has quieted down, I'm starting to wonder: was I actually addicted to food?

What Addiction Actually Means

I'm not a doctor or addiction specialist, but I've done some reading. Addiction generally involves:

Compulsive behavior you can't easily control. Using a substance to cope with emotions or stress. Continuing despite negative consequences. Cravings and preoccupation. Tolerance (needing more to get the same effect). Withdrawal symptoms when you try to stop.

When I look at that list through the lens of my relationship with food... yeah. That tracks.

The Compulsive Part

Here's a truth I'm not proud of: I couldn't have just one piece of anything. One cookie meant eating six. One handful of chips meant eating the entire bag. Starting a pint of ice cream meant finishing it.

I'd tell myself, "This time will be different. This time I'll have a reasonable portion." And then I'd do the exact same thing I always did.

That's not a willpower problem. That's a brain chemistry problem.

Food as Emotional Regulation

Stressed? Eat something. Sad? Eat something. Anxious? Eat something. Bored? Eat something. Happy? Celebrate with food. Tired? Food will help.

Every emotion had the same solution. Food was my primary coping mechanism for basically everything.

And it worked—temporarily. Eating gave me a brief hit of pleasure, distraction, comfort. Then it wore off, and I'd need another hit. Sound familiar?

The GLP-1 Wake-Up Call

Within two weeks of starting semaglutide, something shifted. The constant food thoughts just... stopped.

I'd be working and realize it was 2 PM and I hadn't thought about lunch. I'd open the pantry out of habit, look at the snacks, and feel... nothing. No urge. No craving. Just neutral.

And that's when it hit me: if a medication could turn off the noise, then the noise wasn't me lacking discipline. It was my brain's reward system being hijacked by food.

The Science (As I Understand It)

GLP-1 medications work partly by affecting dopamine pathways in the brain—the same pathways involved in addiction to drugs, alcohol, and gambling.

They don't just slow down your stomach. They literally change how your brain responds to food cues and cravings. They reduce the reward signal you get from eating.

For someone with a normal relationship with food, this makes eating slightly less appealing. For someone like me, whose brain was screaming for food constantly? It's life-changing.

Was It Really Addiction?

I'm still not sure if "food addiction" is the right term. The scientific community is divided on whether food addiction is a real diagnostic category.

But I know this: my relationship with food had addictive qualities. The compulsion. The inability to stop. The using it to cope. The preoccupation. The continuing despite negative health consequences.

Call it what you want—addiction, compulsive eating, disordered eating, whatever. The label matters less than acknowledging that something was fundamentally broken in how my brain processed food and hunger.

The Shame Piece

For years, I thought my eating behavior was a character flaw. I was lazy, undisciplined, weak. If I just tried harder, I could fix it.

Understanding that this might have been an addiction reframes everything. You don't tell an alcoholic to just "try harder" to moderate their drinking. You recognize that their brain processes alcohol differently and they might need intervention beyond willpower.

Why should food be different?

Yes, everyone needs to eat. But not everyone's brain responds to food the same way. Some people can eat one cookie and move on with their day. For others of us, one cookie triggers an overwhelming urge to eat twelve.

That's not moral weakness. That's neuroscience.

What This Means Going Forward

I'm starting to accept that I might need to stay on GLP-1 medication long-term. Maybe forever.

The idea used to bother me. It felt like admitting defeat, like I'd be dependent on medication for the rest of my life.

But if my brain is wired in a way that makes food compulsive for me, why wouldn't I use medication that corrects that? We don't shame diabetics for needing insulin. We don't tell people with depression to just think positive thoughts instead of taking antidepressants.

My brain needs help regulating hunger and food cravings. GLP-1s provide that help. End of story.

The Scary Part

Here's what keeps me up at night: what happens if I have to stop taking this medication?

Will the food noise come roaring back? Will I return to the compulsive eating patterns? Will I regain all the weight I've lost?

Studies suggest that most people do regain weight when they stop GLP-1s. Because the underlying brain chemistry issues haven't been "fixed"—they've just been managed with medication.

This scares me. But it also confirms what I suspected: this was never about willpower. It was always about biology.

Rebuilding My Relationship with Food

One unexpected benefit of the medication: it's giving me space to develop a healthier relationship with food without the constant noise.

I'm learning to eat when I'm actually hungry, not when my brain is screaming for a dopamine hit. I'm learning to stop when I'm full. I'm learning to sit with difficult emotions instead of eating them.

I'm also starting therapy to work on the emotional eating patterns. Because even with the medication quieting the cravings, I still have years of learned behavior to unlearn.

Food was my coping mechanism for everything. Now I need new coping mechanisms. That's hard work, but it's necessary work.

To Anyone Reading This Who Relates

If you've ever felt out of control around food, if you've ever wondered why you can't just "eat normally" like other people, if you've ever felt shame about your inability to moderate your eating—you're not alone.

And it's not your fault. Your brain might just be wired differently when it comes to food and pleasure and reward.

That doesn't mean you're doomed. It means you might need different tools than "just eat less." Tools like medication, therapy, support groups, or other interventions.

There's no shame in that. There's only shame in continuing to suffer because you think you should be able to do it alone.

I spent 20 years trying to willpower my way out of what might have been food addiction. I wish someone had told me sooner that my brain wasn't broken—it just needed help.