This morning I stepped on the scale and saw 185.2 pounds.
Fourteen months ago, I weighed 285 pounds. I've officially lost 100 pounds.
I thought hitting this number would feel more dramatic. Fireworks, tears of joy, an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. Instead, I just stood there staring at the scale, thinking, "Huh. I actually did it."
The victory feels different than I expected. More muted. More complicated. Let me try to explain.
The Journey in Numbers
Starting weight: 285 lbs
Current weight: 185 lbs
Total loss: 100 lbs
Time: 14 months
Weekly injections: 60+
Medication cost: ~$700 (with insurance and savings cards)
Clothing sizes dropped: 22/24 → 12/14
Inches lost: Haven't measured, but a lot
What Changed (The Physical Stuff)
Obviously, my body is different. I'm half my former size (or close to it). But the specific changes are sometimes surprising:
I can cross my legs. This sounds trivial, but it's not. For years, my thighs were too big to comfortably cross my legs. Now I do it without thinking.
I can shop at normal stores. Not plus-size sections. Not specialty stores. Just... regular stores with regular sizes. This still feels surreal.
I can see my feet. When I look down, I can see my feet without my stomach blocking the view.
I can tie my shoes without getting winded. Small things that thin people take for granted are revelations for me.
I sleep better. No more snoring. No more sleep apnea symptoms. I sleep through the night and wake up rested.
My blood pressure is normal. It was borderline high before. Now it's consistently in the healthy range.
I have energy. Not superhuman energy, but normal human energy. I can make it through a day without needing a nap.
What Changed (The Mental Stuff)
The physical changes are easier to quantify. The mental changes are harder to articulate but arguably more significant.
I Think About Food Differently
Food used to occupy so much mental real estate. Planning what to eat, restricting, bingeing, feeling guilty, promising to do better tomorrow. That cycle consumed me.
Now? Food is just... food. I eat when I'm hungry. I stop when I'm full. I don't obsess about it constantly. This mental peace is worth more than the weight loss itself.
I Move Through the World Differently
I didn't realize how much mental energy I spent worrying about whether I'd fit places. Airplane seats, restaurant booths, waiting room chairs. Will people stare? Will they judge?
At 185 pounds, I'm just... normal. Invisible in the best possible way. I don't stand out. I don't worry about fitting. It's a relief I didn't know I needed.
My Relationship with My Body Is Complicated
I expected to love my new body. Instead, I'm still adjusting to it. I look in the mirror and sometimes don't recognize myself. I reach for clothes that are now too big. I still see my old body sometimes.
Body dysmorphia works both ways. Just as I couldn't see how big I'd gotten before, I sometimes can't see how much smaller I am now.
What Didn't Change
Here's the reality check: losing 100 pounds didn't fix everything in my life.
I'm still the same person with the same personality, insecurities, and problems. I still procrastinate. I still have anxiety. I still struggle with work stress and relationship issues.
Weight loss wasn't a magic solution to life's complexities. It just removed one major source of struggle and health concern.
Also, I still have loose skin. My stomach has folds that no amount of weight loss will fix. My arms have excess skin. Surgery could address this, but I'm not sure I'm ready to go there. Learning to accept this body as it is now is its own journey.
The People Who Disappeared
I lost some people along this journey. Friends who felt threatened by my changes. People who bonded with me over food and didn't know how to relate when I wasn't the "fat friend" anymore.
It's painful, but it's also clarifying. The people who stick around through major life changes are your real people. Everyone else was circumstantial.
The People Who Showed Up
On the flip side, I've connected with amazing people through this journey. Online communities of fellow GLP-1 users. A therapist who helped me process emotional eating patterns. A few friends who cheered me on unconditionally.
These relationships feel more authentic than some I lost. They're based on who I'm becoming, not who I was.
What I Learned
1. Medication is a tool, not a cure
GLP-1s made weight loss possible, but I still had to do the work. Making food choices, moving my body, addressing emotional eating, managing side effects. The medication helped, but it wasn't magic.
2. This is chronic disease management
I'm staying on medication for the foreseeable future. This isn't a diet with an end date. It's ongoing management of a chronic metabolic condition. That took me a while to accept, but now I'm at peace with it.
3. Progress isn't linear
I had plateaus. Setbacks. Weeks where the scale didn't budge. Months where I questioned whether it was worth it. The journey was messy and non-linear, but I kept showing up anyway.
4. Support matters
I couldn't have done this alone. My doctor, my therapist, online communities, a handful of supportive friends—they all played roles in getting me here.
5. The mental work is just as important as the physical
Losing weight was partly physical, but mostly mental. Addressing why I overate, developing new coping mechanisms, learning to process emotions without food—that was the real work.
What Happens Next
The obvious question: now what?
The honest answer: I don't know. Maintenance is uncharted territory. I've never successfully maintained significant weight loss before. This is new.
My plan is to stay on Mounjaro at a reduced maintenance dose, continue therapy, keep moving regularly, and take it one day at a time.
The goal is no longer to lose weight. The goal is to stay here. To make this sustainable. To prove that this time is different.
Check back in a year. Five years. Ten years. That's when we'll really know if I succeeded.
To Anyone Starting This Journey
If you're reading this and considering GLP-1 medication, or if you're just starting out, here's what I want you to know:
It's possible. You can lose significant weight. It won't be easy, but it's doable with the right tools and support.
You're not alone. Millions of people are on this journey. Find your community. Don't try to do it in isolation.
Be patient. Fourteen months felt like forever while I was living it. Now it feels like it flew by. Trust the process.
Address the mental stuff. Don't just rely on medication. Do the therapy. Work on your relationship with food and your body.
It's okay to use medication. You're not cheating. You're not weak. You're treating a medical condition with appropriate medical intervention.
The Bottom Line
I lost 100 pounds. I'm proud of that. But I'm also realistic about what it means.
This isn't the end of a journey. It's the beginning of a new phase—maintenance. Which might be harder than the weight loss itself.
The real victory won't be hitting this number. It'll be staying here. Building a life at this weight. Making it sustainable.
So yes, I did it. I lost 100 pounds. But the story doesn't end here.
It's just getting started.