Why I Changed My Mind on the Weight Loss Industry

Where I Started

For years, throughout my teens and twenties, I struggled with my weight. I tried countless diets, exercise routines, and health fads, from clean eating to Joe Wicks HIIT workouts. I would lose some weight, feel great, but the moment life threw stress or disruption my way, I’d slip back into old habits.

Eventually, I began to research the science of weight gain and loss. That’s when I discovered calories. I learned that our bodies burn a certain number of calories each day and if we consume more, we gain weight; less, we lose it. Simple, right?

This clicked. I didn’t need brutal workouts or impossible meal plans. I just needed to eat fewer calories than I burned, lift weights a few times a week, and get enough protein to preserve muscle. And it worked. I got into the best shape of my life.

This was a revelation. Was it really that simple?

What I Believed

I thought I had cracked the code. I believed I had found the solution to the global obesity crisis. I even went on to study nutrition at university and became a personal trainer.

I was convinced that if everyone downloaded MyFitnessPal, bought a food scale, and lifted weights a few times a week, we’d all be sorted.

I used to think that when people said they couldn’t lose weight, they were lying, deluded, or just not trying hard enough.

Where It Fell Apart

Now I realise this approach isn’t sustainable for most people.

At the time, I was constantly food-focused. My brain was constantly occupied with what I could eat next, how to fit more calories in, how to "game" the system.

I’d skip meals, rely on coffee to suppress hunger, and save my calories for the evening.

Yes, I could fit cake, chocolate, crisps, and sweets into my daily target, and still lose weight, but at what cost?

Even at my leanest, food dominated my thoughts. Looking back, it was disordered eating disguised as discipline.

Imagine being a single parent with a demanding full-time job. When are you realistically going to weigh every morsel of food you plan to eat?

And… is this really a healthy behaviour to model for your children?

What Changed?

Getting diagnosed with ADHD flipped everything on its head. I was diagnosed just before I turned 30 and prescribed Elvanse.

Within minutes of taking my first pill, the food noise vanished. I was no longer “hungry.”

I could finally eat when I was hungry and stop when I was full. What was this witchcraft I was experiencing? That’s right, I’m now able to experience what naturally thin people, you know, the annoying ones who ‘forget’ to eat, feel. I was finally feeling what they feel.

Gym sessions became a lot easier. I stopped procrastinating, scrolling endlessly, or battling to get myself through the door. Now, I just go, do my workout, and move on.

I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I rarely snack. I can take a bit of a chocolate bar, put the rest in the fridge, and move on. That would have been impossible before.

But I know plenty of people who have always lived like that.

The difference?

My brain used to be so starved of dopamine, it would latch onto food. No amount of willpower could override it. It felt like stretching an elastic band; eventually, it would always snap back.

On Medicine and Surgery

Many in the fitness industry see medication or surgery as cheating. I used to feel the same.

But now I ask: who are we trying to impress?

If someone’s health improves, if they feel better and function better, does it matter how they got there?

We don’t tell people who wear glasses they’re cheating their eyesight.

Everyone deserves the chance to live with a brain that isn’t constantly working against them.

The Bigger Barrier (in My Opinion): Poverty

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: access to solutions often depends on money.

I was lucky enough to pay for my private ADHD diagnosis and medication. Many people aren’t. They’re left waiting years on NHS lists or navigating confusing systems such as Right to Choose.

It’s the same with weight loss drugs and surgery. Going private can be the difference between years of waiting and getting help now.

Add to that the cost of eating well.

“Junk” food is cheap and accessible; nutritious food often isn’t. Buying in bulk sounds smart, but if you’re on a tight budget, you can’t afford the upfront cost. Not to mention, not everyone has the storage space.

And when people say, "Just get outside and walk!" – that assumes you live in a safe area, which many in poverty-stricken areas do not. The more I write about this, the more I see this is a vicious cycle.

Is there a solution? I personally do not feel I am smart enough to say how we fix this. I do, however, feel as a society we need to stop punishing the poor and asking those with the most (multi-multi-billionaires) to pay their fair share. We’re being priced out by those at the top, which means us at the bottom are fighting for scraps and having our physical and mental health completely damaged by this all.

Yes, I am very aware this sounds great on paper, yet in reality, it is very tough to implement.

Final Thoughts

Calorie deficits work. That’s not up for debate.

Am I saying tracking food is wrong or bad? NO!

I do think it CAN be a useful tool for some. However, I do not believe this is how we combat obesity and other health issues.

We need to stop pretending it’s just about discipline.

We need to stop fat shaming, too! Perhaps that is the first way we can make a difference.

Different brains work in different ways. If your appetite is constantly loud and persistent, telling someone to "just eat less" or “calorie fucking deficit” isn’t helpful.

The weight loss industry talks a lot about mental health, but rarely acts on it. Shame doesn’t work. If it did, we wouldn’t have rising rates of obesity.

Instead, we need empathy, understanding, and practical tools that meet people where they’re at.

Sometimes, that means medication. Sometimes, that means surgery. And sometimes, it just means listening instead of judging.

We’re not all starting from the same place. And we need to start admitting that.