I’m not afraid to get personal online: I’ve written about couples therapy, scheduling sex, and getting diagnosed with herpes. But I’m terrified to admit that I take Ozempic—in fact, I’m so scared, I’ve put off writing this for weeks, during which I deeply regretted pitching in the first place. Despite this fear, I know that what I have to say is important, so I’m seeing it through. In return, all I ask is for you hear me out…and complain on Reddit later.
You’re probably sick of hearing about weight-loss injections like Ozempic, the diabetes drug that’s gone viral for allegedly being misused as a celebrity get-thin-quick hack. This isn’t exclusive to snarky parts of the internet, either: The injections are literally being advertised on the New York City subway, a fact about which many people—and celebrities like Sophie Turner—are openly upset.
Obviously, I understand. I’ve written endlessly about the harms of diet culture, glorifying thinness, and “well-meaning” body shaming. Being forced to face any of the aforementioned phenomenons on your commute can be triggering, especially if you’ve recovered from an eating disorder, which Turner and I both have. No one should feel they need to change their appearance or lose weight if they don’t want to, but—and I know this is a polarizing take—I do think people have a right to do those things if they want.
These medications exist, and are prescribed, for a reason. Countless people depend on them to treat a wide range of chronic conditions, which can and often does include type 2 diabetes, but pre-diabetes and obesity as well. It's also prescribed off-label for polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) and binge-eating disorder. (I was personally prescribed it for pre-diabetes and obesity.) So if someone decides, along with their doctor, that taking Ozempic, Wegovy, Mounjaro, Saxenda, or Trulicity is the right treatment plan for them, following this medical guidance should not and does not inherently make them a “bad person” who’s “stealing medication” from “people with diabetes” who “actually need it.” And they do not deserve to have countless critics who denounce the drugs’ use wishing harm upon them (more on that below).
Especially since most of this judgment comes from people who don’t understand these meds. If such is the case for you, I’d like to clarify a few things. First and foremost, I technically take Wegovy, which is often used interchangeably with “Ozempic” in conversation because both contain semaglutide. (They're actually different brands and products with different indications, doses, and titration schedules—think Advil Extra Strength versus Motrin, and how they’re both ibuprofen). Ozempic is FDA-approved for the treatment of type 2 diabetes, but Wegovy was developed and FDA-approved for the treatment of obesity—and at a higher dose. This means that taking Wegovy for weight loss is using it exactly as it’s intended, and not “stealing” from anyone. Second, what do you think happens if you don’t treat pre-diabetes? It becomes real type 2 diabetes. Should I wait until I get it so you will approve of my taking Ozempic then? (This was sarcastic.)
Ozempic is also not the same thing as insulin, which is often a medical necessity for diabetes type 2, while GLP-1 meds are supplemental treatment that helps increase insulin sensitivity. Even doctors don’t believe in declaring that certain groups “require” these drugs more than others. “It’s really difficult to say someone needs a medicine more than another person when they both have indications for these medicines,” Spencer Nadolsky, DO, an obesity and lipid specialist physician and the medical director of the online weight-management program Sequence, tells Glamour. “Both those with type 2 diabetes and with obesity have immense benefit from these medicines. I don’t think it’s fair to say one group is taking away from the other.”
You might also be wondering why I don’t just diet and work out the “old-fashioned way.” If so, I think it’s very cute of you to assume that I, along with everyone else on these meds, haven’t spent our whole lives trying to do just that. Before starting Wegovy, I spent 18 months working with an endocrinologist on drastic lifestyle and diet changes, and I mean drastic: I cut out sugar and carbs, started running, and sliced my daily caloric intake by at least half. Did my AC1 levels improve? No! Sometimes they even got worse, while my weight stayed exactly the same. Such has been the case for me during my entire life, and for many other patients currently taking GLP-1 agonists (the umbrella medical term for injections like Ozempic, Wegovy, and Mounjaro).
“People fail to understand that obesity isn’t just caused by what you eat, but by internal workings of your body. If it was something I could control, I’d be controlling it without medication,” says Diana Edelman, a 43-year old food and travel writer taking Mounjaro. “It’s so incredibly difficult to lose weight without Mounjaro—I was biking 14 miles a day, eating clean, whole food and plant-based meals, and it was nearly impossible to budge the scale. So many people have this idea that people who are obese are lazy and don’t care, and it’s just false.”
Similarly, if I don’t strictly monitor my calorie intake and burn at least 600 calories with cardio a day, I actively gain weight. What my body requires to maintain its status as a regular, fully functioning healthy body is equivalent to what I imagine some athletes live like. It always felt so unfair; living the lifestyle of a body I could and would never have. And this wasn’t and isn’t about weight, per se: I just wanted to feel good, and I never did. And it, quite frankly, sucked.
But the worst part of it all? The food noise. I was always thinking about food, especially since, as noted above, I had to live in a state of slight starvation just for maintenance. This resulted in a lot of bingeing, which only made me feel worse in the long run. And yes, I tried therapy (and have been in it since I was 18); lots of us have. “I have struggled with my weight my entire life, deeply suffering from binge-eating disorder. I tried diet, exercise, and therapy for my disordered eating—nothing could shut off the food noise in my brain,” Selena*, a 33-year-old taking Mounjaro, tells Glamour. “GLP-1 medication has given me back control over my life. My mental health has never been better than the past four months taking this medication.”
Diana experienced the same. “For the first time ever, the food noise stopped—I don’t think about food all the time anymore, and my binge-eating disorder went away,” she says. “It’s released me from the chokehold food has always had on me, from the fear of gaining weight because I ate one thing that isn’t considered healthy, and it’s helped me develop a far healthier relationship with food and how I judge myself for what I eat.”
I couldn’t agree more; in fact, some nights I cry because I feel so free. Going to dinner with friends is no longer stressful, and I stopped mapping out snack stations upon leaving the house. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I was finally able to stop taking Klonopin for panic attacks after starting this drug, which is something I hadn’t been able to do in 12 years. I’m deeply embarrassed to admit any of this, and to acknowledge that food has so much power over me that I have to inject my left thigh every week with medication that makes my brain work properly. I wish I weren’t embarrased about this, but I am. And considering how people taking GLP-1 meds are treated, it’s not like you can blame me.
Just ask Dana Omari, a content creator and licensed dietitian who chronicled her experience taking compounded semaglutide for “vanity weight loss" online. For those unaware, compounded semaglutide is essentially “off-brand” Ozempic mixed in a compound pharmacy, and therefore not “taking the meds away” from others or contributing to any shortage. It's worth noting, however, that doctors don't recommend taking compounded meds as they're not FDA-regulated: “I highly recommend against compounded GLP-1 agonists as I cannot attest to the quality and efficacy of them," says Dr. Nadolsky.
Strangers are constantly berating Dana via DMs for taking the drug. “[People would say] that I’m lazy, that I’m taking medications from diabetics, that all these diabetic people can’t get their medications because of me, that I’m causing cancer,” she says. “I’ve also been accused of being a shill for Novo Nordisk, for Ozempic.” They also regularly tell her they hope she gains the weight back.
Keyboard warriors are no kinder to others taking these medications, regardless of why. Last week I saw an Oprah Daily Instagram post promoting a story by a writer who took Ozempic. The literal first sentence in the piece was, “I’ve been taking Ozempic for about a year and a half for my type 2 diabetes,” and people still tore her to shreds in the comments, accusing her of stealing from…people with type 2 diabetes. Others demanded, in all caps, that they band together to report the post, while many others called Oprah, and the publication, a disgrace.
It’s become a trigger impulse to berate people taking these drugs, with no further consideration given to what the context might be. Some celebrities have even shared misinformation about the meds, confusing them with completely different compounds. But atop fear of trolls, Omari notes that many public figures don’t disclose that they take GLP-1 meds; they’re ashamed to admit it. “We have moralized weight loss,” she says. “We have made it that if you are good, if you’re a good person, if you do the right thing, if take care of yourself, you shouldn’t be fat. Weight loss should just come to you.”
This mentality played a large part in my refusing to try something like Ozempic when my doctor suggested it. I thought it was “cheating,” that I didn’t deserve it, and that taking it was admitting failure. So I let myself suffer, refusing to my budge on my stance for another eight months—during which I continued to hopelessly diet and eat like a sad rabbit as my AC1 levels remained stagnant. It wasn’t until Omari started posting about her experience with semaglutide that I started to come around, and to appreciate how nuanced the circumstances really are. In total it took 18 months of back-and-forth with doctors and people taking GLP-1 agonists for me to start taking Wegovy.
This isn’t some idea we come up with overnight, and not something we’re doing to fit into one vintage dress. It’s a lengthy process and lifestyle change, and a decision that’s not made lightly. And it’s one people come to make in vastly different ways. Selena, for example, found a woman on TikTok sharing her experience with Mounjaro, inspiring her to ask her doctor about treatment months later. It took Dana one year to actually get her hands on it. And it was ironically Dana’s experience that convinced me, even though she openly took it for “vanity weight loss” while my actual endocrinologist had been encouraging it for over a year. I suppose that's why they’re called influencers.
My body has literally made it hard for me to be “healthy,” because conditions like obesity and pre-diabetes are not individual “choices” but composites of genetics and how our bodies function that are nearly impossible to treat without medical intervention. And it’s our right to seek it. Or not! This is what I wish Ozempic critics—the most outspoken of whom so happen to be naturally thin celebrities who have never been overweight or obese—would understand. “The gist is that most people have a strong bias against those with obesity. Plain and simple,” says Dr. Nadolsky. “They don’t understand how powerful the biology is at fighting back.” If they did, I’d like to think the discourse could be much kinder.
Until then, I’ll be taking a break from social media.
*Name has been changed.
Danielle Sinay is the associate beauty editor at Glamour. Follow her on Instagram @daniellesinay.
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