“It looks like you’re pre-diabetic, so I’m going to put you on medicine and some pills to help you lose weight.”
That’s how I expected my 2015 to end. It’s been over three years since that doctor’s visit, yet I remember those words as if I’d just heard them yesterday. I remember feeling a mix of emotions—upset at the doctor for seeming to give up on me, frustrated at myself for letting things get this far, and angry at the universe for letting a 25-year-old feel so fragile. I was supposed to be invincible at 25, not struggling with heart palpitations because of poor health.
Walking out of that office became the defining moment of my weight-loss journey. I didn’t have a clear plan yet, but I knew one thing: I didn’t want to rely on pills for the rest of my life. I made a firm decision not to fill the prescriptions. I would get healthy on my own, somehow. All my life I had been overweight, but until that moment, I hadn’t truly confronted it. I had always rationalized it: “Doctors don’t know me, I’m fine,” or “I’m tall, it balances out.” Looking back, I realize how much effort I put into excusing my habits instead of facing reality.
Growing up, I loved the feeling of being full—it brought me joy. I’ve always loved food, both cooking it and eating it, and I often went overboard with both. If I cooked, I’d make way too much and feel compelled to finish it. Wasting food was unacceptable to me. Sometimes I wouldn’t know when to stop and would keep going until I felt sick. I didn’t have a “full” button in my brain. This cycle left me feeling trapped—until that moment when I finally decided I had to change.
My family would comment on my weight, but always out of love. They worried about my health and wanted me to take steps toward being healthier. At the time, I thought I was untouchable because I was young. But I would soon see how wrong I was. I was the “fat kid” in elementary school and carried the nickname “Big Mike”—a label that stuck and, in hindsight, mirrored reality. People probably assumed I was tougher than I really was.
Coincidentally, a few weeks before my doctor’s visit, I watched a documentary about a man in poor health who turned his life around through juicing. Inspired, I bought the books, the juicer, and stocked up on fruits and vegetables. I even special-ordered a scale capable of measuring my weight. The number that stared back at me? 545 pounds. Seeing it was soul-crushing.
Determined not to let that number define me, I started juicing. My first juice for breakfast was terrible. Lunch was worse. I left work that day starving, texting a friend that I was giving up and buying real food. That’s when they suggested I try Keto or a low-carb approach. I did some research and realized it fit my lifestyle and preferences perfectly. Just a few days later, I dove in completely.
When I started, I didn’t set a target weight—I just wanted to be healthy. In the first week, I lost three pounds. I began tracking progress weekly and setting 25-pound milestones, starting from 545 pounds, all the way down. The following week, I lost 13 pounds. By the end of the first month, I had lost 22 pounds. Six months in, I stepped on the scale and saw 444 pounds. I had lost 100 pounds in half a year!
Over the next three years, I reached milestone after milestone, finally arriving at my current weight of 214 pounds. I hope to lose 4–14 more pounds to feel completely satisfied. Following an Atkins/low-carb diet for a year and a half, then transitioning to Keto, was life-changing. It gave me the flexibility and structure I needed to stick with it all this time.
My family has been my anchor. My parents, in particular, were endlessly supportive, encouraging me at every stage. They adapted meals at home and made thoughtful choices at restaurants so I could stay on track without feeling left out. My friends, too, provided moral support on days when the scale went up unexpectedly or when stress tempted me to cheat. They reminded me of how far I’d come and that progress isn’t just a number. I couldn’t have navigated the tougher days without their encouragement.
It wasn’t until last year that I truly explored online support groups. I found a Reddit community and started following weight-loss influencers on YouTube and Instagram. Seeing people face similar struggles, reach their goals, and celebrate victories made my own ambitions feel tangible. It reminded me I wasn’t alone in this journey.
There were moments of frustration—birthdays without cake, restaurants with dishes I couldn’t eat—but each small sacrifice reinforced my commitment. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.
Losing weight transformed more than just my body. It gave me confidence I never had before. Socializing feels easier now; I blend in instead of standing out in ways I didn’t want. It opened doors to new experiences I’d never considered, like skydiving, and gave me the opportunity to inspire others in similar situations. Sharing advice and encouragement has been one of the most rewarding parts of this journey.
My advice for anyone starting their weight-loss journey? Just start somewhere. Find a diet or routine that works for you, even if it’s small steps like walking. Don’t let the scale define your progress—look for non-scale victories. Sitting comfortably on a plane, fitting into store clothing, or even buying a normal undershirt for the first time felt like massive wins for me.
Yes, there were times I fell off track, felt stuck, or wanted to give up. But determination, stubbornness, and the knowledge that I had come this far kept me going. Today, I feel like I have my life back. I’m in control, healthy, and empowered—and I know there’s nothing I can’t accomplish.
