I had no expectation of writing about GLP-1s or GLP-1 medications for weight loss—mostly because I don’t have a strong opinion on them, nor do I have anything new to add to the conversation about the science behind them or their shortcomings (like what happens when someone stops taking GLP-1 drugs such as Ozempic or Wegovy).
But I do have something to say about the judgment that is so casually thrown around.
I don’t think there should be shame or stigma attached to anyone who decides to take a GLP-1 for weight loss. There’s a common perception that using medication for weight loss is “cheating” or taking the easy way out.
Everyone is different, and everyone’s body responds differently. Should someone try the old-school route of eating “right” and exercising? Of course. But for some people, that tried-and-true formula simply doesn’t work. Maybe they have a health condition that makes weight loss more difficult. Maybe they’re perimenopausal women who, despite doing everything “right,” are gaining weight for the first time in their lives. Maybe they have a disordered relationship with food. There are a million reasons someone might choose a GLP-1 weight loss medication.
And I don’t think it’s for any of us to judge that choice. You know—the old “their body, their choice.”
I’m not here to explain how GLP-1s work or to dive into the common pitfalls when someone stops taking them. We all know there’s a high likelihood of weight regain after stopping GLP-1 medications. I wouldn’t do that discussion justice anyway.
What I am here to say is that I don’t think it’s anyone’s place to judge someone for going on one.
I remember seeing a post in a fitness Facebook group where a perimenopausal woman looking for weight loss advice was asking for help. And you can imagine the onslaught of comments—mostly from men—saying it’s simple: calories in, calories out. Watch your diet.
But the thing is, it’s not always that cut and dry. As a trainer who is perimenopausal, nothing annoys me more than pretending that this is the answer for all women. “Just watch your diet, get to the gym, and everything will be fine.”
Our hormones change. Estrogen drops. Fat storage shifts. Metabolism slows. So to minimize that experience—especially coming from a man who will never experience it—is beyond insulting. It’s dehumanizing. This is a huge part of the conversation around hormones and weight loss in women, and it’s often ignored.
That’s how I look at GLP-1s.
Maybe it’s a perimenopausal woman. Maybe it’s someone with a history of eating disorders. Maybe it’s someone who works out consistently and still can’t lose weight. Or maybe it’s simply none of our damn business.
Why do we care so much if someone else is on a GLP-1?
Okay—yes, I get it. It does tie into our culture’s obsession with thinness. Despite the body inclusivity movement, smaller bodies are still largely preferred and heavily marketed. From that perspective, I understand the concern about perpetuating decades of body shaming and unrealistic body standards, especially toward women.
But aside from that, I’m all for people doing what makes them feel their best.
And yes, I’ll say it again—I acknowledge the flaws. If it’s not a long-term strategy, there’s a high chance of regaining weight once someone stops taking a GLP-1 medication. But again, I’m not here to talk science.
I just don’t think we should care if someone yo-yos, loses weight, gains weight, or does any of the above—because it’s not our body.
I also don’t think we should shame someone for finding what feels like a “magic” solution or call it cheating. We have no idea what their battle has been to even get to the point of trying medical weight loss options.
In a perfect world, everyone would love their body regardless of size and appreciate it for what it can do. But let’s be honest—if you’re a woman reading this, you probably know how real the struggle with body image and self-confidence can be.
This isn’t science, but I can probably count on one hand the number of women I know who have never struggled with or cared about how they look.
So imagine a 40-year-old woman deciding to try a GLP-1. Think about how many negative, self-deprecating thoughts she’s likely had over her lifetime. It probably started in childhood—when someone told her to watch what she eats, skip the second scoop of ice cream, or that her belly was too big. Fill in your own memory here.
How much therapy would it take to fully erase those thoughts and replace them with new ones?
And no—I’m not anti-therapy. I’m just trying (maybe imperfectly) to say that I get it. I understand why someone might be drawn to an easier fix.
If you’ve ever struggled with body dysmorphia or self-image issues, you know how consuming it is. How often you think about what you want to change. How much you dread the scale. How many times you catch your reflection and cringe.
You know how exhausting that is—and how it bleeds into every part of your life. Into relationships. Into intimacy. Into feeling free in your own skin.
So yes, I understand why wanting relief from those thoughts could lead someone to try a GLP-1.
When people say it’s cheating or taking the easy way out, maybe they’re among the few who don’t struggle with body image—or who have been able to maintain fitness through diet and exercise alone.
That’s amazing. Truly. I wish that for everyone.
But the reality is that one formula is never going to be plug-and-play for all bodies.
At the end of the day, none of us truly knows what someone else has carried in their body or their mind for years—what they’ve tried, what hasn’t worked, or what it’s taken just to keep going. So maybe instead of judgment, the answer is a little more compassion. Maybe the real work isn’t policing how people lose weight, but questioning why we feel entitled to an opinion about someone else’s body at all. If something helps a person feel healthier, more in control, or more at peace in their own skin, that choice deserves respect—not commentary.
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