Why I Finally Said Yes to the Shot (After Thinking About It for Months)

GLP-1 shot research

For the longest time, I told myself I could fix it all with a better grocery list.

I had PCOS, insulin resistance, constant bloating, brutal cravings, and a level of exhaustion I thought was just “being in my 30s.” But I was sure if I just found the right anti-inflammatory recipe or finally committed to walking after dinner every night, I could figure it out. Maybe I needed to try cutting gluten again. Or was it dairy? Or was I eating too late? Not enough protein? Too much fiber?

My camera roll became a graveyard of sad smoothies and screenshots of functional medicine influencers. I tried everything. Really — I tried.

And still, nothing changed.

I was waking up tired. My weight wouldn’t budge, even though I was eating like a wellness blogger with amnesia (you know, the ones who forget joy exists). I was working out, balancing blood sugar like it was a full-time job, obsessing over supplements, and still — my body felt like a brick. A bloated, cranky brick.

Then my doctor called with lab results.

“You’ve got leaky gut,” she said. “And your insulin levels are… not great.”

Of course, I immediately Googled “leaky gut” and spiraled. The name alone sounds like something medieval peasants died from. But apparently, it’s real. And not only that, it made perfect sense. I had inflammation, food intolerances, fatigue, hormonal chaos — basically a bingo card of “your body is not okay.”

And yet, I still didn’t feel justified in asking for more help.

Isn’t that wild? I was inflamed, exhausted, gaining weight for no reason, dealing with wild cravings and blood sugar crashes, and still I thought… maybe I just need to be better.

I think that’s the worst part. When you’re doing all the “right” things — and I mean all of them — and it still feels like your body isn’t cooperating, the logical next step should be asking for help. But for me, it turned into self-blame. I thought, Other women lose weight with PCOS. Other people do this naturally. What’s wrong with me?

I’d heard of GLP-1 medications — Ozempic, Wegovy, Mounjaro — but I always brushed it off. I assumed those were for people with “real” issues. Not me. I was supposed to tough it out. Heal my gut, balance my hormones, do 12-step skincare and 10,000 steps a day, and magically feel amazing again. That’s what Instagram said.

Spoiler: I didn’t feel amazing. I felt defeated.

The cravings were the worst. Not the kind where you want a cookie after lunch. I mean the kind where you’re full, you know you’re full, but your body is still screaming for sugar like it’s oxygen. I kept telling myself it was emotional eating or habit — but no. It was blood sugar chaos. My insulin resistance was doing the most.

After one too many nights of arguing with myself in the kitchen (do I want a snack or do I want to cry?), I finally brought it up again to my doctor. She’d mentioned medication before, gently, but I wasn’t ready. This time, I was.

I said, “I think I need help. Real help. Not just another elimination diet.”

And she said, “Then let’s try it.”

So this week, I’m starting the shot. Zepbound, to be exact.

I’m nervous. And hopeful. And a little weirdly emotional about it. I spent so long convincing myself I didn’t deserve medication unless I was at some mythical rock bottom — like there’s a prize for suffering the longest.

But now? I’m done trying to earn wellness through restriction. I’m done letting shame be the boss. I want to feel good. I want my brain back. I want to eat a normal meal and not feel like I’m riding a blood sugar rollercoaster ten minutes later. I want to go through a day without thinking about food every ten seconds. I want to move my body because I feel good, not because I’m trying to out-run a hormone disorder.

And if this little shot can help me do that? Then I’m in.

I’m not expecting a miracle. I’m not expecting to wake up next week as a glowy, gym-loving goddess who eats chia seed pudding for fun. But I am hoping for a break. A little peace in my body. A little less noise in my head.

I’ll still be working on gut health, still eating meals that don’t inflame me, still walking and trying to take care of myself in all the boring adult ways. But now I’m doing it with backup. And that feels… really good, actually.

So if you’re on the fence, if you’re in that place where you’re doing everything and still feeling stuck — I see you. It’s okay to want more support. It’s okay to say, “I’ve tried, and I need help.” You don’t need to hit rock bottom to justify feeling better.

I used to think starting medication meant I’d failed. Now I think it means I finally stopped pretending I had to do it all alone.

And honestly? That feels like progress.