What happens when a foodie goes on a GLP-1?

For the first time in nearly five decades on this planet, I woke up not feeling hungry. The night before, I’d taken my first Zepbound injection. 

I’ve heard others describe this phenomenon as a softening of food noise. For me, the silence was sudden and startling. It was as if I’d spent my entire life running toward the next tasty morsel, compelled by a drumbeat of hunger and lured by the promise of a delicious reprieve — while others strolled along, nibbling absentmindedly on the occasional nut. 

So yes, my world felt instantly quieter, but I also felt a kind of whiplash. My feet skidded to a halt, and my food-loving mind and sense of self bobbled forward and back. 

I’d loved food so much I’d made a career of it, working as a restaurant critic, cookbook editor, and even served as the editor in chief of Allrecipes.

When I did finally feel like eating something on Zepbound, another strange thing happened: Not halfway through a slice of whole-grain toast, a sunny-side-up egg, and a handful of blueberries, I felt full. Not just “Oh, I probably shouldn’t” full, but “I can’t eat another bite or I’ll be sick” full. 

I had certainly felt stuffed at the table before. But I’d never felt that way after eating so little, or in just 10 minutes. I reconsidered my dining companions over the years. They had seemed pillars of willpower, so quick to push away from even the most delicious dishes after just a few bites. Had they always had this feeling, the instant and undeniable fullness, that I felt now?

As I sat, stunned, in front of my half-eaten breakfast, a thought sparked in my brain and enveloped me like a warm blanket: It was never about willpower. 

All the times I’d failed to lose or maintain weight, those 30 pounds I’d lost and regained repeatedly, I’d been fighting — at least in part — with my own biology. My body lacked some chemical combo others had, and thus assumed everyone had. 

That much of our weight boils down to biology shouldn’t have been a revelation to me: I'd worked awhile at a telehealth weight-care company that was based largely on this understanding. But in that moment, on day two of Zepbound, the truth of it vibrated in me for the first time. I wanted to tell everyone who’d ever dismissed a bigger-bodied person as lazy, and every willowy doctor who'd glibly advised simply eating less: My body simply doesn’t work that way. I need different tools.

And while I’d come to love my curves decades prior, in that moment, I saw myself with greater clarity and compassion: Just as some people are born with green eyes or fine hair, I was born hungry. And no one should have to feel shame in that.

As the residue of long-internalized societal guilt gradually melted away, another dilemma surfaced: If I wasn’t thinking about food all the time, after a flavor-fueled life and a 20-year food journalism career, who even was I?

My husband and I recently dined at a phenomenal upscale restaurant to celebrate our work accomplishments, and I was so excited to try all the late-summer dishes on their seasonal menu. I ordered a fancy mocktail, a gnocchi appetizer with a Parmigiano-Reggiano tuile, an entree, and two desserts for us to share. Though the portions were fine-dining dainty, I’d bumped up to a higher dosage of Zepbound the day before. Coupled with the new dosage, the richness of the appetizer had me feeling nauseous even before the entree arrived. I had stomach cramps all night and could barely eat our $200 dinner. Since then I’ve learned some tricks: I now do my shot early in the week, when I’m less likely to dine out. 

I’ve been on Zepbound for a year and a half, and I’ve lost about 80 pounds. In addition to taking the medication and prioritizing nutrient-rich foods, I now do near-daily exercise: weight-machine circuit training and lap swimming at my local YMCA, and mat Pilates classes. According to BMI charts, I’m still in the obesity range and need to lose another 90 pounds to drop below the overweight category for my height. While I don’t aspire to lose that much, I’m encouraged by the health effects that the scale doesn’t show: My A1C dropped out of the prediabetes range, and my doctor reduced and eventually discontinued my blood-pressure med. I feel strong and don’t get winded on hikes with friends. My lap swimming distance is now half of what they do in an Ironman.

I’ve also found a kind of peace with food and with my sense of myself as a foodie. I do still think about food often and enjoy experiencing and describing flavors and textures, but it is freeing to not crave a croissant after simply hearing the word. I also still love to cook, bake, eat, and dine with others, but I make less, and share and freeze more, to avoid having excess food around.

I now rarely drink alcohol and find it hard to imagine sampling entire restaurant menus as I once did. I’ve learned to skip my old “preamble” — the drink, the appetizer, the bread basket, which I used to love — to leave room for a delicious and nutrient-filled entree. I choose smaller portions, and I take small bites to savor them before I fill up. 

While I miss the occasional pleasure of stuffing yourself silly, I do still get excited about trying new flavors. It turns out, my body on exercise and Zepbound is pretty good at self-regulating. I eat when I’m hungry, which is now not all the time. These days, I’m hungry for life.