Losing Weight Changes Your Character

I began losing weight about a year ago. My highest weight was 315 pounds, and I hovered around the 300s for most of my adult life. Now, at 27, I weigh 222 pounds. Most of that weight came off before May 2025, when I followed a loosely implemented one-meal-a-day (OMAD) diet. Around the holidays of 2024 I slipped, regained some weight, and soon after decided to return to college. It was easier to stick to the basic routine of eating once a day while spending most of my time at school. When I came home, I ate as much as I wanted.

The first semester ended in mid-May. At that point, I weighed 260 pounds. I knew I absolutely could not afford to regain weight over the summer. Lacking discipline and unsure how to diet properly, I resorted to wandering the streets of Boston—sometimes walking twelve miles in a single day—just to avoid being at home surrounded by food. This restless walking was hardly the sign of a healthy mind, but it kept the weight off. Eventually, however, my energy and hope ran out, and I was forced to stay home out of sheer mental exhaustion.

I continued walking around my neighborhood, but no longer fueled by delusional struggle. The streets here had nothing to give me. I had to find my motivation within. Between walks, I wrestled with the food in my home. So I walked and walked, my mind sinking into a haze of regret, anger, and despair. Faces from my past began to haunt me—people I had wronged, or those who had witnessed me wrong myself and looked at me with disappointment.

In early June, someone pointed out that I was eating a terrible mix of macronutrients: extremely carb-heavy, with almost no protein. I immediately set about increasing my protein intake. Soon after, I began using a calorie tracking app and logged everything I ate. Patterns emerged, and I started optimizing for micronutrients as well. Eight eggs. A small sweet potato. Whey protein. Every day. It became a system, and it worked. Food shifted from being about enjoyment to being about fuel—carefully measured and directed by my diet.

For the first time in my life, I learned discipline. I discovered that one does not need distractions or external obstacles to resist indulgence. Nor does one need objects of desire to inspire self-improvement. You improve yourself because that is your nature. That is what it means to be human.

Finally, losing weight forced me to confront myself and my past with a critical eye. I realized I had always been selfish, often ignoring how others felt or disregarding their agency. I was ruled by desire and pleasure, and it showed in my appearance and behavior. I did not treat myself with respect, nor did I treat others with respect.