Why am I not losing weight?

(TW: This piece contains references to disordered eating and body image. Please read at your own discretion.)

Note: Some details in this piece have been changed to protect the privacy of people mentioned.

Why am I not losing weight? This is the question I kept searching on Google.

It was just before COVID, in late 2019; when I had just started therapy and was seeing a psychiatrist for the first time. A life-changing period, in more ways than one. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, the insecurity I had always carried quietly started becoming something louder.

I was 19 years old when I weighed 45kg. My friends shared the same number for our weight. I ran the competition mentally. Perhaps becoming a lesser number was more important; ironic, given how much I had always wanted more numbers during college exams. Yet so similar to always being first, always standing out. Perhaps seeking attention? Low blood pressure, 90/60 mm/hg. People were worried, right? It was a moment of pride for me.

But there came a point, as I grew up, where I wanted to reach 50kg; perhaps deeply driven by wanting to donate blood. I had the hardest time gaining even 2kg. Not sure if a part of me loved it or really dreaded it.

I remember being in 6th grade on a school trip. A hotel with a weighing scale; fancy, exciting. My friends and I stood on it, curious and in awe of the luxury. My friend weighed 33kg and I weighed 35kg. She was upset about weighing less. I acted to match her energy; but in reality the competitive part of me was really let down. How can I weigh so much? A girl who was one of the skinniest in her class, worrying about a number on a scale.

I loved my class teacher. Teacher's pet, proudly. I respected her and adored her. And I carry enormous guilt about what I felt back then; something between conscious and ashamed, in a way a child shouldn't have to feel about the person she admired the most. She was on the healthier side.

I heard the comments people around me made about her body. The same people who had told her to change it. I felt helpless. Not just unable to protect myself from those voices, but unable to protect her.

I worried when people spoke. About bodies changing. I was scared. Scared of the same thing happening to me.

I remember seeing people around me and a voice came to me; judgmental, fearful; that sounded familiar. It wasn't mine. But it started to feel like it was.

Fast forward to 2019.

Somewhere between the confidence that I feared becoming fat and the pride of always being skinny, something shifted. I started eating differently; emotionally, without thinking about consequence. New medication. A kind of recklessness that felt like freedom for a while.

I often worried I was fat when I was 35kg in 6th grade, then 45kg when I was 19, then 48kg, 53kg, and the last I remember was 56kg. I remember asking and crying about how I had gained so much weight and why I wasn't able to lose it. Criticism of my body was my first language.

In the second half of 2022 I was 63kg. I didn't care; ironic, but true. I looked in the mirror and never saw the weight I had gained. I still saw that skinny version of me. I stepped on the scale in 2023 to find out I was 68kg. It was 8 in the morning. I woke mom up and cried to her. How. How can I be so heavy. What did I do wrong.

What followed was intense bursts of exercise, crash diets, normal diets, regular running; but what always stayed was the criticism and the question of why I wasn't able to lose weight. My relationship with food was as erratic as my relationship with myself was.

The further I went from myself, the closer I came to always choosing food. Intermittent fasting, keto, you name it and I tried it. Not intense; but often choosing my mental health over them, fortunately.

I never told anyone what I did. Except my therapist; who in trying to help said something that stayed in the wrong way for a long time. That I never loved myself. Was it that I didn't love myself? Or was it that the relationship I had with myself was toxic, emotionally unavailable?

I realised on a random day at work why I was being so unkind and critical to myself.

A few days later I was watching a show about diplomats; typical of me to not know enough about civics. I was sitting with people I love, asking them to rewind certain shots more often than not. One time I did it more than I should have. I asked what something meant.

A family friend looked at me and said; "Are you dumb?"

I burst into tears. Not because I hadn't heard those words before. Not because I couldn't bear them. But because I suddenly recognised the voice. The voice I had been using about my body for years.

It was never mine.

I started working on my relationship with myself. Not with any intention of losing weight. What I found slowly, as a quiet by-product, was that my relationship with food became better as my relationship with myself did. I was more mindful.

But that's not the end. I still have my moments. It's still a journey.

(If you are in crisis or need for immediate support, you can reach iCall at 9152987821.)

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Written by Tanisha Sanghavi

Tanisha is a counselling psychologist and co-founder at Therapea, working with young adults on food-body relationships, attachment, and complex trauma. Work with Tanisha →