[Trigger Warning: Post contains discussion of chronic illness, weight gain and loss, and body image.]

Often, I write about my persistent struggles with weight gain, even coining “The Delusional Period” to describe how I convinced myself it was temporary. Because of thyroid issues, I uncontrollably packed on the pounds and fought battle upon battle to lose it. It was disheartening as hell. When I sought medical advice, doctors noted the scale and dismissed all my symptoms as a byproduct of that number. If no one cares how you feel, you stop caring too. At least, I did. Why go through all the effort to exercise and eat healthy and do 97 hours of food prep per meal and resist processed food if I can’t lose weight anyway? If I still feel like shit every morning? Let me enjoy my burger and fries in peace, please. Over the last 20 months, I lost at least 65 pounds, and people ask me how my journey changed. The answer: It really was diet!

In 2019 before my car accident, I weighed 210 pounds and was a size 18. I felt terrible, had zero energy, and was so frustrated with the medical process I stopped engaging entirely. The only thing making me feel worse about my body than myself was the doctors. Then Deergate happened in October when my dad and I hit a tree going about 40mph to avoid a doe one rainy morning. Between debilitating seatbelt trauma and a severely sprained knee, I was unable to move or walk much for over six months. At 225 pounds, I stopped weighing myself, believing ignorance was better until I could make meaningful change.

We won’t even mention the dumpster fire that was 2020.

In early 2021, friends posted about pursuing a less carnivore-laden diet, ranging from pescatarian to full-out vegan. As someone who orders burgers and steaks “as rare as the health department allows you to serve them,” giving up meat was absurd. However, I hadn’t dropped a single pound, spent more time sick than well, and was steadfastly on my “fuck doctors” kick.

A few months into the year, I noticed follow-up posts ranging from health improvements to body shape changes to weight loss, and I figured: What the hell? You tried everything else, haven’t you?

For those unfamiliar with me, I have an autoimmune condition called Hashimoto’s Disease in conjunction with a hormonal disorder known as Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS). These two barrels of suck often pop up together as there are similar genetic and environmental triggers/components to each. It took me six years to be diagnosed with PCOS when I was much younger, and another five years for Hashimoto’s. I still have not found an appropriate treatment in the three years since diagnosis. Fourteen years, or roughly 39%, of my life vaporized because of conditions doctors either could not or would not diagnose/treat.

I’ve written about PCOS before and some of the successful tips I eked out through trial and error, but with Hashimoto’s, I could never get a handle on the disease. If you have a thyroid condition, weight becomes the defining factor in how a doctor views you. Some even use the outdated BMI as a metric, and if you are a hair above “normal,” they are quick to proclaim your dietary and exercise choices are responsible.

For people with hypothyroidism (a symptom of Hashimoto’s), sometimes the weight gain is the symptom. The lack of being able to exercise is the symptom. I also developed crippling hormonal migraines. When I had the shop, it was not unusual for customers to be greeted by me rocking my shades ZZ Top style because the lights hurt my eyes.

The treatment was always the same: Metformin, some form of cholesterol meds for triglycerides (fatty liver is also pretty common with both diseases), and once blood pressure medication which nearly sent me to the hospital. For diet, carbs were the devil. DO NOT EAT CARBS, LITTLE THYROID GIRL. The most generous doctor told me my limit was 90 carbohydrates per day. Most encouraged some variation of low carb like Atkins while two others were adamant Keto was the only way.

Folks, I was miserable. I could not maintain it. My energy levels actually decreased, making it excruciating to do my job, much less exercise. I came home from work, plopped on the couch, and remained stationary until bedtime. I needed at least nine hours of sleep, and I still felt unwell.

Now if you like these diets, great! I’m happy it works for you. I am not intending to be evangelical about what foods or choices people make for their health. I only wish to share what finally worked for me. What bothered me is the well-meaning friends, people in keto/low carb groups, and customers insisting I was not utilizing the diet correctly. If I made these modifications, powered through the first six weeks, etc., then it would be smooth sailing. These comments came from a place of kindness, but they worsened my self-image. First, doctors tell me I am failing and now everyone from family to strangers on the Internet too? Worst of all, my biggest critic took every opportunity to berate me: Myself. Is it any wonder I was miserable?

When I floated the idea of pescatarianism, I decided to start slowly and reduce my meat consumption by half. After a couple months, I lost weight effortlessly, making movement easier. If you’ve never been overweight, it’s a hell of a lot harder getting into shape at 225 than at 180. I trimmed the meat fat more (literally).

Not only did the weight lessen without exercise, but my energy levels improved for the first time in years. I could finally start walking again! My sleep needs scaled back to around six hours a night, and those migraines? They vanished as quickly as they appeared (although something about Covid brings them pummeling to the foreground).

Since then, I only eat meat three to four meals per week and frequently adapt recipes using alternative products. A love of cooking shows sparked my desire to create recipes and find a sense of calmness in cooking. When I eat meat, I choose red varieties, something my doctors likened to a demon perched beside the delicious devil carbs. Red meat agrees with me more without triggering migraines, and I suffered more problems when I ate poultry. Admittedly, I do struggle some days with reaching my target protein mark, but I am exploring my options.

However, the primary reason I wanted to discuss the diet change is how it relates to my chronic illness essays. It’s easy to see a fat person superficially and believe they are lazy or to blame and to equate thinness with health. I became sick when I was 150 pounds and a size 6. I hope everyone realizes how unfair and untrue those conclusions are. If you struggle with health (or in general), never be afraid to step outside your comfort zone and try new things. Had I kept listening to doctors, I never would have improved. This Thyroid Girl lives for her carbs, especially rice, buckwheat noodles, and potatoes.

And finally, be kind to people at all weights. You never know what circumstances are at work in their lives. So unless someone specifically discusses themselves in a complimentary fashion, e.g. “I’m so happy I lost weight!,” keep your opinions about their bodies, their health, and their size to yourself. Your comments may not intentionally be hurtful, but in my experience, people, especially those with chronic illness, often internalize their feelings and put on a good show for the world. When we hear we are not doing things right or are wrong about how something feels, it is easier to justify unhealthy choices and habits.

As promised, I won’t preach, but if you do have thyroid issues and faced similar advice to mine, consider cutting back meat, especially processed ones. You may be pleasantly surprised, and there’s some incredible recipes out there ranging from pescatarian to totally vegan which are tasty, herbaceous, spicy, delicious, and all around amazing.