I lost over 200 pounds without surgery or drugs. I just got really strict with what I was eating.

As a fat guy, I also learned that I had to fit into certain roles. There’s the fat villain, à la Fat Bastard in Austin Powers. Then there’s the funny, fat party guy. That’s the approach I took: partying and making people laugh to avoid the anxiety that was dictating my life.

Then, I lost over 200 pounds and realized that we need more compassion and nuance when it comes to talking about weight. Fat people don’t need pity or judgment; we need understanding — and a bit of radical honesty.

I started a strict diet during the pandemic quarantine

Like lots of people, I started the pandemic ordering plenty of takeout. It was a stressful time, and I was an anxious eater. Well, I ate for all emotions: if things went well, I ate. If they went poorly, I ate then, too.

Soon it became clear that we weren’t all sheltering for a short time to flatten the curve. After about three weeks of Panda Express, I realized things were going to end badly if I didn’t change my pandemic habit. At the time, I weighed about 420 pounds, and my blood pressure was getting dangerously high.

I started intermittent fasting and built my meals around vegetables, proteins, and fruit. I was super strict, and over the next 14 months I lost 200 pounds. I never used any weight loss drugs, although, to be honest, I was a bit bitter that they became available only a few months after I was done losing weight!

I’m still learning about moderation

Part of my dieting success was because I was so strict. I had no idea of moderation — it was all or nothing. But as I reached my goal weight, I realized that wasn’t going to work long term. I wanted to balance a long life with a life well lived.

If it’s a beautiful day and I’m getting coffee with a friend, I want to be able to eat a cookie with that. Later, if I stroll around and pass an ice cream shop, I want to be able to stop there, too. Joy in food is part of what makes life beautiful.

I’m still working on learning moderation. It helps to realize that my relationship with food will last my entire life and needs to be sustainable.

No amount of body positivity would save me from bad health

Growing up, I was fat, and so was my sister Alisa, who co-authored my book with me. Our mom did her best, but as a single working mom she was often pulling casseroles from the freezer. We never learned that you shouldn’t eat lasagne multiple times each week.

As adults, Alisa and I are both much healthier than we were growing up, though we’re still fat. These days there’s a lot of talk about body positivity, almost in opposition to weight loss. I hate how body positivity can be used to sell me shit.

I’ve learned to make way for both mindsets. I can love my (still fat) body while also making it as healthy as possible, which might involve losing weight. On the other hand, no amount of body love would save me from the fact that I was slowly killing myself with food.

I want other people to know they can make changes to get healthier too

I wanted to write a book for fat people by a fat person. We’re often handled with pity or disgust, but I wanted to bring empathy and compassion to the conversation. I wanted to share a story from two people who have felt utter desperation to lose weight and who have managed to do it.

People who are naturally thin or bookish doctors who have never had to work at losing weight don’t realize how daunting the prospect can feel. When I weighed 420 pounds, the idea of climbing Mount Everest would have seemed more reasonable than losing 200 pounds.

When I did get healthier and lost weight, I felt like I had dodged a car crash. It felt urgent to share that personal accountability is important. I was killing myself slowly. If I had abused heroin the way I used food, my family would have intervened. I wish they had, but I also realize I had dug myself into a deep hole, and I was the only one who could get myself out. I want other fat people to know they can do the same.