For years, I thought I just lacked discipline. I blamed myself for every pound I gained, every workout I skipped, every healthy routine I couldn’t seem to stick with. I’d start strong, meal prep like a champ, hit the gym with determination—and then crash. Hard.
I used to call it laziness. Now I know it was something else entirely.
It turns out that trying to lose weight while living with undiagnosed Bipolar II disorder, chronic stress, and long stretches of depression is like trying to hike a mountain in the dark—with no headlamp, no map, and no food. It’s not just hard. It’s nearly impossible. But I’ve learned that with the right tools, that mountain can be navigated.
This is the story of why weight loss wasn’t working for me—and what finally started to shift when I stopped blaming my willpower and started healing the things underneath it.
Depression and Food: When Eating Feels Like the Only Comfort (or the Last Priority)
When depression takes over, everything slows down. You’re not just tired—you’re hollowed out. Grocery shopping feels overwhelming. Cooking? Forget it. Half the time I’d skip meals entirely because I didn’t have the energy to decide what to eat. The other half, I’d binge eat whatever was easy, salty, or sweet.
Depression made food both an afterthought and a crutch. I’d eat to numb the depression, then feel guilty afterward. I told myself I just didn’t want it bad enough. But the truth is, when your brain is stuck in a fog and your body feels like it’s sinking, willpower is nowhere to be found.
The Bipolar II Cycle: Highs and Lows
Living with Bipolar II means swinging between depressive lows and hypomanic highs. During hypomania, I’d feel a burst of clarity—hit the gym five days in a row, log my calories, plan everything down to the gram.
Then it would flip.
Suddenly, I’d be exhausted. Meals became random again. Cravings took over. My body was screaming for balance, and I didn’t know how to give it that. Every “up” felt like progress, and every “down” erased it.
And it wasn’t just about food. It was focus. Routine. Memory. Emotional regulation. All the invisible scaffolding that healthy habits rest on—mine was constantly collapsing and rebuilding. I had absolutely no idea what was really going on.
Stress and Cortisol: The Silent Weight-Gain Saboteur
I have spent the better part of my life in stressful jobs, relationships, and situations that were overwhelming. Stress wasn’t just an emotional weight. It became a physical one.
Living in a constant state of stress flooded my body with cortisol—one of the key hormones that contributes to fat storage, especially around the belly. The more I stressed about my weight, the harder it became to lose it. I turned to food for relief, and every time I tried to quit emotional eating cold turkey, I spiraled. Sound familiar?
It’s not that I didn’t want to change. It’s that food, for years, was the only comfort I had. It was predictable when nothing else was. A bad day at work? Mac-n-cheese to the rescue.
It Wasn’t a Willpower Problem—It Was a Mismatch of Needs
People love to talk about self-control. The truth? I had self-control in spades. I was surviving, performing, pretending, pushing through. I had white-knuckled my way through life for years.
But willpower doesn’t fix a dysregulated nervous system. It doesn’t silence mood swings or heal emotional wounds. It doesn’t feed a starving nervous system the kind of regulation it actually needs: sleep, balance, peace, stability.
I wasn’t failing. I was fighting a battle blind.
What Changed: A Diagnosis, a Deep Breath, and a Different Kind of Discipline
The biggest shift came when I finally got a diagnosis: Bipolar II.
Suddenly, all the pieces made sense—the mood swings, the burnout, the bursts of energy followed by days lost to depression. I began treatment. I started therapy. And I began to approach weight loss from a place of healing, not punishment.
I stopped trying to punish my body into shrinking. I started feeding it in ways that made me feel good—stable, nourished, clear-headed. I learned my patterns. I prepared for them.
Some days I still have to fight the fog. But now I know it’s part of the cycle—not a character flaw.
The Trail as My Motivator
My motivation to lose weight used to be to look a certain way—to fit into a certain outfit. To feel “normal”. And while there is nothing wrong with wanting to look good, for me, it was never reason enough. Not to keep the weight off, anyway.
I’m in my late 50s and I have finally discovered something that I really enjoy—something that brings me a sense of mental balance. Hiking. I love getting out there on trail and just being immersed in nature. I love everything about it—the detachment from the hustle of our modern-day world, the feeling of mindfulness that comes from being “off grid”, even for just an afternoon. I love the hiking culture, and the community.
Here’s the thing—hiking is hard. Especially on trails like the Appalachian Trail. The demands on your body, not to mention your mind, are incredible. Carrying the extra weight makes it doubly challenging. I learned this all too well on my AT thru-hike attempt. The weight slowed me down tremendously. For me, that experience was enough to spark a new desire to get fit. Not to fit into an outfit, but to feel comfortable in my own skin on trail. Wanting to do more than what my body currently allows became my motivation.
Building a New Relationship with Food (and Myself)
Food is no longer the enemy. It’s also not my therapist, my escape hatch, or my only source of joy. It’s fuel, yes—but it’s also comfort, community, and ritual. Learning to respect that has helped me make peace with food in a way I never thought possible.
Now I focus on slow, simple routines:
- Keeping meals regular, even if they’re not perfect.
- Prepping easy go-to foods for bad days.
- Moving my body more.
- Celebrating small wins, not just big numbers.
Healing First, Then Weight Loss
If you’re reading this and struggling—know this: you’re not broken. You’re not lazy. You’re not weak.
You are trying to build a better life while carrying a heavy, invisible load. That takes strength.
My weight loss didn’t start when I found the perfect diet. It started when I stopped seeing myself as a failure and started seeing myself as someone who needed care. Real care. Mental, emotional, physical. In that order. What fueled my weight loss was my desire to enjoy life by doing the things I love.
This time, I’m not chasing a number. I’m chasing peace. And that weight? It’s finally starting to come off—not because I’m fighting harder, but because I’m finally not fighting myself.
Truth to the core! You got this.
Thank you!