The rising trend of using low doses of weight loss drugs seems appealing, but living by the clicks isn’t the answer

For months, I found myself obsessively counting the clicks of my Ozempic pen, trying to stretch out my doses, making each injection last longer. The idea was simple: microdosing meant spending less, avoiding severe side effects, and still maintaining my weight loss. But what started as a clever trick soon became an exhausting cycle of calculations and anxiety.

At first, it felt like a miracle. I had struggled with post-pregnancy weight gain and turned to Ozempic as a last resort after my doctor suggested statins for my rising cholesterol. Within months, I had shed the excess kilos, and my health had improved. But the trade-offs became increasingly difficult to ignore.

Microdosing seemed like a convenient way to stay on track without fully committing to the drug. Instead of the recommended weekly injections, I spaced them out over two or even three weeks, carefully adjusting each dose. I told myself I was in control. In reality, I was caught in a strange limbo—dependent on the drug, yet terrified of its long-term consequences.

Recent studies have raised alarming concerns about the mental health impact of GLP-1 agonists like Ozempic and Wegovy, linking them to higher risks of depression and anxiety. And despite their growing popularity, little is known about the long-term effects of manipulating doses outside medical guidelines.

Beyond the science, microdosing had begun to take a toll on my daily life. I became secretive about my injections, stashing my pen behind vegetables in the fridge, dreading the judgment of friends who saw my rapid transformation. Social events felt like minefields—I skipped meals, obsessively calculated protein intake, and avoided situations that might tempt me off-course.

And then came the final straw—the fear of “Ozempic rebound.” Reports show that many who stop the drug regain all the lost weight, if not more. The thought of being trapped in an endless cycle of injections, forever reliant on a pharmaceutical solution, was unbearable.

So, I made a decision. I threw the pen away. The freedom was immediate. No more worrying about fridge temperatures while travelling. No more guilt-ridden injections in secret. No more endless calculations.

Yes, Ozempic worked—but at what cost? I had lost weight, but I had also lost my sense of balance. Now, I’m relearning how to trust my body, how to eat without fear, how to live without depending on a drug. And that, to me, is true control.