A woman sat nervously in front of me, eyes wide, voice low. “I saw this video on TikTok,” she said. “Now I’m not sure I want to try it.” “It” was semaglutide—one of the most transformative medications we’ve seen for weight loss and metabolic health in years. But her fear wasn’t uncommon. Like many patients I see, she came in hopeful, but hesitant—torn between her desire to get healthy and the noise of social media, sensational headlines, and judgmental whispers.

What didn’t make it into the video she saw? The patient I had just seen the week before who, after starting tirzepatide, lowered her A1C from 8.2 to 5.9. The man who was finally able to stop his blood pressure meds for the first time in a decade. The woman who walked into my office crying—grateful not just because she had lost weight, but because she could play with her grandkids without knee pain or fatigue.

In my aesthetics and wellness practice, I work at the intersection of confidence and clinical care. I see people who have tried everything. They come not seeking vanity but control—over their bodies, their biology, and the shame they’ve carried for far too long. And yet, I’ve learned that one of the most important roles I play isn’t prescribing—it’s deprogramming. It’s countering the fear-mongering reels, the out-of-context headlines, and the idea that taking a medication means you’ve failed.

Because here’s the truth: Every FDA-approved medication has undergone years of testing and rigorous review. No drug is completely risk-free—semaglutide included. But the same could be said of ibuprofen or oral contraceptives. And yet, we don’t shame people for taking Motrin for a headache. We don’t ask why they didn’t “just try yoga” before starting blood pressure meds.

So why do we treat obesity—a chronic, relapsing, and complex metabolic disease—so differently?

The answer lies in decades of stigma, misinformation, and a cultural obsession with willpower. It also lies in the silence of the clinical community. We’ve allowed influencers and celebrities to dominate the conversation around GLP-1s, while many clinicians remain on the sidelines, either skeptical or unwilling to engage.

The danger of letting influencers shape the narrative around medical treatment goes far beyond semaglutide. We’ve seen this play out with vaccines, supplements, hormone therapy, and mental health medications—where anecdote often outweighs evidence, and popularity becomes a proxy for credibility. When laypeople with no scientific training become the loudest voices in health care conversations, misinformation spreads faster than facts. Worse, it erodes trust in licensed providers who are bound by ethics, data, and decades of peer-reviewed research. Patients deserve better than TikTok science.

But now is not the time for silence. Now is the time to educate, to guide, and to help patients separate fact from fear.

Medications like semaglutide and tirzepatide are not magic. They require support, follow-up, and lifestyle change. But they are also not frauds. For many patients, they are the first tool that finally makes lasting health feel achievable.

When I think about the future of medicine, I think about trust. We need to earn it back. That means showing up—in exam rooms, yes, but also in comment sections. It means telling our stories. And it means making space for patients to feel hope without shame.

Because in the fight against obesity, misinformation may be the most stubborn thing we have to treat.

Sarah White is a nurse practitioner, small business owner, and premedical student based in Virginia. With a background in clinical practice and caregiving, she brings a unique perspective to the intersection of medicine, family life, and community service. She volunteers with the Medical Reserve Corps and is preparing to apply to medical school in 2026.

Sarah is also the founder of two growing ventures: Wrinkle Relaxer, where she specializes in aesthetic treatments, and Bardot Boutique Aesthetics, a space for curated beauty and wellness services.