The debate around obesity has been rekindled recently following proclamations by Tory leadership candidates, but many commentators who speak on the subject seem to have no sensitivity to how the language or imagery they use fuels hurtful perceptions that obese people are lazy, inhuman or a burden. The mass of statistics being thrown around dehumanises individuals, many of whom already know what to do and are trying their best to do it.

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Should foods with high sugar content be taxed more? Boris Johnson, who looks certain to be our next prime minister, doesn’t seem to think so. And he has boldly called for a review (even though there is already one under way).

But what has bothered me most is the way the debate has been conducted: the way the media speaks about obesity only exacerbates the problem. And I know this because I used to be obese.

I remember hitting 126kg (nearly 20st) on the scale. At my height of 5ft 6in, this was a dangerous weight. But I had been dieting all my life. At the age of one, I was already heavier than most: doctors told my mum that she should start feeding me differently to the advice given by the health visitor. Yet I ate healthily, nothing was processed, and I was active and happy. But for whatever reason, I was on the bigger side.

To borrow a phrase, my obesity ate at me. What may have begun as a genetic predisposition to storing fat turned into something that deeply affected my mental health. The two are not causal, of course: in other words, I don’t think I was anxious and depressed because I was the size I was. But I do think the way society talked about and treated my condition did cause lasting psychological harm. At school I hated swimming and felt bigger and more self-conscious than all the other girls – and I would go to summer sports camps to desperately try to change my shape so that it couldn’t be one of the taunts aimed at me by bullies.

I joined a gym when I was 11, agreed to seeing a dietitian aged 15, and I remember being a teenager and going to shops, only to find that as a size 16, the clothes were hidden at the back or on different floors well away from the shop windows. They really stuck the boot in when I got to size 20 and over: then, clothes became more expensive than the same item in a smaller size. Ouch.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘As a size 16, the clothes were hidden at the back or on different floors well away from the shop windows.’ Photograph: Alexander F. Yuan/AP

Whenever a newspaper carried a headline about the “obesity crisis” and how much it costs the NHS, I would think “not only am I fat and ugly, like everyone says, I am also a burden to the state”. On the news there were pictures of people like me wandering past the camera, which zoomed in on rubbing thighs and muffin tops. Meanwhile a thin, perfectly coiffed newsreader would describe how obesity meant an increased risk of cancer, lower fertility, heightened risk of diabetes.

Every time I saw one of these reports, I felt my heart puncture. Try harder, they seemed to say to me – and if you fail, you fail society not just yourself. There was no recognition that the images and the tone of the debate itself were hurtful – and setting me, and others like me, back.

As an adult, having overcome serious and debilitating depressive episodes, I was ready to make a massive change – and after a year and a half of careful clinical consultation, decided a gastric sleeve operation was the way to go. I had 200 tiny staples in my stomach to make it smaller. I lost over 50kg. Now I am proud to weigh in at 71kg. My BMI is 25. Ideal is 19-25. But I’ll take that.

Is there an epidemic of obesity, not just in the UK but across the world? Certainly. That is factual. Do we need to do something about it? Absolutely. Do I support something like a sugar tax? Actually, I do. Losing weight is hard – and I welcome any evidence-based intervention that helps everyone make good choices.

But no one ever talks about the shape of the debate itself. My plea to those who are engaged in it is please take care. Think about those who might be listening, many of whom are trying hard to do the right thing. Do you need to use the pictures you do to illustrate a piece? Can you avoid words that can be triggering, like “fat”, as a description of a person, when instead more clinical terms like overweight or obese could be better? An overweight person has a higher fat-to-muscle ratio, yes – but they are not “fat”.

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Social media platforms are terrible for this kind of abuse. If you should ever feel compelled, as someone who has never had to deal with having to lose weight, to say “just eat less” or “do some exercise” to someone who is – check yourself. Losing weight, even with the help of the operation I had, remains the hardest thing I have ever done – and the thing I am most proud of. It is unacceptable that others should be put off from making positive choices about their own bodies by the judgment of our media and the lack of empathy in our society.

I have nothing but respect for anyone who grapples with their weight. Culturally, we should do the same. Because, occasionally, and especially when it hits the news again, I am taken right back to that time when I, too, was struggling.

• Layla Moran is Liberal Democrat MP for Oxford West and Abingdon