This is my story. Not perfect.

Not finished. Just real.

One woman. One decision. One small step at a time.

Let me take you back to 29th October 2024.

I was 50 years old, 19st 13.6lbs (that’s nearly 280 pounds), 5 foot 6, with a BMI of 45.1

I felt like I was disappearing inside myself.

Not just physically, although I did often try to hide behind baggy tops and polite smiles, but emotionally too. I was exhausted. Not just from the weight I was carrying, but from the shame, the disappointment, the trying and failing and trying again.

I wasn’t lazy. I wasn’t unaware. I’d spent years on every kind of diet, counting syns, watching carbs, walking more, drinking water, trying the latest whatever.

I had cupboards full of hope. And regret.

The truth? I was scared.

Of getting older. Of ending up in a mobility scooter. Of waking up and realising I’d spent the rest of my life waiting; for the right time, for the right mindset, for some magical reset that never came.

Add in the hot flushes, brain fog, broken sleep, aching joints and hormonal chaos, and it’s no wonder I felt like I was living someone else’s life — someone slower, sadder, and on the sidelines.

I’d look in the mirror and think: Is this just it now?

If you’ve ever felt like that — you’re not alone.

I know what it’s like to feel like time is running out.

To be the one holding everything together for everyone else, while quietly falling apart yourself.

To feel like your body is working against you.

To dread chairs with arms, stairs without railings, or office cakes that trigger a week of guilt.

I used food for comfort — and then hated myself for needing it.
I’d get excited about a “new start” and then watch it fizzle under the weight of real life: work stress, family obligations, bad sleep, hormone crashes, and let’s be honest, sometimes just not giving a toss because it all felt too hard.

I’ve cried in toilet cubicles and smiled through team meetings.

I’ve felt invisible in photos, out of place in shops, and too ashamed to even ask for help.

And I’ve gone to bed far too many nights thinking, I’ll start again tomorrow… knowing I probably wouldn’t.

But something changed

I read about Mounjaro. And even though I was scared — of side effects, of judgment, of getting my hopes up — I took a chance and said yes.

For the first time in a long time, I chose me.

Not the perfect version of me.
Not the skinny version.
Not the magazine-ready before-and-after.

Just… me. Trying. Showing up. Doing it scared.

The numbers were just the beginning

The numbers moving on the scales told part of the story — the part people often focus on first. But what really changed? It wasn’t just the weight. It was the identity shift that came with choosing myself — day after day, choice after choice.

This journey has been just as much emotional as it has been physical. Honestly, more so.

Losing the weight wasn’t the hardest part. It was learning to show up for myself. To follow through on promises I made quietly at 2am, when I was tired of feeling invisible. Tired of being tired. Tired of being in pain.

It was about becoming the woman I had longed to be — not some magazine version, not someone else's idea of “health” — but her. The version of me who was confident, kind to herself, and no longer living at the mercy of cravings, shame, or fear.

I didn’t become her overnight. And I still don’t get it right every time. But I started asking myself: What would future me do?

And then I tried to do it. Not perfectly, just consistently enough to build trust.

And that trust — that quiet self-trust — is what’s made the real difference.
When you start keeping promises to yourself, even tiny ones, something magical happens: You stop waiting to be rescued.
You realise you are the one you’ve been waiting for all along.

So yes, the numbers mattered. But they were just the spark.
The transformation happened when I decided I was worth the effort.

When I stopped treating myself like a project to fix and started treating myself like a person to care for.

When I started becoming her — one choice at a time.

I'm still on this journey

And I’m sharing it — not as an expert, or as someone who has all the answers, but as someone who gets it.

Because I know how many questions come up when you’re thinking about making a change like this — especially when it involves medication like Mounjaro or any GLP-1. 💉

This is my honest journey — the ups, the down days, and all the bits in between.

If you’re curious, if you’ve got questions, or even if you just want to say “me too,” please feel free to reach out.

I’d genuinely love to hear from you ❤️

That said, it’s so important to remember that everyone’s journey is different. What’s worked for me might not be right for you — and that’s okay. Mounjaro, or any GLP-1, is a prescription drug and it may not be suitable for everyone.

Please do your own research, speak to a trusted doctor or pharmacist 🩺 and make sure any decision you make is right for you.

This isn’t about quick fixes or magic pills.

It’s about taking back your power — 💫 one small, meaningful step at a time.

If you’ve made it this far, maybe you’re ready to choose you too. One choice, one quiet promise, one small step at a time.

Helen x