
A woman in her 50s whoās lost over 7 stone and is still learning how to show up for herself, one small step at a time.
This isnāt about perfection, quick fixes, or pressure.
Itās about progress, kindness, and building a life that feels good to live in.
For years, I felt stuck. Trapped in a cycle of emotional eating, shame, and feeling like real change was for other people. I lived with pain from lymphedema, carrying nearly 20 stone, my weight creeping up each year, whilst nothing I did made a impact. Then I discovered something different and for the first time, I started to believe it wasnāt too late.
I have started taking Mounjaro, a licensed drug to help treat obesity in the UK. I had been thinking about starting this treatment for quite a while and looked into this and other alternatives that are available in the UK.
There is so much misinformation about these drugs online and in the media so I hope I can help by sharing my experiences and provide you all with more information through my blog posts.
If you have any questions please feel free to drop me a message or let me know if there is anything in particular you would like me to discuss.
Please note that I am only documenting my experience, always do your own research and speak to a doctor or pharmacy for medical advice or if you have concerns whilst taking GLP1 medication.
With love, Helen š©·


If youāre new here, welcome ā Iām really glad you found your way.
This is a quiet space for women in midlife who are navigating weight loss, self-trust, and real life ā imperfectly and honestly.
You might like to start with:
My Story
How I lost over 7 stone and learned that transformation is about more than numbers.
š Read More
My Most Read Blog Posts
The posts readers return to when they need encouragement and perspective.
š One Year On. One Step at a Time. š
š Hormones, Paddington & The Great Chocolate Crisis of 2025
š What No One Tells You About GLP-1 and Emotional Eating
My Digital Journal
After years of struggling with emotional eating and self-doubt, I created a gentle companion journal to support women on GLP-1 journeys.
Itās designed for reflection, self-kindness, and realistic progress ā not punishment.
š View the Journal
What Iām Building Next
Iām beginning to share more of my journey on YouTube.
š https://www.youtube.com/@helencraddock












February 2026 ā Mounjaro Diaries
February has been one of those months that doesnāt quite know what it is.
Part celebration.
Part heartbreak.
Part oysters.
Part wondering what day it is.
And somehow⦠all of it real.
My sister-in-law passed away peacefully this month.
Thereās something soft about that word āpeacefully. It doesnāt take away the ache, but it brings comfort.
She was in a lovely home. The staff were extraordinary ā kind, patient, human in all the ways that matter most at the end of a life. And for that, I am deeply grateful.
Grief doesnāt move in straight lines.
It shows up unexpectedly. In songs. In quiet car journeys. In the pause before you pick up your phone to text someone who isnāt there anymore.
And somehow, life continues moving around it.
In the middle of all of this⦠I also had a birthday.
Yes. That happened too.
Which, conveniently (or suspiciously), falls in the same week as Valentineās Day.
Honestly? It felt like a coordinated sugar attack.
Every single present was edible. š«š
Not a candle.
Not a scarf.
Not even a mildly aggressive ālive laugh loveā mug.
Just chocolate.
The headline act?Twelve chocolate brownies from Cutter & Squidge.
Twelve.
Thick. Fudgy. Life-altering brownies that deserved their own security detail.
And then ā because apparently the brownies werenāt enough ā several large boxes of Belgian chocolates arrived. The posh ones. The shiny wrappers. The mysterious fillings.
At one point I genuinely thought,
āAre people trying to sabotage me?ā š
But hereās what actually happened:
I had some.
I enjoyed them.
I didnāt eat all twelve brownies in one emotionally charged sitting.
I didnāt spiral.
I didnāt declare the week āa write-off.ā
I shared. I paced myself. I even forgot they were in the kitchen one day.
WHO AM I?
Old February Helen would have treated that week like a farewell tour.
This year?
Low key. Warm. Loved. Chocolate-covered.
And surprisingly⦠balanced.
Then came the rugby.
England v Wales. Six Nations. Another work freebie (I am clearly in the right department š ).
England won š¬š§š ā which always helps the atmosphere.
It felt good to be in noise. To cheer. To feel part of something loud and alive when internally everything feels softer and slower.
Grief and joy can sit next to each other.
Iām learning that.
On the Sunday we wandered through Borough Market.
Cold air. Busy stalls. That familiar London buzz.
We ate at my favourite seafood spot. Oysters. Fresh and salty and perfect. A glass of wine. š¦Ŗš·
And yes⦠I managed to avoid the bread basket.
Which, if youāve been following this journey for a while, youāll know is growth.
Not because bread is forbidden. But because I wasnāt eating to soothe anything. I was eating because I was hungry.
That difference matters more than calories ever did.
Weight loss this month:Zero.
Not up.
Not down.
Just steady.
And once upon a time that would have triggered panic.
Old me would have tightened everything. Restricted harder. Criticised louder.
This month?
Iāve chosen grace.
Because life has been heavy.
Because juggling work, home life, admin, paperwork, emotions and loss is exhausting.
Because maintaining during grief is strength.
February hasnāt been about grit.
Itās been about grace.
Grace with my body.
Grace with my energy.
Grace with the fact that not every month will be a milestone.
There have been evenings where Iāve simply written things down to clear my head. No plan. No performance. Just honesty.
Sometimes that pause is enough to stop you numbing with food.
Enough to stop you fighting yourself.
Enough to remind you that youāre human.
And thatās allowed.
February hasnāt been flashy.
Itās been layered.
Chocolate and tears.
Rugby and quiet drives.
Oysters and hospital memories.
And through it all?
Still steady.
Still showing up.
Still doing this.
With love,
Helen š¤