Weeks 1-3: The Things We Learn

Ok, well I am doing well. How long has it been since I could write a sentence like that and Be Better Tomorrow

Ok, well — I am doing well.
How long has it been since I could write a sentence like that and truly mean it?

I’ve lost two stone in the past few weeks. That’s two stone from walking my dog, from eating healthier, from trying to look after myself. Don’t get me wrong, there have been slip-ups. The odd can of Coke. A piece of chocolate. And yes, a KFC.

But here’s the difference: I forgave myself.

Before, a slip like that would have left me in despair — curled in a corner rocking back and forth, screaming, maybe drooling with KFC still on my lips. Pretty picture, right?

But this time, I didn’t spiral. I just told myself: “Be better tomorrow.” And I was. The next day, I skipped the treats, I did a bit more exercise, and already I felt stronger for it.

My Relationship with Food

For the first time in my life, my disastrous relationship with food is easing. I’m not just eating for survival or punishment anymore. I’m eating to enjoy food — and more importantly, to enjoy life.

I still have the odd smoothie or juice here and there, but honestly, I prefer eating the fruit itself and feeling full that way. Healthy food I actually love.

Because for me, food has always been more than just fuel. Food has been everything. It’s the meaning of life, the one thing that never fails to deliver sensation, comfort, satisfaction. That’s why the word “fat” has always felt like a dagger in my heart.

The Word I Feared

I hate the word fat. I hate saying it out loud. I even hate thinking it. For me, it’s always been like Harry Potter’s Voldemort — a word too dangerous to name.

Why do I hate it so much?
Because it’s degrading. It sounds ugly. It’s what bullies used to call me. It’s cruel, harsh, and mean.

But here’s the truth I had to face: I hate the word because it describes me.

I can soften it with euphemisms like curvy, chunky, full-figured, or big-boned, but they’re all just polite wrappers for the same word: fat.

And I’m done being a slave to it. It’s not a curse, it’s not a weapon, it’s just a word. It doesn’t define my worth. It doesn’t erase my value. It’s simply where I’m starting from.

Signs of Change

Yes, I’m still fat. I will be for a while. But for the first time in forever, I’m doing something about it — and it’s working.

My jeans are falling down, and not because I bought them too big — but because my body is shrinking out of them. I even had to buy a belt. It’s embarrassing to constantly yank your trousers up, but honestly? I’ll take that embarrassment over what I felt before.

And now I find myself wondering: should I keep my bigger clothes? Part of me wants to hold onto them, just in case. Because I’ve failed before. Many times. But maybe if I throw them out, I’ll have no parachute, no safety net, no way to slide back. Maybe I’ll keep one pair, though — as a reminder of where I never want to be again.

My Battles

For years, my weight has been like armor — a heavy coat I wear every single day. But my weight is only one part of the fight.

I have PCOS, which makes losing weight harder. I have IIH, which has given me seizures and stripped away parts of my life. Some days, I feel like when I turned 30, my warranty expired and everything just started breaking down.

Each day is a battle with my weight.
Each day is a battle with my disabilities.
Each day is a battle with my mental health.

Will I win? I hope so.

Is It Cheating?

Some people think using medications like Mounjaro, Ozempic, or Wegovy is cheating. I don’t. Not when you’re battling not just food cravings but hormones, seizures, pain, and exhaustion. For people like me, these medicines aren’t shortcuts — they’re allies.

All my life, I’ve gained and lost the same five stone. Over and over. This time, I’m losing weight for me. Not for society, not for strangers, not even for family. Just for me.

Not Alone

The battle continues — but now I fight it with support. A partner who loves me, fat and all. A family who stands by me. A circle I know I can reach into when I need help.

That makes me lucky. Very lucky.

And for the first time in a long time, I can look in the mirror, see my reflection, and whisper to myself: Be better tomorrow.

Because tomorrow is always another chance.