What People Don’t See: Why I Chose to Start Mounjaro 💉

Hey, welcome back to my blog.

I’ve thought a lot about writing this post because it’s not easy to share. For most of my life, my relationship with food, my body and my health has been shaped by things people couldn’t see—childhood trauma, feeling lost, being injured and stopping Boxing, abuse, mental health struggles and years of quietly fighting chronic illnesses. Emotional eating wasn’t about being lazy or lacking discipline; it was about survival. Food was there when nothing else felt safe and I clung to it.

Over time, that coping mechanism collided with depression, PTSD, diabetes, PCOS, sleep apnea, fatty liver and a body that increasingly felt out of control.

This isn’t a story about a magic fix or a miracle drug. It’s about a messy, long, exhausting journey that finally led me to ask for help—and to accept support when my own willpower had given all it could.

Where My Emotional Eating Began

I was always a little chubby as a kid, but everything changed when my parents divorced in 2012. I didn’t have anyone to talk to and counseling didn’t really help. School became a nightmare, I was constantly in detention and that’s when emotional eating really started.

I would eat when I was happy, sad, nervous, bored—anything. Food became my safe place. Chocolate and sweets filled a hole that nothing else could. Over time, it stopped being a comfort and became an addiction. I ate to feel something, anything and when that spiraled out of control, I gained weight, became more depressed and ate even more. It was a vicious, toxic cycle—one that only started to break when I joined a community weight loss program and lost 6.5 stone before starting boxing.

Boxing and the Return of Old Patterns

Boxing saved me. It gave me purpose, something to focus on other than food. I wanted to prove that girls could be strong and powerful and boxing became my life. I poured everything into it: learning, training, competing. It was my identity.

But then I got injured. Being told I couldn’t train or fight for a year sent me spiraling again. Being stuck inside, followed by COVID, pushed me into a deep depression. I returned to old habits, to food, because it was all I had left. Losing that structure of boxing broke me. The weight piled on, chronic illnesses flared and I was losing grip of my mental health.

When Mental Health and Physical Health Collided

By 2020, I was exhausted. Working a job I didn’t like, supporting my family, constantly fighting my own demons—I put myself last. Then came my diagnoses: PCOS and diabetes. It felt like another death sentence.

In 2020, I started this blog because I wanted to help others feel less alone. Meanwhile, my health continued to spiral. Blood sugars out of control, extreme pain, no periods and a GP who seemed unable and unwilling to help. I was struggling to even get out of bed, let alone take care of myself or my family.

Then, at 23, I was diagnosed with non-alcoholic fatty liver disease. That scared me more than anything. I knew I needed help and asked my GP for support. I was referred to a weight loss clinic at Addenbrooke’s, where I was given a series of diets and eventually told surgery might be the last option.

I didn’t want that. I wanted to try everything else first.

I was prescribed Saxenda, a weight loss injection, but it made me so unwell I could barely function. At one point, a GP even told me I was “probably pregnant”—I wasn’t. I felt alone and misunderstood and after months, I had to stop the injection because it made me so unwell. I was back to square one.

Reaching a Breaking Point

For over a year, I tried everything—different diets, vitamins, lifestyle hacks. Nothing worked. I became increasingly unhappy and even suicidal. I was terrified I might not come home one night.

Then I got Marley. My tiny, 12-week-old pup became my reason to keep going. He needed me, my family needed me and that was enough to keep me alive.

Looking back, I realise just how close I came to losing myself completely. It’s frightening and honestly, I still think about it sometimes. But Marley gave me purpose and for the first time in a long time, hope.

Trying Everything to Fix Myself

I felt punished at every clinic appointment. My weight fluctuated, my body betrayed me and every conversation ended with the mention of surgery. I had done it before—lost weight naturally—and I was determined to do it again.

But my body was breaking down. My chronic illnesses controlled my life and coping mechanisms became dangerous. I stopped dressing nicely, lost confidence, and completely lost hope. I fought these battles mostly alone, burning the candle at both ends with sleep apnea, depression and exhaustion.

In September last year, I returned to training and started kickboxing. I needed structure and something to reclaim my power. Boxing had always been love and hate and now kickboxing became a way to reconnect with the strength I knew I had inside me.

February: When Everything Changed

February last year was the turning point. I finally told the truth about things I had carried alone for years. The emotional fallout was huge but I couldn’t turn back. I had to face my life head-on.

Therapy helped me find new ways to cope. Fighting the urge to turn to food was brutal, but I knew it was a matter of survival. Kickboxing helped too. I was starting over, but for the first time, I felt like I could reclaim my power.

Asking for Help — and Choosing Mounjaro

Therapy made me realise it was okay to ask for help. I spoke to my GP about my weight and my fears around food and that’s when the conversation of Mounjaro came up.

After my experience with Saxenda, I was hesitant. I wanted to lose weight naturally. But after nearly five years of trying and failing, I knew I needed support. I did my research, understood the risks and side effects, and decided to give it a try.

I started Mounjaro in June. By August, I’d lost about half a stone, but I was still eating processed food and expecting a miracle. That’s when I realised: this was a tool, not a magic fix.

Understanding That It’s a Tool

I began really focusing on my eating habits. I cut back on carbs, sugar and processed foods, eventually moving to a keto-style diet that worked for my PCOS. Simple meals, energy-filled food, proper hydration, vitamins, electrolytes. Slowly, my body started to respond. I slept better, felt stronger and my mental health improved.

Seven months in, I’ve lost 3 stone and I feel like myself again. But more importantly, my thoughts about food, my body and my future have changed.

Measuring Progress Differently

I weigh myself rarely — maybe once a month. PCOS makes weight fluctuate constantly and obsessing over scales would have been dangerous for me and my mental health. Instead, I measure progress by how my clothes fit, my strength and my energy. I'm down 4 clothes sizes already and I still have a way to go!

Mounjaro didn’t save my life. I did, by choosing to keep going when I didn’t think I could. The medication is a tool, not a miracle and it only worked because I committed to changing habits, protecting my mental health and treating my body with love instead of punishment. I will always be open and honest about my healing and this journey included a medical tool.

This journey isn’t about losing weight, It’s about staying alive, healing my body and reclaiming my life. I train 6 days a week, 3 days swimming and 3 days full body and weight training, this is something I always did before and it has really helped me mentally and physically while taking Mounjaro.

I would like to add that I was medically prescribed Mounjaro and would not have purchased it myself, I took the opportunity because with my medical conditions it was offered and a last resort for me really what is starting to really help me turn my life around.

My inbox is always open for anyone who is struggling, who is thinking about trying Mournjaro and wants some tips and tricks or just for a chat.

I look forward to sharing more blog posts with you soon,

Chloe x