The Health Journey I Avoided for Years

I'm writing this the night before my first injection.

I'd love to tell you I'm calm and confident. I'm not. I'm nervous, a bit teary and oddly relieved, all at once. (Apparently that's possible.)

So let me back up.

I spend my days coaching women to change their thoughts. I talk about the stories we tell ourselves and how they quietly run everything we do. So, you'd think I'd have been able to think my way out of this one.

I couldn't.

What food noise actually sounds like

You might have heard the term food noise. I never needed it explained, because I live it.

I wake up thinking about food. What I'll eat, what I shouldn't eat, what I'll buy at lunchtime even though I've packed lunch. (Yes, I pack it. Then I buy something different anyway, and I've usually decided that before nine in the morning.) It's constant chatter, and it's exhausting.

Then the voice gets louder at the worst moments. 'One more won't hurt.' 'You're already fat, so what does it matter?'

I can go three or four weeks doing everything right. I lose five or six kilos. Then the noise gets louder and undoes the lot. I've done the diets, the fitness programs and the healthy living coaching. I'd get two or three months in, then slide straight back into my old habits.

In the Big Girl Pants Confidence Model, that's step one: The Stories. I know mine well. I could tell you exactly what they are and where they came from. Awareness is where change starts, but it turns out it wasn't the only thing I needed.

I honestly thought I could change my thoughts enough to change everything. I tried. I couldn't get there on my own.

The reasons I couldn't ignore any more

In my early fifties, I can't get up and down off the floor with ease. I get breathless. I've got small marks on my eyelids that are linked to cholesterol, and I'd been too scared to get my levels tested because I was sure I knew the answer. When I catch a cold or the flu, it takes me out for a week or more.

Then there's the one I don't love admitting. I'd been fat-shaming myself. Not wearing what I wanted because 'what's the point, look at the size of me'. I tell the women I work with to be kind to themselves, and I'd been a bully in my own head.

That has to stop. I want to feel nice in my body again, and I want to be around, and able to move, for the next thirty years.

Saying it out loud

I was nervous walking into the doctor's. Saying 'I'd like medication to help me lose weight' out loud is a lot harder than thinking it.

My doctor was brilliant. The appointment was booked for fifteen minutes and ran at least thirty. (Nobody was waiting, or I'd have felt dreadful.) A quick finger prick showed my morning blood sugar wasn't good, so I had a full round of bloods, and the doctor also wanted to look at perimenopause while we were at it.

Two weeks later I went back for the results. I'm not diabetic, but I'm sitting in the prediabetes range. My vitamin D is low, even though I get plenty of sun, which tells me my food isn't doing me any favours. There's also a tiny blip on my liver reading, nothing my doctor is worried about for now.

I walked out feeling happy and sad at the same time. Relief that I wasn't further down the track. Confirmation that if I kept going the way I was, I'd get there.

The plan

We've agreed I'll start an injectable. I want to be clear on this one. It's medication for obesity, not the diabetes medication, and I have a lot of respect for the people who rely on theirs.

It isn't cheap. Because I'm not diabetic, it's around $330 a month. It's not forever, either. It's for as long as I need it, and then we look at weaning off.

My first goal is to lose at least ten percent of my body weight, which for me is around ten to twelve kilos. I know this is a long game. I didn't put thirty-five kilos on overnight, so I'm not expecting it to come off overnight. Two or three years is realistic.

Here's what I'm not doing. I'm not treating the injection as a magic wand. It's there to turn the volume down on the food noise and reduce the cravings. The rest is still on me.

That means three small meals a day, more protein and fibre, and a lot less chocolate, lollies and soft drink. It means weight-bearing exercise, because losing weight quickly can mean losing muscle along with the fat, and I'm not keen on that. Fitting it in around work and the business is going to take some planning. (I'll let you know how that goes. Fingers crossed.)

The hardest part

It wasn't the needle. It was admitting I couldn't do this alone.

It's my body. Why can't I just manage it myself? I've spent my whole life being the capable one, the one who gets things done. Asking for help felt like admitting I'd failed.There were also the thoughts of being judged and accused of taking medication that’s for diabetics.

I don't see it that way now. I believe nobody can do the work for you. I also believe support matters. Both are true. That was my Hurdle in Tight Jeans, and it had nothing to do with a needle. It was saying 'I need help' out loud.

Tomorrow is day one. I'll tell you how it goes, including the bits that aren't pretty.

I have everything I need. The strength, the smarts, the ability to do hard things. I am now shaking in your boots while I do it.

Is there something you've been avoiding for years because admitting you need help feels like admitting defeat? Put 'ME' in the comments or send me a message. I'd love to hear your story.

This is my story and my experience only, not medical advice. Please talk to your own doctor about what's right for you.