I don't want to use Ozempic - this is how I lost a stone in two months

Like most middle-aged women, my weight has fluctuated like the stock exchange over the years. I’ve gone from a size 12 to eight to 14 and back to 10, deleting hideous photos and yanking at unflattering fabrics every step of the way.

Part of my battle was due to being raised a feminist. I object to society making me feel bad about my weight. I’m no fan of morbid obesity on health grounds, but equally, I’ve never felt being able to cram yourself into a Zara tube dress should be a measure of worth. I find the decades-long obsession with shrinking women both demeaning and sexist, and the endless focus on what we should and should not eat dull and punitive.

Perhaps that’s why, whenever I’ve lost weight, I’ve always ended up thinking, “but why shouldn’t I have that chocolate?” and putting it back on. I object to being told what to do by a bunch of judgmental, shape-policing patriarchs.

And yet…this year, I entered menopause, and found excess pounds clinging to me like Kate Winslet to a floating door – 2024 was also the year of the weight loss drug, and suddenly, every middle-aged, middle class woman was injecting, as if Trainspotting was being rebooted in the changing rooms of Hobbs.

Ozempic, Wegovy and more recently, Mounjaro, became names as instantly recognisable as Slimming World and Ryvita. These ‘miracle’ drugs are only available to non-diabetics privately, and certain weight criteria must be met – but I have many friends who were happy to massage their statistics in order to score the good stuff from online pharmacies. Suddenly, social media was full of excitable updates– “half a stone gone and I don’t even feel hungry!”

Meanwhile, every celebrity with something to plug suddenly looked half their previous size. I’ll admit, I was envious. I’d developed genetic high blood pressure, was under stress at work, and getting worried about my creeping waistline. I hadn’t weighed myself for a year, and when I did, in early autumn, I was alarmed to find I’d put on a stone, thanks to emergency White Magnums and a profound lack of portion control when it came to pasta.

I was also deeply opposed to taking unnecessary drugs that I couldn’t afford, injecting myself, and handing my shape and size over to Big Pharma. So I decided to lose weight the old-fashioned way, and drop the stone using the classic white-knuckle method of willpower and calorie counting.

But just a week in, I was struggling.

In the past, diets worked. I’d put weight on, then I’d cut down, walk a bit more, and lose it. But menopause is very much the Bond Villain of weight loss (‘not so fast…I’m afraid you have been foolish to challenge me this time…’), and I’d barely lost half a pound. That was when a solution presented itself.

My friend J was also trying to lose weight without drugs. “Why don’t we be ‘diet buddies’?” She said. “So we’ll be accountable, and we can encourage each other.” I’d never tried that before, preferring to go it alone – but I had nothing to lose except several kilos of undulating flab, so I agreed.

We decided we’d check in on Messenger most days, describing what we’d eaten and how much we’d exercised. I knew J shared a sensible approach to weight loss, and there’d be no nonsense about “I ate two prunes and an ice cube”.

We were both committed to enjoying food, and in it for the long haul, and we quickly got used to updating each other – “had pudding, but going to the gym tomorrow…” Her lack of judgment made it easy to admit where I’d gone wrong (“two glasses of Baileys. Maybe three. Tough day.”), and I’d happily jolly her along in return.

In the past, if I’d had a couple of over-eating days in a row, I’d generally think “oh, what’s the point?” and re-embrace my favourite ‘feminism’ argument, while merrily scoffing Tunnocks teacakes. But this time, I was genuinely concerned about my health, and firmly opposed to becoming a fat 50-something. Instead, I’d think: “I can’t let J down,” and return to the calorie-counting fray.

Six weeks passed – far longer than I’d usually spend on a diet without much to show for it. I made mistakes and over-ate, I caught a vicious cold and did no exercise for a week, I went away for my son’s birthday and ate an enormous peanut butter shortbread pudding, with zero regrets. But I knew I’d have to reveal all to my friend later, so I just cut back the next day, instead of doubling down, as I once would have.

Gradually, I lost weight. In the first month, I shed six pounds. And in the second, with some extra-long dog walks and a lot of home-made soup for lunch, I dropped another six. I wasn’t thinking about the patriarchy, or my right as a feminist to be overweight. I knew I could eat anything I wanted – I just chose not to. I have gone from rom a size 14 to somewhere between a 10 and 12.

I also didn’t talk about it much, to anyone except J and my long-suffering husband. Any kind of social media post would trigger a raft of “but Ozempic is amazing” or “try intermittent fasting!” or “why not just exercise more?” Because, I’d think wearily, what works for other people doesn’t always work for me.

What does, it turns out, is sensible eating and a trustworthy diet buddy. “Being accountable to a friend has been really helpful,” agrees J. “If I suddenly fancy a biscuit, or crisps, I think, ‘“’Hang on, I’ll have to admit this to J later’ and I don’t eat them.” The daily check-ins are invaluable. “On days when I’ve not messaged for a while, I put on weight,” She says. It definitely works.”

Psychotherapist Kamalyn Kaur agrees that diet buddies work: “The diet buddy system works well because it provides accountability, motivation, and emotional support. Sharing goals and progress with someone else fosters a sense of responsibility and reduces the likelihood of giving up.

“Whether online or in person, having a support system helps normalise challenges and celebrates successes, making the journey feel less isolating.

“Additionally, buddies can offer practical advice, encouragement during setbacks, direction, focus, and a sense of camaraderie, making weight loss a shared, uplifting experience.”

As Christmas approaches, I’m a stone down. No doubt both of us will indulge over the festive season, and we may put a pound or two back on – but come January, we’ll be back to our foolproof method. It’s injection-free, there’s no side-effects, and it works.

I’m so glad that this was the year I finally learned how to lose weight realistically. I didn’t need Mounjaro – I just needed a mate.