This month I’m celebrating a very special anniversary, marking a milestone I never thought I’d reach. It’s not a landmark birthday or anything to do with my career. In fact it’s nothing you’ll find a card for in Hallmark (not yet, anyway).

This anniversary is to celebrate one year of remaining slim since coming off fat jabs – an event I’m calling my ‘thin-aversary’. Given the occasion there probably won’t be cake, but there will definitely be champagne and I might treat myself to a new dress from Wyse that I’ve got my eye on.

It may sound trivial to some, but to me it’s a very big deal. My weight has been yo-yoing for more than two decades. I have shed the flab many times but I’ve never managed to keep it off for more than a couple of months before returning to bad habits and piling it all back on again, usually with an extra half stone for good measure. But Mounjaro changed everything. When I started jabbing I was a size 18 and 13-and-a-half stone with a BMI that put me in the obese category.

My stomach was so big that in order to do up my shoes I had to manually move it out of the way by grabbing the flab and yanking it to the side. Sexy.

My face was bloated and jowly and the chub rub friction on my inner thighs was so bad it had become too uncomfortable to wear skirts. I hated having my photo taken and was convinced all my friends were talking about me behind my back, commenting on how much I’d let myself go and why on earth I’d allowed things to get so bad.

I told myself I was happy, and I would endlessly watch voyeuristic reality TV shows about hugely overweight people just so I could say, ‘Well, I’m not that bad.’

However, telling yourself that at least you still fit through the front door, and wouldn’t need to be lifted out via the roof if you had to go to hospital, is a pretty low bar to set.

I was never happy being fat, though, and having tried every diet going – from Weight Watchers and Slimming World to Atkins, cabbage soup and high fibre – I’d run out of options…until Mounjaro came along.

I was nervous about injecting myself. I’d briefly tried another GLP-1 drug, Saxenda, but it had made me so ill, including the time I spontaneously vomited on a packed commuter train (again, sexy!), that I had to stop taking it after just one week.

But when I started on Mounjaro in November 2024 I suffered no side effects and within 48 hours had virtually no appetite, even on the lowest 2.5mg dose.

Six months later, after going up to a 7.5mg dose and then tapering off, I had lost three stone 12lb and was down to a size 12. Pre-Mounjaro, a 12 was what I dreamed of being, but told myself I’d settle for size 14 if that proved impossible. Little did I know how much I’d end up shrinking.

Some dieters stay on a maintaining dose after hitting their target, but I wanted to go it alone, just to prove I could. Instead of the flab slowly creeping back on, not only did it stay off but I went on to lose even more weight.

The summer of 2025 was glorious for me. I didn’t go on a fancy holiday, instead I spent £3,000 on a new wardrobe filled with the sort of clothes I hadn’t been able to wear for years.

Out went the floaty dresses, elasticated jeans and baggy T-shirts, in came denim cut-off shorts, sleeveless blouses and nipped-in-waist dresses.

Whatever the old bird equivalent of a ‘hot girl summer’ is, I had it.

My credit card bill was huge but I didn’t care because I wasn’t.

On Mounjaro all the food noise that had long tormented me disappeared, along with any desire to drink alcohol, mainline sugar or generally pig out before collapsing into a food coma on the sofa.

Mostly I am fine with eating far less than I used to and eschewing all the fatty, sugary goods I used to love.

Christmas 2024 had been a bit bleak as, having moved up to a higher dose, I could barely manage a few mouthfuls of my lunch and didn’t eat a mince pie all season.

So when Christmas 2025 came around I decided I wanted to push the boat out, eat those moreish M&S canapes, drown in Baileys, go to parties and make up for my 2024 mince pie deficit.

I gained just under half a stone but it was worth every pound. Instead of being full of self-loathing and continuing to overeat, I just binned all the leftover treats, started eating sensibly – and the pounds dropped off.

I’m now hovering around the nine stone mark and a dress size 8. I can get into 26in waist jeans, I’ve got a cavernous thigh gap, I can see cheekbones on my once chubby moon face and my matronly meno-boobs have deflated from a 38G to a 32E.

The size 12 wardrobe I splashed out on in 2025 is now mostly too big for me but I can’t bankrupt myself by buying an entirely new size 8 one…well, not just yet.

I turned 60 in March and never thought I’d be marking the occasion while being the slimmest I’ve been in my adult life, brimming with self-confidence and for the first time in 20 years loving the way I look and how others perceive me.

Six months ago I decided it was time to fix my saggy eyes, and paid £3,200 for an upper eye blepharoplasty. I’d been wanting to do it for years but it felt a bit pointless to spend so much on my face when I hated how the rest of me looked.

It was money well spent and has made me look refreshed and more youthful in a way Botox never did.

At the start of this year, encouraged by friends, I thought I might dip my toe back into the dating world again. While weight-loss jabs have been a resounding success, dating apps have been an unmitigated disaster.

I tried three different apps – Match, Hinge and Tinder – joining as a free member, only to discover that all the good looking, intelligent men my age were premium members who I couldn’t engage with unless I handed over my cash.

I coughed up and then – wouldn’t you know it – all those silver foxes disappeared to be replaced by illiterate Phil Mitchell lookalikes.

I wasn’t being unrealistic. I was more than happy to match with people my age who, like me, had a few miles on the clock and well-earned wrinkles. But – call me fussy – I drew the line at men who put up pictures of themselves in baggy grey vests with their dinner spilt down the front.

Mounjaro was miraculous when it came to shrinking my flabby figure, but expecting it to liven up my love life was asking for a miracle too far.

As a formerly obese person, these 12 months of being thin have opened my eyes to so much. It’s not a myth, people are nicer when you’re slim. Sales assistants buzz around me in clothes stores, people smile at me in the street and strangers engage in conversation.

Maybe it’s because I project a sunnier image and seem more approachable, or maybe, as a society, we still mistrust and judge fat people.

Overwhelmingly people have been positive and complimentary about my weight loss, though a few slender gatekeepers are furious that I’m now skinnier than them, letting it be known they consider GLP-1 weight loss to be ‘cheating’.

Two friends told me I need to stop shedding pounds or I’ll look gaunt. A size 6 is not what I aspire to but it would not bother me if I drop a few more pounds.

Mounjaro has skewed my thinking when it comes to how I perceive my size and other people’s.

Previously, I would hold up size 8 clothes in stores and be unable to comprehend how they could fit a human woman. They always looked like something you’d dress a child in. Now I take a bundle of them into a changing room and feel ecstatic when they zip up with ease.

Eighteen months ago my blood pressure was high and I was on the brink of needing statins. Today it’s well within the healthy range, as is my cholesterol, and I no longer get shooting pains in my knees when I go down stairs.

It’s true I no longer have any backside to speak of, and I’ve seen 80-year-olds with more muscle tone. My neck looks as if it’s been moulded from stretchy plasticine… but I don’t care, I’m a size 8. Did I mention that?

As for the future, I can honestly say I don’t see myself getting fat again, for a combination of reasons.

Primarily it turns out Kate Moss was right when she said ‘nothing tastes as good as skinny feels’.

I still enjoy unhealthy treats, but I won’t go back to a size 18 for the sake of loaded nachos.

I have managed to tap into an eating routine and formula that works for me – and I also keep a spare Mounjaro pen in my fridge, ready to stab myself should I ever lose control of my eating.

From a psychological perspective, knowing an instant solution is right there massively helps me.

It may be my very first thin-aversary but I know there will be many others to come.

I have waved farewell to the flab for ever.

My tips and tricks to stay slim after you quit weight-loss drugs

Have two meals a day

Three meals a day is a hangover from the industrial revolution when people typically worked tough, physical jobs that burned huge amounts of energy. I’m sitting at a desk, not digging for coal. I have my first meal around noon and my second at 5pm – it’s enough to keep me satisfied. If I feel peckish, I have a fistful of cashew nuts.

Don’t buy biscuits, etc

I realise this is easier for people who, like me, live alone. I used to buy biscuits and snacks for when people popped in, but they rarely wanted them so I scoffed them myself. Today, friends get a nice coffee from my fancy new barista machine… and that’s their lot.

Relish restaurant trips

I can't bear going to a restaurant and ordering a boring salad – so I don’t. Instead I go less often but enjoy it more. I have a starter and main course but forgo pudding, as sugar ignites something that makes me crave more. Leftovers go in a doggy bag for the next day.

Don’t drink at home

I’ve never been a massive boozer but I did enjoy a glass of wine or G&T in front of the TV. Do that four times a week and the calories add up. Instead I save my alcohol calories for nights out when I can enjoy a cocktail or a glass of rosé.

Bin your ‘fat’ clothes

I’d always held on to my larger clothes because I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d need them again. Now the biggest thing in my wardrobe is a size 12, after I sold the 14s, 16s and 18s on Vinted, making £400. I used to feel depressed when I saw all the smaller sizes that no longer fitted. Post-Mounjaro, the same now applies when I see my fat clothes.

Keep up protein levels

I used to roll my eyes when people talked about the importance of protein – now I’m one of them, as it really does fill you up. An omelette of mushroom, spinach and a sprinkling of feta cheese at midday lasts me till my next meal, which I aim to eat before 6pm, usually chicken or fish with three veg or an ‘interesting’ salad – spinach, avocado and artichoke with a mustard dressing. I’m also a convert to protein shakes – almond milk, frozen berries, half an avocado, Greek yogurt and 50g of protein powder. Protein products are everywhere, from bagels to yogurts, so it’s easy to up your intake.

Don’t despair on bad days

I am not a saint. There are times I still polish off a pepperoni pizza for three or scoff a tub of Ben & Jerry’s while watching Netflix. But now I don’t spiral and decide to throw in the towel. Instead, I say, ‘one day of piggery won’t make any difference’ – and it doesn’t.