For many women, weight gain is not just about food choices — it’s often tied to deeper health battles, lifestyle demands, and invisible pain.
For me as a writer, sitting down for endless hours was unavoidable.
Add to that a long fight with endometriosis, and suddenly, my body became both my workplace and my battleground.
What I didn’t expect was the sting of judgement that comes from others — sometimes even strangers.
Years ago, at a book launch, a well-known TV presenter I had never met dismissed me with a sneer, calling me “one of those fat literary women.”
The words landed like a slap, not only because they were cruel, but because they touched a sore truth I was already living with.
The Weight of Endometriosis and Endless Misdiagnosis
My weight struggles weren’t born from laziness. Like Hilary Mantel, the double Booker Prize-winning author often mistaken for me at events, I battled severe endometriosis.
It was a disease that left me doubled over in pain, bleeding so heavily I once had to drive with a plastic bag beneath me, and waiting over seven years for a diagnosis.
I was fortunate to have two children before the illness took more from me.
But the exhaustion it left behind drove me into the arms of chocolate for energy, slowly pushing me from a size 12 to a size 20 over three decades and nine novels.
Every diet, every gym attempt, every hypnotherapy session failed.
I was disciplined enough to be a “lifetime novelist,” but no force of will could defeat what my body was battling.
When Pain Spread Beyond the Disease
By the time I was in my sixties, it wasn’t just about weight anymore — it was about knees that felt like they were being stabbed with hot needles, keeping me awake at night and reducing my beloved Hampstead Heath walks to tearful, painful pauses every hundred paces.
Doctors suggested food diaries, diet sheets, WeightWatchers. Nothing worked.
My husband never once complained about my changing figure, but when he gently said he missed seeing “my face” beneath the swelling, I knew it was no longer just about appearance.
It was about my heart, my health, my life expectancy.
Writers and Their Hidden Addictions
The truth is, writers often need something to cling to while living in the intensity of their work.
For some, it’s alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs. For me, it was food. The constant craving felt less like a bad habit and more like an addiction.
I wasn’t chasing glamour — I was just trying to stay upright long enough to keep writing.
But then came the flicker of hope: hearing from other writers, both men and women, who were trying a new medication — Mounjaro.
Even those who had struggled on Ozempic spoke of a shift.
Could this be the thing that changed everything?
Turning to Mounjaro — A Leap of Faith
My GP told me I wasn’t “obese enough” to qualify for a prescription.
At 15 stone and a size 20, I apparently fell short of the BMI cut-off.
So, like many others, I turned online and paid privately — around £160 to £180 per month, with costs now set to rise thanks to new tariffs.
The first injection terrified me. I braced for pain, nausea, or the digestive upsets others warned of.
But to my surprise, nothing happened — except something miraculous. Within six hours, the jabbing agony in my knees was gone.
A New Life, Step by Step
Ten months later, I’ve lost over 20kg (more than three stone) and can now fit into clothes I had tucked away decades ago.
My friends keep a gentle eye out for the dreaded “Mounjaro face” — that hollow, gaunt look some people develop — but so far, I feel healthier rather than haggard.
Exercise is no longer torture. I swim, I walk, I even do light workouts.
My meals are smaller, my cravings are gone, and even my evening ritual of chocolate has been reduced to a single square.
I hardly drink anymore, yet I feel lighter and happier than I have in years.
The Subtle Shifts in How the World Sees You
What’s fascinating is how the outside world shifts with your body.
At the Women’s Prize party this year, people didn’t say I looked “well” (that careful euphemism for “you’ve put on weight”). They said I looked “good.”
My fellow women writers, often hidden beneath flowing tunics, are quietly swapping them out for fitted jackets and trousers.
Some have clearly lost weight too, though few will admit how.
Writing, Health, and a Clearer Mind
Mounjaro hasn’t just given me mobility back — it has sharpened my mind.
In the past year, I finished a new novel, High and Low, in a record 15 months.
Even the book itself is slimmer than my usual work, at under 300 pages.
I may need to stay on the drug long-term, but I see it as an investment in life, not just vanity.
What angers me, though, is how inaccessible it remains.
If obesity is truly a national disease, why should relief only be available to those who can afford it? These treatments should be as affordable and widespread as statins.
Facing the Mirror Again
At 65, I feel reborn. I go to parties again, I walk without agony, and I have found a kind of peace with food that I never thought possible.
If I ever bump into that cruel TV presenter again, I wonder if she’ll even recognise me.
For me, Mounjaro has been more than a drug — it has been a bridge back to life.
And now, instead of digging my grave with my teeth, I’m writing my way into the years ahead.
