
There’s a quiet stage of life that doesn’t get celebrated very much.
It’s not the dramatic beginning.
It’s not the triumphant transformation.
It’s not the crisis.
It’s maintenance.
This week alone has been full of it. A new, larger radiator installed so the kitchen is properly warm. Clearing wardrobes of clothes that are now two sizes too big. Adjusting my glasses prescription. Tweaking medication doses. Bringing forward recruitment plans for Mum’s care. None of it headline-grabbing. All of it necessary.
For years, my life felt like it was about change. Losing weight. Recovering from injury. Adapting to mobility challenges. Learning how to live well in a body shaped by Thalidomide. Those were visible milestones. They felt measurable. Applaudable.
But maintenance is different.
Maintenance is choosing not to keep the size 18 “just in case.”
It’s planning meals because appetite suppression isn’t quite what it was.
It’s stretching daily, even when nothing hurts too much.
It’s booking the eyesight test before things become a problem.
It’s upgrading the radiator instead of just putting on another jumper.
Maintenance is a decision to stay steady.
With Mounjaro, the early months were about loss — weight coming down, food noise quietening, habits tightening into place. Now I’m at my lowest weight ever. I’m not trying to lose more, but I am determined not to drift backwards. That requires awareness. Planning. Honesty about increased hunger. A willingness to adjust rather than pretend nothing has changed.
Maintenance isn’t passive. It’s active stewardship.
The same applies to Mum’s care. To charity work. To relationships. To our home. Things don’t hold themselves together. They require small, often invisible inputs of energy. Quiet decisions made early enough to prevent bigger problems later.
There is a certain satisfaction in this stage. A maturity to it. I am no longer constantly reinventing myself. I am tending.
And tending, I’ve realised, is a skill.
It takes discipline to stay at a healthy weight.
It takes humility to ask for help when needed.
It takes foresight to recruit before there’s a crisis.
It takes confidence to throw out the clothes that no longer fit.
Maintenance may not look dramatic from the outside, but from where I’m standing, it feels like strength.
Steady doesn’t mean stagnant.
It means cared for.
And at this stage of my life, that feels like success.


A nice quiet week, ahead of what promises to be a busy one.




The car is fixed! And what’s more…. and what’s more, it didn’t cost me a single penny….
Hello folks! well, that’s another week under my belt.
A productive and productive week. I’ve sorted and made space in my freezer and then promptly got to work filling it again! Both soups made 10 portions, so the freezer is now nearly at capacity. As the weather gets cooler, I’ve been making batches of homemade soup.
I’m pleased that the centimetres are going from those places that I want them to. I’m always astonished by the change, but I am feeling it in my clothes. I’ve been buying a few new tops (t-shirts) on Vinted. I’m steering away from my usual patterned blouses – new shape, new style!
Weight: 60.5kg – 500g off (about 1lb)
Another week has passed. I have noticed this week that my hunger levels have increased. My meals are starting to look kind of “back to normal”. They were never huge, but I am clearing everything on my plate and enjoying it a bit too much. I plan to take a 7.5mg dose of Mounjaro this week to see if increasing the dosage slightly has any effect on my appetite suppression.
It’s been a good week.
Ever since I started taking Tirzepatide, many of those whom I’ve told ask me the very same question. “What happens when you stop taking it?”
This week has been much quieter from the point of view of having fewer social activities planned. Enjoyed a coffee in the garden in 24 degrees this morning – on a Bank Holiday Monday too!

I’ve not got as many images to share this week as I ate out a lot…. I feel it a little anti-social to start photographing one’s food. But it was all delicious.
