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Wanna know how I lost 50kg (110 lbs | 7.5 stone) — no pills, no injections, no diet BS? The real secret might surprise you

Here’s something crazy When I was overweight, I genuinely didn’t realise how big I was. Sounds batshit crazy I know. ​ But let’s talk about this because nobody else does. ​ There’s actually a scientific name for it: 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆-𝘀𝗶𝘇𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 and it’s rampant among those struggling with obesity. In fact, research shows over 70% of obese people underestimate their true size. (Yep, not a typo. SEVENTY PERCENT.) How does that happen?! ​ Here's how: ​ 1. ​ You stop wearing jeans (too tight, too confronting, too honest). Buttons? Forget about it. ​ 2. Enter elastic waistbands. Elastic feels like a supportive bestie, soft, forgiving, always stretching to make you comfortable. But elastic lies. It enables denial. It quietly whispers “It's not that bad babe.” ​ 3. ​ Mirrors become the enemy. Photos? Not today, Satan. You literally stop seeing yourself clearly. You're living in stretchy denial-land, thinking, ‘I’m a little overweight,’ when in reality you’re significantly obese. ​ And here's why this matters a lot ​ Because denial delays change. It delays awareness. It delays your decision to take control. And denial absolutely destroys your health. ​ I lived this reality. I stayed comfy in my stretchy safe zone until chronic pain, menopause, and needing surgery woke me up screaming. I found myself 50 kilos heavier, needing a wheelchair, wondering, “How did it get THIS bad?!” ​ You don't wake up obese overnight. You slide into it slowly, quietly, one elastic waistband at a time. You gradually stop noticing until life makes you notice. And that’s when it hurts. Like, really hurts. ​ But here’s the good news Realisation, brutal as it is, gives you your power back. Acknowledging reality is your first move toward freedom. ​ I’m here to say out loud what nobody else will: It’s not your fault, but it IS your responsibility. ​ If this hits you right in the gut (where your button used to be) GOOD. This could be your moment. ​ I escaped denial, ditched the elastic, and reclaimed my life, losing 50 kilos without pills, surgery, or injections. And guess what? My buttons work again. ​ If this hit a nerve, it was meant too. Drop the denial. Slide into my DMs if you’re done with stretchy lies and ready to feel like you again. No judgment. Just truth, support, and a plan to get your buttons back. ​ If this made you nod, smirk, or think ‘oh shit, that’s so her’ give it a little nudge. The ones who need it most won’t comment… but they’re watching, quietly clutching their leggings.

I'm officially back after two weeks off, celebrating Pesach, soaking up magical time with my parents, staying in hotels (where the breakfast buffet could have fed a small country), endless meals out, birthdays, milestones... the whole lot. It’s been beautiful. It’s been joyful. It’s been FULL. And guess what? I didn't diet. I didn't punish myself. I didn’t start again Monday. I lived. I rested. I honoured my body. ​ Growth isn’t linear. Healing isn’t perfect. And life isn’t lived in a bubble where everything is easy. ​ Life throws hotel buffets, birthday cake, and champagne glasses at you when you’re in the middle of being good... and that’s NORMAL. ​ The old me would have spiralled. All or nothing thinking would've kicked down the door like a SWAT team. One off meal would have led to a week of f*ck it. But the NEW me? The one who’s committed to identity change, ​ not quick-fix diets? I stayed true to myself. ​ I honoured my no-refined-sugar boundary. I enjoyed incredible meals (and lots of them!). I listened to my body instead of old rules. ​ Because I'm not trying to be someone who doesn’t eat sugar anymore. I AM that person now. And when it’s your identity, not just a goal, you don't have to white-knuckle your way through life events. You just live differently. ​ So if you want some real, practical tips for living this way (and still having a bloody amazing time) here you go: ​ Focus on identity, not willpower. Don't say "I'm trying to quit sugar." Say "I don't eat refined sugar that's who I am now." Identity shifts stick longer than willpower fights. ​ Plan for joy, not punishment. Going to a hotel? A wedding? A birthday party? AMAZING. Go in knowing you’ll enjoy yourself and stay true to you. It's not either-or. ​ Release the all-or-nothing trap. You’re not good or bad based on what you ate. You’re human. Move forward. Always. ​ Rest is not falling behind. Rest is where resilience is built. It's where identity is anchored. It's essential. Not optional. Celebrate your small wins. Every time you honour your promise to yourself no matter how small, that's a VICTORY. Each tiny win is a brick. Stack enough and you build a bloody fortress. ​ All or nothing thinking says you failed. Guilt says you deserve it. Both are full of shit. If celebrating your life feels like committing a crime... time to hit CTRL+ALT+DELETE on the guilt program. Message me. ​ And if this made you smirk (or squirm) hit like, it might land in the feed of someone else who's secretly struggling too.

Let’s talk sugar. Not carbs. Not keto. Not clean eating. Just sugar. The thing that keeps you up at night. The 3pm crash. The mindless binge. The just one bite that turns into the whole box. I used to live on cake, sweets, and crisps. Sugar ruled me until I said Enough. I quit sugar cold turkey. I lost 110 pounds. I got my life back. And now I’m building something bold to help others do the same. So tell me… What’s your relationship with sugar like? (No judgment just raw honesty.) 👇 Vote below and if you're feeling brave, share your story in the comments. I might just feature some of the answers in an upcoming project

I thought loosing weight was the win. But ditching the guilt, shame and self sabotage? That was the real glow up.

This weekend I walked 10k. In a mini skirt. Along the beach. In the heat. No sweat rag. No electric fan clipped to my handbag like a survival tool. No leggings welded to my thighs like clingfilm in a sauna. ​ No waddling no waddling-induced rage no praying for a bench every 50ft. ​ Just me. My legs. And no emergency supplies. ​ Sounds small, doesn’t it? But this… was HUGE. ​ Two years ago? I couldn’t walk 1k without pain, let alone 10. A mini skirt would’ve been as realistic as me running a marathon in stilettos. My thighs didn’t glide. They growled. ​ I didn’t leave the house in the heat without my full emergency kit: leggings (non-negotiable) fan, sweat cloth, extra pants (for the swamp situation) and enough self-loathing to power a small village. ​ I had chronic back pain. I was 50+ kilos heavier. And I was surviving, not living. ​ But here’s the sneaky bit: when you’re living like that, you forget. You forget what it’s like to move freely. To wear what you want. To not overheat doing basic stuff like standing in a queue. To not have to plan your entire outfit around what might rub, pinch, or roll. To walk into a room and not scan for chairs without arms. To sit cross-legged on the floor without needing a forklift to get up. To climb stairs without wheezing like a broken accordion. To walk next to someone fitter and not worry they can hear your breath fighting for its life. To hold a conversation and walk at the same time without your lungs filing a formal complaint. ​ And when the weight goes? When the pain eases? You don’t just feel lighter. You feel alive. Not because you look a certain way. But because you’ve finally stopped fighting your body every bloody second of the day. ​ If this hit home and you’re done pretending leggings are comfy in heat comment or DM me freedom. And if this isn’t you, but you know someone silently suffering through summer in stretchy lies give this post a like. You might just help it reach the one person who’s too embarrassed to admit their thighs start a fire if they walk more than 500 steps.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗘𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗕𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗙𝗮𝘁 (𝗡𝗼 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗧𝗮𝗹𝗸𝘀 𝗔𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗜 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹) ​ You know what hurts more than the truth? Your thighs in August. Let’s talk about the actual side effects of being fat. And no, I’m not talking about cholesterol or BMI charts. I’m talking about the real stuff ​ – Button trauma. Haven’t done one up in 3 years. – Jean PTSD. If it doesn’t stretch, it doesn’t exist. – Thigh friction so violent it should come with a fire extinguisher. – The 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘱𝘦 panic. You know the one. – Hot weather hell. Swamp underboob. Angry chafing. Rage in your soul. – Period week? Like fighting a war inside a sausage casing. – Shopping? More like ‘guess which plus-size sack won’t make me cry.’ ​ And somewhere along the way… You stop noticing it’s getting worse. Because stretchy waistbands are forgiving. Leggings whisper 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘦. And elastic lies. ​ Until one day… your reflection doesn’t look like you anymore. And you think: How the hell did I let it get this far? Look, if the word fat offends you, ask yourself why. Would you prefer I say I was 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘺? 𝘗𝘭𝘶𝘴-𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥? 𝘊𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘬𝘦-𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺? ​ No. I was fat. ​ Uncomfortable, sweaty, out of breath tying my shoes, button-averse fat. But also funny. And smart. And driven. And fucking tired of hating my body. ​ And yeah, I can laugh about it now. But if you’re laughing too… You might want ask yourself ​ 𝗪𝗵𝘆 𝗮𝗺 𝗜 𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴… 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴? Because that’s what I did for years. Laughed it off. Shrugged. Bought another pair of leggings. Told myself 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺. Until one day, Monday actually came. ​ And I did something radical. I said 𝘕𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘕𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘕𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵. I escaped the diet prison. And now? My buttons work. My thighs don’t burn. And I feel like me again, only better. ​ If this post made you laugh, wince, and feel personally attacked in the best way… Good. That means it hit the spot. And if it pissed you off? Even better. Because sugar-coating never saved anyone from stretchy-denial. ​ Comment ESCAPE if you're ready to get your buttons back. Or DM me if you'd rather confess in private. I won't judge. I’ll just help you burn the leggings and get your life back.