Three months in and learning to ask for help before I am desperate.
The community
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346 people, first names only, and nothing counted. There is no follower count on any of these pages, no activity score and no way to rank anybody — on purpose.
Titrating at half the usual pace and finally not miserable.
Weeks where tea and toast is the whole plan. Still counts.
Week fourteen. Learning that a plateau is not a verdict.
Collecting the small things nobody claps for.
Two kids, one very small fridge, here for the practical bits.
Spreadsheets are how I cope. Sorry in advance.
Big lad, bad knees, very slowly getting back to the hills.
Injection Sunday. Reflux Monday. Fine by Wednesday.
Nights on a ward. My week has no shape and I am making peace with it.
The dog gets me out. That is the whole exercise programme.
Here early, here often, mostly reading.
Rural, four hours from the nearest prescriber. Learning the system.
I write everything down and it has saved me twice.
Barbell first, everything else second.
Sceptical, anxious, staying anyway.
Sixty-one, type 2, doing this for my grandkids and my feet.
Came off once, came back kinder to myself.
Monday check-ins keep me honest.
I will read the paper before I believe the post.
PCOS since nineteen. Cycle back for the first time in years.
Hills, sheep, terrible pharmacy stock levels.
Almost gave up in month four. Glad I did not.
Runner. Learning to eat enough on a reduced appetite.
Sixty-eight. Here for the strength circle and the company.
Flat land, flat weeks, steady progress.
Menopause and this at the same time. Nobody warned me.
Twenty-six, paying out of pocket, watching every penny.
Practical to a fault. Ask me about cool bags.
Learning to stop before I am shattered.
Late to everything including this. Still here.
Expat pharmacy roulette. It is a sport now.
Seventy-two. Allotment, dog, blood pressure much improved.
Determined to keep the joy in food.
Shift work, two jobs, one very tired woman.
Reading everything before I decide anything.