07/31/2026
I'm not here to scare you off Mo‌un‌ja‌ro. I'm here because my daughter is 14 and she should never have had to do what she did...
You've probably seen the headlines. Mo‌un‌ja‌ro prescriptions in the UK have absolutely exploded. Millions of women are on it or trying to get on it, and I completely understand why. When you've spent years fighting your own body and someone hands you something that actually works, you don't ask too many questions.
I didn't ask enough questions.
I'm 41. I'd been overweight since my second pregnancy. Not enormous, but enough that it affected everything — my confidence, my joints, the way I avoided cameras, the way I'd cancel plans because I didn't want to be seen. I'd tried everything over the years. Everything. When my GP finally agreed to refer me for Mo‌un‌ja‌ro I genuinely wept in the car park.
The first few months were remarkable. The weight dropped off. I felt in control of food for the first time in my adult life. I was evangelical about it, honestly. I was that person sending voice notes to my friends telling them to push for a referral.
Then one afternoon in March, I collapsed in my kitchen.
I remember the floor coming up to meet me and thinking, very clearly and very calmly, this is not right. Then nothing.
My daughter found me. She's 14. She came downstairs for a glass of water and found her mum unconscious on the kitchen tiles.
I can't write about what that did to her without falling apart, even now. She rang 999 and stayed on the line and apparently kept telling the operator "please hurry, please hurry" until the ambulance arrived. She sat on the floor next to me the whole time. Fourteen years old.
The paramedics were brilliant. In A&E they ran every test going. Severe dehydration, dangerously low blood pressure, heart rate all over the place. The doctor — young woman, couldn't have been much older than 30 — sat on the edge of my bed and explained that Mo‌un‌ja‌ro suppresses appetite so aggressively that many patients simply stop eating and drinking enough without realising it. The body doesn't send the normal signals. You don't feel hungry. You don't feel thirsty. And then one afternoon your body just stops compensating.
"We see this more and more," she said quietly. "People think because they're losing weight, everything is going well."
I stared at the ceiling of that ward for two days. My daughter had to be looked after by my sister because she was too frightened to stay home. Every time I closed my eyes I thought about her finding me. I thought about what would have happened if she'd already gone back upstairs. I thought about all the voice notes I'd sent my friends telling them to get on it.
The guilt was something else entirely.
I told my nurse on the second day that I was done with the in‌je‌ct‌io‌ns. I didn't know what I was going to do instead, but I was done.
She didn't try to talk me out of it. She just nodded and said, "There's actually an article going around at the moment. A few of the women I've spoken to on this ward have found it really helpful. Hang on."
She came back ten minutes later and read me out a link she'd written on a scrap of paper.
I looked it up that night on my phone in the dark ward, propped up on pillows with a drip in my arm.
I read every single word of it. Then I read it again.
I won't pretend I wasn't sceptical. I had just been burned badly by something I'd trusted completely. The last thing I wanted was to fall for another promise.
But something about the way it was written — the science behind it, the way it explained what Mo‌un‌ja‌ro actually does versus what your body actually needs — made it feel different. It wasn't selling me a dream. It was explaining a mechanism. I'm not a scientist, but I understood it.
I started the week I got home from hospital.
That was eleven weeks ago.
I've lost three and a half stone.
Not because I'm suppressing anything or in‌je‌ct‌ing anything or starving my body into submission. The weight has just... come off. Naturally. Consistently. My appetite has rebalanced itself rather than been switched off entirely. I'm eating. I'm drinking. I feel like myself — a version of myself I haven't met in about fifteen years.
My daughter noticed before I did. She came into the kitchen one morning, stopped, looked at me properly and said, "Mum, you look really different." Not in a dramatic way. In the way kids notice things when they're not trying to.
I cried. She didn't really understand why.
I'm posting this because I see women in this group and groups like it asking about Mo‌un‌ja‌ro every single day. And I understand it. God, I understand it. When you've struggled for years and someone offers you something that works, of course you grab it.
But please, please make sure you know what you're agreeing to. Make sure someone in your house knows what to look for. Make sure you're still drinking enough. Make sure you're not just assuming that losing weight means everything is fine.
And if you're on it and you're scared to come off it because you don't know what's on the other side — there is something on the other side. I promise you there is.
The article is in the comments. Read the whole thing. The bit halfway through about what actually drives fat storage changed the way I understood my own body completely.
I'm not selling anything. I'm just a woman who spent two days in hospital while her fourteen year old daughter was too frightened to sleep at home.
Don't wait for a version of that to happen to you.
