Jordan Beaven

Today has been one of those days that’s sat a bit heavy with me, and I think it’s important I write it out properly rather than brushing over it.

Physically, things were already a bit off. I hadn’t eaten much — just a sandwich earlier in the day — which actually sat fine. But a few hours later I had one of my Fortisips and it didn’t sit right at all. It felt heavy, painful, like it was just stuck there. That overfull feeling again that I’m starting to realise comes with this medication, especially if I don’t pace things properly.

But what really affected me today wasn’t just the physical side of it.

I was talking to a nurse about how little I’ve been eating and how strange it feels. I said I was worried about not getting enough nutrition because my appetite is so low and nothing really feels appealing anymore. Food just… doesn’t feel the same. And that in itself is something I’m still trying to adjust to.

In that conversation, I was told that the point of the medication is to stop eating, and that we want it to work so that I don’t eat.

And I want to be really clear here — I don’t believe that was said with any bad intention. I don’t think anyone was trying to cause harm or upset me.

But my brain didn’t process it that way.

Because I’m autistic, I take things very literally. I also tend to think in quite a black and white way. So what I heard wasn’t “eat less” or “your appetite will reduce” — what I heard was “you shouldn’t eat at all.”

And that hit something in me.

It triggered guilt around food that I’ve worked really hard to manage. It brought back that all-or-nothing thinking. It made me question whether I should be eating anything at all. And suddenly, something that was already difficult — eating when I don’t feel like it — became loaded with even more emotion.

I found myself feeling upset, confused, and honestly a bit shaken by how quickly my mindset shifted.

What I do know, now that I’ve had time to sit with it, is that this medication isn’t about not eating. It’s about eating differently. Smaller amounts, slower, more mindful. But in that moment, it didn’t feel like that at all.

I think that’s why I’m sharing this.

Not to blame anyone. Not to call anyone out. But to highlight how important communication is — especially in medical settings, and especially for people like me who process things differently or have a complicated relationship with food.

Because the way something is said can completely change how it’s understood.

There’s also still a lot of misunderstanding around medications like Mounjaro, even in places where you’d expect clarity. And moments like today show how easily wires can get crossed.

Today wasn’t an easy day. Physically or mentally.

But I’m working through it. I’m reminding myself that I am allowed to eat. That I need to eat. That doing this properly doesn’t mean starving myself — it means learning a new way of nourishing my body.

And maybe that’s the real takeaway from today.

Not perfection. Just understanding.