I remember the conversation so clearly. I was 38 years old and sitting opposite my doctor, feeling absolutely broken as he told me: ‘I’ve seen this a thousand times before and unless you stop over-eating you will be dead by the time you’re 50.’
I was newly diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, and I weighed 22st.
It had taken decades to get to this point, but in a flash, as he delivered his blunt prognosis, I realised how deeply unhappy I was.
The root cause of that unhappiness – which I didn’t understand at the time, but would come to later – was a failing marriage. I suspect like many women, I was over-eating to cope with a relationship that no longer gave me what I needed.
Daniel and I met in our very first lecture together at Bristol University in 1997 when we were both 19. I arrived there a tight size ten. My God, I wish I’d known how gorgeous I was.
Daniel came from a very privileged background and to me felt like a knight in shining armour. He’d been to Westminster School, he was blond, blue-eyed and 6ft 2in. I’d call him Captain Jewel or The Viking. I felt I was very lucky to have him. As a black woman, I’d already learned that, usually, I wasn’t the prize. The fact this beautiful posh boy wanted me felt like a revelation.
Not that I was without privilege myself. The daughter of a diplomat, I grew up in London’s Mayfair and had an expensive, luxurious childhood. It was very Dynasty, all designer clothes, chauffeur-driven cars and shopping in Harrods.
My mum was very glamorous and knew her power came from being beautiful. And slim. The problem was, in the home she created, love was expressed through food. It was joy and it was comfort. If you were sad, you were told to have some cake.
I was newly diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, and I weighed 22st. It had taken decades to get to this point, but in a flash, as he delivered his blunt prognosis, I realised how unhappy I was
Of course, that all changed when I got to the age of 14 and having been told to eat, eat, eat, all of a sudden that cake was slapped out of my hand. Now the message was very clearly, ‘You’re too fat’. And, indeed, everything about me felt too big – my bum, my hips, my boobs, my lips. Even my size 8 feet. I was 5ft 6½in, and at 13st, I had an hourglass Marilyn Monroe figure. I was physically strong in a world of delicate English roses.
Throughout my teenage years, I never had a boyfriend.
Just before university, however, I dropped 2st – and then I met Daniel. I was a virgin and loved that he was more interested in talking about medieval politics than trying to get me into bed. We’d sit up all night chatting and laughing. I fell in love quickly and hard.
Meanwhile my parents were still sending very mixed messages. Despite our family wealth, my father refused to help me pay my bills or rent. So, like many a student before and since, I lived off 18p packets of custard creams so I could afford to put the heating on.
Then Dad would phone and tell me no man would ever love me at my size – a 12 at this point, which he considered to be fat. Why didn’t I turn off the radiators and get a personal trainer instead? His meanness simply sent me to the biscuit tin more often for comfort.
By the third year, Daniel and I moved in together and I loved being looked after by him because I’d never had that. But steadily I got bigger, a size 14 by the time we graduated.
I always felt Daniel enjoyed playing the hero and rescuing me. For years I felt very protected. He was my best friend, and we had so much fun together. We had picnics in my dorm room, and he’d buy all the food and lay out candles.
We married in 2006 and five years later, our twin girls were born.
Over the course of our 17-year marriage, I gained 11st. I take full responsibility for what I put in my mouth, but the root of my overeating lay in the fact I wasn’t in control of my own life
Life was hectic – I took an absurd two-week maternity leave and then went back to 18-hour days as both a freelance beauty editor and a co-director of the film production company Daniel and I had set up together.
We had a full-time nanny and also help from my mum, but my diet went haywire. I’d starve myself all day, existing on fizzy drinks, a couple of biscuits and some chocolate, and then binge when I got home. Daniel would cook us a sensible dinner (though in man-sized portions) but then I’d have four slices of chocolate cake or two tubs of Ben & Jerry’s. I’d be surprised if I was eating less than 7,000 calories a day.
Over the course of our 17-year marriage, I gained 11st. I take full responsibility for what I put in my mouth, but the root of my overeating lay in the fact I wasn’t in control of my own life. I wasn’t being me. For so long, I’d assumed everyone knew better than me – my parents, my white knight Daniel – that I’d never stopped to ask what I wanted for myself.
Sitting in that doctor’s room, I began to take back control.
The first thing I did was ban sugar from my diet – and lost 4st in four months. I started doing ballet and yoga and knew if I wanted to fix my body, I had to fix my life. The questions I asked were fundamental. Did I really want to live where I was living? Did I really want to do what I was doing?
Of course this was a new kind of Ateh, and the more ‘authentic’ I was, the more agency I took, the more I felt it placed a distance between Daniel and me.
The beginning of the end for our marriage came in 2018 when I said I wanted to move out of London to the Cotswolds. I needed to be surrounded by nature. Daniel didn’t want to come, but I refused to back down. The twins were only seven – if I didn’t move now, I never would – and eventually he agreed.
It was the first time I was making an executive decision for the family. I’d deferred to him in our marriage and put him on a pedestal, even if I hadn’t agreed with him.
I told myself he must know better because he was a man.
But even as the marriage began to crumble, I found myself feeling happier than I had for a long time. I was walking up to 10,000 steps a day, lifting weights, taking ballet classes and sound baths at Bamford Spa. I was also becoming more visible on social media and started my Wednesday chat club on Instagram.
I realised that ‘nourishing my soul’ is what would make the weight come off. I’m an emotional eater but when your emotions are in check, you don’t need to compensate with trips to the biscuit tin. I realised I had been 11st unhappy.
The pandemic really was my rebirth. I thought if this is the end of the world, I am not going out like this. I want to be my full-on, Technicolor, 100 per cent self. I started wearing red lipstick and colourful clothes instead of my usual black or grey.
Sometimes on Instagram I talked about politics, and sometimes I talked about make-up. I was appearing on This Morning, Good Morning Britain and CNN as a cultural commentator and diversity advocate. I didn’t ‘betray’ myself to keep the peace any more.
And so much good came from it. I started writing a magazine column, I launched a podcast, I became more visible. At last, I began to love myself and, for the first time in my life, put what I wanted first. Deep down I knew being this new version of me would blow up my marriage. But I was done playing the obedient wife.
Today I weigh 15½st, but I know I need to lose more to be free of diabetes, so now I’m focusing on diet
In March 2023, on my 45th birthday, Daniel gave me a small bar of chocolate from Hotel Chocolat and I remember thinking, how strange, he knows I’m a type 2 diabetic. I think he was telling me what he thought of me. I didn’t feel it was deliberately malicious, but I did feel devalued.
That was my last birthday in the marriage. When it ended, one friend said Daniel was the six-month boyfriend I let drag on for 26 years. He was my duvet, a safe, comfortable place to hide so I didn’t have to put myself out there. I loved him very much and I’m so thankful for our beautiful twin daughters. But the more I loved myself and felt less grateful to be with him, the more we pulled apart.
We did go to couples therapy and made repeated attempts to talk our problems through – but it didn’t stop the inevitable split. I launched my make-up brand Ateh Jewel Beauty into Harrods four days after he left the marital home in July 2023.
Funnily enough, I felt really proud of myself – a mix of joy and liberation as well as grief. I couldn’t launch a brand with authenticity and happiness at its heart and not be those things myself – so I had to pull the trigger on the marriage.
Shortly after, I went on a ten-day spa trip to Buchinger Wilhelmi in Germany. I never did those things before because I felt guilty about putting myself first, like so many women do. But now I thought, sod it, I’m going.
I had ten days of being nurtured and looked after like a child and I lost a stone. I had no responsibilities, and every day was full focus on myself and my body. It all felt very monastic. I realised if I was lucky, I might still have half my life left to live.
I’m not going to deny the feelings of shame around the end of my marriage. Most of us feel that a broken relationship is a failure on our part. But that spa trip helped me overcome those feelings and finally set me on the best possible course. When I got home, I started taking Ozempic on the NHS (diabetics had access to it from 2019) and felt like I’d been thrown yet another lifeline.
I’ve been on a 1mg dose since then and I’ve lost 3st. Today I weigh 15½st, but I know I need to lose more to be free of diabetes, so now I’m focusing on diet.
Instead of five Diet Cokes a day, I’ll have a couple of Remedy Kombucha drinks (wild berry and cherry plum are my favourites). If I have breakfast, it will be Greek yoghurt and berries or a slice of sourdough toast with scrambled eggs. Dinner might be steak and chips or a coconut and prawn curry that I cook from scratch. All the sugary snacks that made me fat have gone.
Before I was like a vampire desperate for her fix of blood – all I could think about was when I was going to get food again. Now some days I get to 7pm and have to remind myself to eat. It’s so liberating not to be driven by thoughts of sugar.
Before, I thought a successful life as a woman was being chosen by a man and living a life of privilege and affluence. Today I want to be super-strong, sexy and empowered. Perhaps that will involve another man, and perhaps it won’t.
After Daniel left, I spent 18 months on the dating apps, and it was absolutely feral. I saw a very wide range of men – from beautiful 22-year-old personal trainers with eight-packs to old-fashioned men in their 60s. All of them chasing me!
I kissed lots of them, but I can still count on one hand the number I slept with. After 26 years with the same man, I’m working out what I like sexually, but ultimately what I want is a man who’s a lover and a friend and is happy to celebrate my success. I can wait for that.
I don’t fear gaining weight because I’ve taken away the triggers. I say yes to all the opportunities that come my way and I’m more fulfilled than I’ve ever been.
It’s been a long road to self-love and acceptance, and I don’t have the same internalised racism or feel the need to be validated or chosen anymore.
If I was still married, I’d be 28st and miserable – or dead, and I don’t say that lightly. I had to save my own life.
The divorce will be through in a few months, but it will still take another year or two to fully recover from the effects of the marriage and the choices we both made. Having said all that, we had many years full of laughter and friendship, and I regret nothing and wish him well.
But maybe this is my purpose. To talk about my journey in the hope it will help other women heal too.
Ateh is the first Coils, Curls & Waves Creative Consultant for Superdrug
