Well.
That was a lovely plan.
Strength training twice a week.
Walking.
Swimming.
Protein.
Fibre.
Vitamin D.
Sleep.
HRT reviews.
Health checks.
Friends.
Water.
Possibly remembering where I’ve put my glasses.
I finished my Midlife Reset feeling extremely organised.
Future Me was delighted.
My skeleton was presumably applauding.
My muscles were preparing for their triumphant return.
And then…
Tuesday happened.
I was tired.
Work was busy.
I hadn’t slept particularly well.
Something needed doing at home.
I couldn’t remember whether I’d taken one of my supplements.
And the idea of doing resistance exercises suddenly seemed considerably less appealing than sitting down with a cup of tea.
Welcome to real life.
Because there’s a rather important part of wellness that doesn’t always make it into the beautifully photographed version.
Sometimes you won’t do it.
I am not going to become a wellness robot
I’ve realised there’s a danger in learning all this information.
Once you know what you could be doing for your health, it’s very easy to turn it into another enormous list of things you’re failing at.
Didn’t exercise today?
Failure.
Didn’t eat enough vegetables?
Failure.
Went to bed too late?
Failure.
Forgot the vitamin D?
Failure.
Had cake?
Apparently society would like me to complete a written apology.
No.
I’m not doing that.
I didn’t research menopause so I could replace confusion with guilt.
The whole point was to understand my body better.
Not create another impossible standard.
I am a human being.
Some weeks will go brilliantly.
Some won’t.
That’s not failure.
That’s Tuesday.
Consistency does not mean perfection
This was something I needed to understand.
Because I’ve always had a tendency to think in extremes.
If I’m doing something, I want to do it properly.
Which sounds admirable until properly becomes so complicated that I stop doing it altogether.
Exercise is a perfect example.
Imagine I’ve decided I’m going to strength train twice a week.
Monday arrives.
I’m tired.
I don’t do it.
Immediately my brain announces:
Well, that’s this week ruined.
Apparently Wednesday has ceased to exist.
But health doesn’t work like that.
Missing one workout doesn’t erase the previous ones.
One poor night’s sleep doesn’t destroy your health.
One takeaway doesn’t cancel every nutritious meal you’ve eaten.
And one week where life gets in the way doesn’t mean you have to wait until next Monday, next month or next year to start again.
You just…
carry on.
That may be the least exciting health advice I’ve discovered.
It might also be some of the best.
The all-or-nothing woman is exhausting
I know her well.
She’s the woman who announces:
Right. That’s it.
Usually on a Sunday evening.
Tomorrow she’s getting up early.
Exercising.
Drinking two litres of water.
Eating perfectly.
Going to bed at ten.
Taking every supplement.
Sorting her entire life out.
By Wednesday she’s shattered.
By Friday she’s eating toast over the sink wondering where it all went wrong.
I’ve been thinking about her.
And I don’t think she’s lazy.
I think she’s trying to change too much at once.
So I’m retiring her.
She can join Hercules.
Although Hercules is technically coming out of retirement, so this is becoming administratively complicated.
Instead, I’m trying something far less dramatic.
Good enough. Repeated.
Not perfect.
Repeated.
The minimum still counts
This idea has been surprisingly helpful.
On a good day, perhaps I do a proper strength session.
On a difficult day?
Maybe I do ten minutes.
Perhaps I go for a walk.
Perhaps I do a few controlled exercises at home.
Something is still something.
The same applies to food.
Maybe I’ve planned a beautifully balanced meal with protein, vegetables and wholegrains.
Lovely.
But perhaps I get home exhausted and dinner needs to happen in ten minutes.
Eggs on toast.
Greek yoghurt and fruit.
Beans on toast.
A quick omelette.
Soup and something alongside it.
Health doesn’t disappear simply because dinner wasn’t photographed from above beside a linen napkin.
Convenience matters.
Especially when the alternative is giving up because everything feels too difficult.
I’m going to make the healthy option easier
This is where I’ve started thinking less about motivation and more about my environment.
Because motivation is unreliable.
Some mornings I have loads.
Other mornings it appears to have gone away with my memory.
So instead of relying entirely on enthusiasm, I can make things easier.
Keep useful foods in the house.
Put resistance bands somewhere I’ll actually see them.
Have comfortable shoes ready for walking.
Keep supplements I’m genuinely using somewhere sensible.
Use reminders when I need them.
Plan a couple of easy meals.
Arrange exercise with somebody else occasionally.
Basically:
Make Future Me’s life easier.
Because Future Me isn’t only the seventy-five-year-old woman we’ve been discussing.
She’s also me at six o’clock tonight.
And she may be tired.
My phone is now part of my brain
I’ve accepted this.
I used to think I should be able to remember everything.
Appointments.
Shopping.
Things I needed to do.
When I last changed something.
When I needed to order something.
Where I needed to be.
Now?
No.
The phone can remember.
That’s what it’s for.
Reminders aren’t evidence that my brain has failed.
They’re tools.
Calendars are tools.
Lists are tools.
Putting something in the same place every day is a tool.
And given that I have previously found myself searching for my phone while actually holding my phone, I’m going to use every tool available.
No shame whatsoever.
Tracking can help—until it doesn’t
I’ve become a fan of tracking symptoms.
It helped me notice patterns.
Sleep.
Hot flushes.
Mood.
Restless legs.
Digestive symptoms.
Changes after adjusting treatment.
That’s useful information.
Especially when you’re trying to explain several months of symptoms during a ten-minute appointment.
But tracking should help me understand my body.
It shouldn’t make me frightened of it.
If I start monitoring every sensation, every meal, every fluctuation and every imperfect night’s sleep until I’m constantly analysing myself, that’s no longer particularly helpful.
I don’t need to turn my body into a full-time research project.
Track enough to notice patterns.
Then live.
That’s the balance I’m aiming for.
Sometimes the plan needs changing
There’s another thing I’ve learnt.
If something isn’t working, doing it more aggressively isn’t always the answer.
My HRT is a good example.
I started with a 50 patch.
The benefits weren’t particularly noticeable.
My treatment was reviewed and the patch increased to 75.
Then I noticed improvements in my hot flushes and those horrible rage feelings.
That wasn’t me failing HRT.
And it wasn’t HRT failing me.
The plan needed adjusting.
The same principle applies elsewhere.
If an exercise hurts?
Modify it.
If a supplement isn’t doing anything useful?
Reconsider it.
If a particular routine is impossible to maintain?
Change it.
If symptoms change?
Get advice.
We aren’t supposed to create one health plan at fifty and obediently follow it until we’re ninety.
Bodies change.
Circumstances change.
Evidence changes.
The plan is allowed to change too.
And sometimes I need professional help
This might sound obvious.
But when you’ve spent months researching your own health, there’s a temptation to believe you should be able to solve everything yourself.
I can’t.
Nor should I.
There are things I can manage.
And there are things that belong in a GP surgery, pharmacy, physiotherapy appointment, menopause clinic or somewhere else with somebody appropriately qualified.
Persistent pain.
Unexpected bleeding.
Significant changes in bowel habits.
New or persistent bloating.
Concerning memory changes.
Recurrent urinary problems.
Symptoms that are worsening.
Things that simply don’t feel right.
Google is useful.
Research is useful.
This book is useful.
But none of them can examine me.
And sometimes that’s what is needed.
Menopause can explain a lot. It doesn’t explain everything.
I’m keeping that rule.
I’m also allowed to have a bad day
Or week.
This feels important.
Menopause isn’t only physical.
Living with poor sleep, changing symptoms, brain fog, pain or feeling unlike yourself can be frustrating.
There will be days when I’m fed up with it.
I don’t need to turn those days into an inspirational lesson.
Sometimes:
This is really annoying
is a complete sentence.
I don’t have to be grateful for menopause.
I don’t have to call it a gift.
I don’t have to announce that I’ve found my feminine power.
Some women may genuinely feel that way.
Wonderful.
Personally, I reserve the right to occasionally think:
This is absolute rubbish.
And then carry on.
Humour helps me.
Friends help.
Information helps.
Knowing I’m not the only one helps enormously.
The reset isn’t a finish line
I think that’s what I’ve finally understood.
When I called this book The Midlife Reset, there was a little part of me imagining a before and after.
Before:
Confused.
Tired.
Achey.
Forgetful.
Surrounded by supplements.
After:
Strong.
Organised.
Glowing.
Possibly standing on a cliff at sunrise wearing expensive activewear.
But there isn’t really an after.
There’s just life.
I’ll have good weeks.
I’ll have difficult ones.
I’ll learn things.
I’ll forget things.
I’ll start habits.
I’ll abandon some.
I’ll restart others.
I’ll change my mind.
I’ll discover that something I thought was helping actually wasn’t.
And occasionally I’ll find something that genuinely makes a difference.
That’s not failing to complete the reset.
That is the reset.
Paying attention.
Learning.
Adjusting.
Continuing.
I don’t need to become somebody else
This may be my favourite discovery.
Because so much wellness marketing is built around transformation.
Become a new you.
Reinvent yourself.
Get your old body back.
Reverse ageing.
Turn back time.
No.
I don’t want a new me.
I’ve spent fifty-something years becoming this one.
She’s actually quite good.
She’s survived things.
Raised people.
Worked.
Loved.
Laughed.
Made mistakes.
Learnt things.
Started again more than once.
She’s occasionally forgotten the word table.
But overall?
I’m keeping her.
I just want to look after her better.
So when I fall off the proverbial wagon…
Firstly, I’m going to stop calling it a wagon.
That implies there’s a vehicle carrying perfectly healthy women towards Wellness Land and I’ve somehow tumbled off the back because I ate a biscuit.
There is no wagon.
There is only the next choice.
Didn’t exercise this week?
Start again.
Ate differently from how I’d planned?
Next meal.
Forgot the supplements?
Take them when they’re next due—without doubling things randomly.
Had several terrible nights of sleep?
Look at what’s happening.
Stopped tracking symptoms?
Start again if it would be useful.
Haven’t seen friends because life got busy?
Send the message.
That’s much gentler than:
I’ve ruined everything.
And considerably more likely to work.
Midlife, my way
I think I’ve finally reached the point where that phrase means something to me.
Not:
Midlife according to Instagram.
Not:
Midlife according to the woman selling supplements.
Not:
Midlife according to the twenty-eight-year-old fitness influencer explaining what women over fifty should eat.
Mine.
My body.
My circumstances.
My health.
My choices.
My medical history.
My preferences.
My life.
Informed by evidence.
Supported by healthcare when I need it.
But ultimately lived by me.
There is something rather freeing about that.
A note to the woman who picked up this book
Maybe you’ve recognised yourself somewhere in these pages.
Maybe you’re lying awake at 3:17 a.m.
Maybe your knees have suddenly developed opinions.
Maybe you’ve forgotten why you walked upstairs.
Maybe sex feels different.
Maybe your clothes fit differently by lunchtime.
Maybe you’re standing in the supplement aisle wondering whether you need magnesium, collagen, creatine, turmeric, ashwagandha and something you’ve never heard of but which apparently every menopausal woman desperately requires.
Maybe you’re frightened by how much your body seems to have changed.
I understand.
That’s exactly why I started looking for answers.
And if there’s one thing I’d like you to take from everything I’ve discovered, it’s this:
You don’t have to understand everything today.
Start with the thing that’s bothering you most.
Ask questions.
Get medical advice when you need it.
Learn what actually has evidence behind it.
Try sensible things.
Notice what happens.
Change course when you need to.
And please don’t spend this part of your life believing you’re failing because your body isn’t behaving exactly as it did twenty years ago.
It isn’t supposed to.
You’re not twenty years younger.
You’re here.
Now.
And this version of you deserves looking after too.
As for me…
I’ll keep swimming.
I’ll get stronger.
I’ll try to eat enough protein.
I’ll keep an eye on my vitamin D.
I’ll continue having sensible conversations about my HRT.
I’ll pay attention to my bones.
I’ll keep magnesium in the helpful for me, not magic category.
I’ll investigate things that don’t seem right.
I’ll try to sleep.
I’ll probably continue forgetting where I’ve put things.
I’ll definitely continue laughing.
And I’ll keep learning.
Because I no longer think midlife is something happening to me.
It’s something I’m living.
Messily.
Imperfectly.
Sometimes brilliantly.
Sometimes in pyjamas at 3:17 in the morning.
But I’m here for it.
And if Future Me has any complaints about how I’ve handled things…
She can write them down.
Because there’s an excellent chance I’ll have forgotten them by lunchtime.
Midlife. My way.
And I think that’ll do nicely.
