So here we are.
Eleven chapters.
Several hormones.
One temporarily retired Hercules.
A kitchen cupboard containing enough supplements to concern airport security.
A vagina chapter.
Far too many conversations about my bladder.
And approximately four hundred occasions where I’ve discovered something and thought:
Why did nobody tell me this?
When I started researching menopause, I wanted answers.
I wanted to know why I couldn’t sleep.
Why my joints hurt.
Why my brain appeared to have started deleting random files.
Why my body was changing.
Why I could go from perfectly reasonable woman to DO NOT SPEAK TO ME WHILE YOU ARE CHEWING LIKE THAT in approximately three seconds.
And, most importantly, what I could actually do about any of it.
I thought I’d eventually discover the answer.
One supplement.
One diet.
One exercise plan.
One treatment.
One perfect menopause routine that would put everything back where it belonged.
I didn’t.
And actually, I’m glad.
Because what I discovered was much more useful.
I don’t need to fix myself.
I need to look after myself differently.
That sounds simple.
It’s taken me an entire book to work it out.
First, I’m going to stop trying to do everything at once
This may be the most important decision I’ve made.
Because every time I researched something, I found another thing I apparently ought to be doing.
Lift weights.
Walk.
Eat more protein.
Eat more fibre.
Look after my bones.
Take vitamin D.
Drink enough water.
Sleep properly.
Reduce stress.
Protect my heart.
See my friends.
Do balance exercises.
Look after my pelvic health.
Remember my health checks.
And presumably find time somewhere in there to earn a living, run a home and occasionally empty the dishwasher.
It’s a lot.
Especially when you’re tired.
And forgetful.
And your knees hurt.
So I’m not beginning with:
NEW LIFE STARTS MONDAY.
I’ve done Monday.
Monday is exhausting.
I’m beginning with:
What can I realistically keep doing?
Because something small that becomes part of my life is considerably more useful than an enormous health overhaul that lasts eleven days.
I’m going to get strong again
This one’s staying.
Not because I want my twenty-year-old body back.
We’ve established that.
I want my strength back.
Or at least as much of it as I can reasonably persuade to return.
Hercules is coming out of retirement.
Slowly.
Possibly complaining.
But she’s coming.
The NHS recommends adults include muscle-strengthening activity on at least two days each week.
So that’s my target.
Not seven.
Not an hour every morning at 5 a.m.
Not a transformation challenge.
Two days.
And strengthening doesn’t have to mean becoming a bodybuilder.
Weights.
Resistance bands.
Body-weight exercises.
Whatever is appropriate for my body and something I can progress safely.
Especially because I’m hypermobile.
For me, control matters.
Stability matters.
Strengthening the muscles supporting my joints matters.
I’m not trying to discover how far my joints can move.
They’ve demonstrated enough enthusiasm in that department already.
My joints have had enough freedom. They now require adult supervision.
I’m going to keep moving in ways I actually enjoy
This seems obvious now.
Because the best exercise programme in the world isn’t much use if you hate it so much that you stop doing it.
I like swimming.
I like being outside.
I can walk.
Those things count.
Swimming might not provide the same bone-loading stimulus as weight-bearing activity, but it’s still movement.
It’s still exercise.
It’s still something I enjoy.
So I’m not replacing the things I like with things I think I’m supposed to like.
I’ll add what I’m missing.
Some resistance work.
Some weight-bearing activity.
Some balance.
And keep the movement that makes me feel good.
That feels far more sustainable than announcing that I am now a completely different person who adores burpees.
I am not.
Let’s not lie to ourselves.
I’m going to think about protein without becoming obsessed with protein
Protein has definitely earned a place in my new understanding of midlife nutrition.
My muscles need it.
Especially if I’m asking them to become stronger.
But I don’t need to spend every meal calculating grams with the intensity of an accountant preparing for an audit.
I can simply become more conscious of including a useful protein source regularly.
Eggs.
Fish.
Meat.
Dairy.
Beans.
Lentils.
Tofu.
Greek yoghurt.
Whatever works.
And if a protein shake occasionally makes that more convenient?
Fine.
Convenience isn’t cheating.
That’s another thing I’ve learnt.
Sometimes the healthiest option is the one you’re actually going to manage consistently.
I’m going to feed my bones too
Calcium.
Vitamin D.
Resistance exercise.
Weight-bearing activity.
Those things now make considerably more sense to me than they did before.
I’m not planning to stare anxiously at every glass of milk wondering whether my skeleton approves.
But I am going to make sure bone health isn’t something I first think about when I’m seventy.
I’ll aim to get calcium through food where possible.
I’ll follow UK vitamin D advice.
I’ll use my muscles.
I’ll keep moving.
And if I ever have reason to be concerned about osteoporosis risk, I’ll discuss it properly rather than diagnosing the structural integrity of my skeleton via Google.
Future Me appreciates this plan.
I’m going to stop buying supplements because somebody made a convincing video
This may save me a considerable amount of money.
Because supplement marketing is very good.
A woman with lovely hair stands in a beautiful kitchen and explains that one particular powder changed her life.
And suddenly I’m thinking:
Perhaps I have been deficient in Peruvian moon-root all along.
No.
New rule.
Before I buy something, I’m asking:
Why am I taking this?
What’s the evidence for that particular use?
Do I actually need it?
Is the dose appropriate?
Could it interact with anything else I’m taking?
Am I already getting the same nutrient somewhere else?
And:
Can I afford to keep buying it if I decide it’s genuinely useful?
That’s important too.
A health routine shouldn’t require a second mortgage.
Supplements may have a place.
Some definitely do.
But I’m no longer assuming that more things in jars automatically equals better health.
My kitchen cupboard has requested this in writing.
I’m going to keep magnesium in perspective
Magnesium is a perfect example.
My experience with it was genuinely positive.
My restless legs reduced and then disappeared.
When I woke during the night, I found it easier to fall back asleep.
That mattered enormously to me.
So am I going to pretend I didn’t notice because the research isn’t conclusive?
No.
My experience still matters.
But am I going to tell every menopausal woman:
You need magnesium. It will cure your restless legs and fix your sleep.
Also no.
Because the evidence doesn’t justify that claim.
And restless legs can have other causes—including iron deficiency—which deserve proper investigation.
So my new approach is:
Interesting. Useful for me. Not magic.
I’m becoming very fond of that sentence.
I’m going to stop accepting exhaustion as normal
This one may take some work.
Because women are very good at carrying on.
We’re tired?
Carry on.
Didn’t sleep?
Carry on.
Something hurts?
Carry on.
Can’t concentrate?
Make another coffee.
Carry on.
But persistent exhaustion isn’t a personality trait.
Sleep matters.
And if something is repeatedly interfering with it, I’m going to be more willing to ask why.
Hot flushes?
Treat them.
Restless legs?
Investigate them.
Pain?
Pay attention.
Bladder waking me repeatedly?
Talk about it.
Snoring heavily and feeling exhausted despite being in bed all night?
Perhaps that’s worth investigating too.
I’m not expecting perfect sleep.
I’d simply like sleep to stop being treated as an optional extra that I’ll get around to once everybody else has finished needing things.
I’m going to keep talking about the things we’re apparently not supposed to talk about
Vaginal dryness.
Changes in genital tissue.
Sex.
Orgasm.
Libido.
Bladder problems.
There.
Still not embarrassing.
Actually, perhaps slightly embarrassing.
But I’m doing it anyway.
Because one of the biggest things I’ve learnt while writing this book is how much unnecessary suffering happens because women don’t realise something is a recognised medical issue.
If my vagina becomes uncomfortable, I’ll talk about it.
If sex hurts, I’ll talk about it.
If urinary symptoms become troublesome, I’ll talk about them.
If I notice bleeding after menopause?
I already know what I’m doing.
Don’t ignore the comeback tour.
I’m not going to silently tolerate symptoms because somebody somewhere decided women stop needing sexual and pelvic healthcare once their periods end.
My uterus may have retired.
I haven’t.
I’m going to continue with HRT—but without expecting it to do everything
This feels like an important distinction after my own experience.
My HRT patch didn’t transform me overnight.
At 50, I hadn’t noticed the benefits I’d hoped for.
When my patch increased to 75, I began to notice that my hot flushes improved.
Those horrible rage feelings improved too.
That was significant.
But my forgetfulness didn’t disappear.
My joint pain didn’t disappear.
And my weight still crept upwards a little.
So I’m no longer thinking about HRT as something that either works or doesn’t work.
For me, it helped particular symptoms.
That’s enough for it to have value.
I’ll continue reviewing it with the healthcare professionals looking after me and make decisions according to my symptoms, health and circumstances.
I’m not taking it because somebody on the internet thinks every woman should.
And I’m not stopping it because somebody else thinks nobody should.
It’s my healthcare decision.
Made with proper information.
That feels considerably more sensible.
I’m going to stop making my weight the headline
My body has changed.
I would be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed.
Or that I’ve loved every change.
I haven’t.
My weight has gone up.
My shape has changed.
Things fit differently.
And there are days when that bothers me.
But after everything I’ve researched, I don’t want the number on the scales to become the main measure of whether I’m healthy.
I’d rather ask:
Am I getting stronger?
Am I moving regularly?
Am I eating in a way that supports my health?
How is my blood pressure?
Am I looking after my bones?
How am I sleeping?
How do I feel?
Can my body do the things I want it to do?
Those questions tell me far more.
And I’m certainly not going to punish my changing body by starving it of the protein, calcium and nutrients I’m simultaneously asking it to use to stay strong.
That would be slightly ridiculous.
I’m going to pay attention to my heart
Not obsessively.
Just properly.
I want to know my blood pressure.
I want to understand my cholesterol when it’s checked.
I want to move regularly.
I want to eat well most of the time.
I want to know my family history.
And if something changes, I want to seek medical advice rather than assuming:
Probably menopause.
Because we know the rule by now.
Menopause can explain a lot. It doesn’t explain everything.
I think that may be the most important sentence in this entire book.
I’m going to use the NHS invitations that arrive through my door
Screening isn’t particularly exciting.
There probably won’t be a wellness influencer making a beautiful video about bowel screening while standing in a sage-green kitchen.
But prevention and early detection matter.
So when I’m eligible for NHS screening programmes and health checks, I’m going to use them.
Breast screening.
Cervical screening where applicable.
Bowel cancer screening.
Health checks and other routine care I’m offered.
And I’m going to keep attending appointments when something changes.
Because looking after myself isn’t only about the things I buy.
Sometimes it’s opening the letter and actually booking the appointment.
Possibly the least Instagrammable wellness advice in this book.
Also some of the most useful.
I’m going to keep my friends
Preferably all of them.
Even the annoying ones.
Human connection matters.
And I don’t want midlife wellness to become something I practise alone in my kitchen while measuring powders.
I want conversations.
Meals.
Walks.
Swimming.
Laughing.
People I can tell:
My vagina has changed.
and have them reply:
OH MY GOD, MINE TOO.
Because sometimes that’s how women discover that something they’ve quietly worried about for months is happening to other people too.
We need healthcare professionals.
We need good information.
But we also need each other.
And laughter.
Lots of laughter.
Although, depending on the state of your pelvic floor, perhaps cross your legs first.
I’m going to keep asking questions
This may be the biggest change of all.
Before menopause, I didn’t know what I didn’t know.
Now?
I’m considerably more annoying.
If somebody says a supplement balances hormones, I want to know what that actually means.
If somebody says something is clinically proven, I want to know what was studied.
If somebody tells me a symptom is normal for my age, I want to know whether normal means:
common
or:
nothing should be done about it.
Because those aren’t the same thing.
If I don’t understand a medical decision, I can ask.
If I don’t feel something has been properly investigated, I can ask again.
If I’m offered treatment, I can ask about benefits, risks and alternatives.
That’s not being difficult.
That’s participating in my own healthcare.
I’m also going to allow myself to change the plan
This is important.
Because I’m writing this now.
Future Me may read it and laugh.
Perhaps something I’m doing won’t suit me anymore.
Perhaps new research will emerge.
Perhaps my health will change.
Perhaps my priorities will change.
That’s fine.
This isn’t a contract.
It’s a starting point.
One of the most useful things I’ve learnt during menopause is that there isn’t one permanent solution.
Bodies change.
Life changes.
Evidence changes.
We adjust.
A reset isn’t something you do once.
Sometimes you reset again.
My actual Midlife Reset
So after everything I’ve learnt, this is what I’m taking forward:
- Build strength at least twice a week and progress gradually.
- Keep moving in ways I enjoy, including walking and swimming.
- Include weight-bearing activity for my bones.
- Eat enough protein and build meals around nourishment rather than restriction.
- Look after calcium and vitamin D, following appropriate UK guidance.
- Eat plenty of fibre and varied plant foods, increasing fibre gradually if needed.
- Drink enough water.
- Protect my sleep and investigate problems rather than simply tolerating them.
- Use supplements deliberately, not because advertising frightened or persuaded me.
- Review my HRT rather than expecting it to solve every symptom.
- Pay attention to my heart health, including blood pressure and cholesterol.
- Keep up with screening and routine healthcare.
- Talk about vaginal, urinary and sexual symptoms rather than quietly putting up with them.
- Take persistent or unusual symptoms seriously.
- Stay connected to friends, family and the people who make life enjoyable.
- Stop treating weight as the sole measure of health.
- Keep asking questions.
- And perhaps most importantly, stop waiting until everybody else is looked after before deciding that I matter too.
That’s it.
No thirty-day transformation.
No detox.
No cupboard full of miracle powders.
No promise that I’ll wake every morning at six, meditate, drink green juice and greet the sunrise while performing lunges.
I know myself better than that.
Just a collection of things I understand now that I didn’t understand before.
Things I can actually use.
If you’ve reached this point feeling overwhelmed…
Don’t do everything.
Seriously.
Please don’t finish this book, order twelve supplements, join a gym, throw away everything in your fridge and announce that your new life begins tomorrow.
Pick one thing.
Perhaps you book the appointment you’ve been putting off.
Perhaps you start walking.
Perhaps you add some strength exercises twice a week.
Perhaps you look at whether you’re getting enough protein.
Perhaps you finally mention vaginal dryness to your GP.
Perhaps you check your blood pressure.
Perhaps you go to bed earlier.
Perhaps you simply start tracking your symptoms so you can understand what’s happening.
One thing.
Then another.
Health doesn’t have to arrive in one enormous delivery.
This isn’t the end of anything
I think that’s what I most wanted to understand when I started.
Because menopause can feel strangely like an ending.
The end of periods.
The end of fertility.
The end of a version of your body you’ve known for decades.
And our culture isn’t always particularly good at showing women what comes next.
But I’m starting to see it differently.
Yes, something has changed.
Quite a lot, actually.
Some of it has been difficult.
Some of it has been frightening.
Some of it has been deeply irritating.
And some of it has involved considerably more discussion of vaginal tissue than I anticipated.
But I’m still here.
Still learning.
Still changing.
Still making plans.
Still capable of becoming stronger.
Still allowed to want things.
Still allowed to take up space.
Still allowed to care about how I feel.
And still very much myself.
Just with slightly more knowledge.
And considerably more magnesium.
So, what now?
Now I use what I’ve learnt.
Not perfectly.
Just consistently enough to matter.
I’ll look after the body I have rather than constantly wishing for the one I had.
I’ll strengthen it.
Feed it.
Move it.
Rest it.
Get it checked when something isn’t right.
And hopefully laugh with it when it does something completely ridiculous.
Because midlife isn’t a problem I’m trying to solve.
And menopause isn’t something that has made me less of myself.
If anything, this whole experience has made me pay attention to myself in a way I probably should have done years ago.
So perhaps this isn’t about getting back to who I was.
Perhaps it’s about deciding how I want to go forward.
Nourished.
Stronger.
Informed.
Still curious.
And hopefully still laughing.
Because I’m not finished.
Not remotely.
This is my midlife.
My reset.
And I’m just getting started.
