Making Sense of Midlife

Weight, menopause, identity, health, life… and trying to make sense of it all without going to extremes.

Somewhere between who I was and who I'm becoming.

I’m new to this. Writing about myself doesn’t come naturally, and it’s a long way from my day job.

I’m not here to teach anyone anything. I’m not an expert, and I’m definitely not interested in pretending to have everything figured out.

I just want to talk honestly about what’s changed for me, what I’ve noticed, and where I’m trying to go from here.

I’m 51 years old, which still feels strange to say out loud. Some days I feel about 100. Other days I still feel like I’m mentally somewhere in my twenties. But menopause has definitely changed me, both physically and emotionally.

I’m almost two years into my second marriage to a wonderful man who has patiently weathered more hormonal chaos than either of us expected.

For most of my life, weight was never something I really thought about. I was naturally slim and could eat pretty much anything. Family members used to joke that I “ate like a horse”.

Then my mid-forties arrived.

At 40, I was probably the healthiest I’d ever been. I cycled regularly, exercised often and generally took good care of myself. But life shifted. I met my husband at 41, I was happy, comfortable and settled, and somewhere along the way I stopped paying attention to myself in the same way.

Food became part of enjoying life. Especially when married to a Portuguese man, where meals are never just meals.

Slowly, things started changing.

The weight crept up gradually. My joints ached more. I became breathless more easily. Anxiety started appearing in ways I didn’t recognise at first. Looking back now, it had probably been building for years.

After countless appointments and blood tests, the main thing doctors found was a severe vitamin D deficiency. Beyond that, there never seemed to be many answers.

Then one evening, standing in my kitchen overwhelmed by a sudden wave of heat and emotion, something finally clicked.

Menopause.

I’d had a hysterectomy at 38, but nobody had really explained what that could mean longer term. So I started researching and, for the first time, a lot of things began making sense.

I tried handling it myself at first with supplements, routines and sheer stubbornness. Eventually, after one particularly emotional outburst, my husband gently suggested I speak to the doctor again.

He was right.

HRT helped enormously with the hot flushes and mood swings. I felt calmer quite quickly.

But the weight stayed.

At my heaviest, I reached 89 kilos. For me, that felt uncomfortable physically and emotionally. I barely recognised myself in photos and nothing felt good to wear.

At the same time, I was planning my wedding.

In desperation, I ordered Wegovy online.

By the wedding, I’d lost a significant amount of weight and physically I felt better. But emotionally, I carried quite a lot of shame around it. Not because I judge anyone else for taking that route, I absolutely don’t, but because I felt like I’d somehow failed at doing it “properly”.

Looking back now, I think I mostly felt frightened.

After the wedding, I stopped taking it. It wasn’t financially sustainable, and deep down I knew I needed to find something I could realistically maintain long term.

Then earlier this year, I stepped on the scales again.

91.5 kilos.

That was the moment I realised something had to change, not just my weight, but my relationship with myself.

I went back to the doctor and left feeling more discouraged than supported. I was advised to join a gym, return to Weight Watchers and start statins for high cholesterol.

None of it felt right for me.

The statins made me feel unwell. Weight Watchers felt restrictive. And the gym, if I’m honest, filled me with dread rather than motivation.

So instead of throwing myself into another extreme, I decided to start smaller.

I started walking properly again. I became more mindful about what I eat, without obsessing over every calorie. I began paying attention to patterns instead of punishing myself for every fluctuation.

Now I’m training towards a 25k walk in August and Snowdon in September, which honestly still surprises me.

Since February, I’ve lost 4.6 kilos. Slowly.

And strangely, I think that’s why this time feels different.

I no longer spiral after a bad day. I don’t quit because the scales move slightly upwards. I’m starting to understand that consistency matters more than perfection.

For the first time in a long time, I’m trying to work with my body instead of constantly fighting against it.

That doesn’t mean I suddenly love every part of myself. I’m still figuring things out. But I feel calmer about the process now.

And maybe that’s what this space really is.

Not a transformation story. Not a wellness blueprint. Just an honest place to talk about midlife, health, identity and all the quiet changes that happen along the way.

If somebody else happens to read it and feel a little less alone, then that’s more than enough for me.

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