End of Year Reflection | Finding Hope and Strength in Midlife

I’m sitting here on a Sunday morning after breakfast. Last night was rough with anxiety. I suspect I ate too much sugar yesterday — it feels like a trigger. I had a little cry this morning and a moment of feeling sorry for myself. It’s hard not to think, it’s never going to get better, I don’t know how much more I can take, I’m never going to feel like myself again.

It’s easy to wallow. It’s familiar somehow, like coming home after a long day at work, getting comfortable and cosy, and just accepting that this is how it is now. But I had to force myself to start reflecting on the year I’ve had.

This is me reflecting and sharing in the hope that you find some comfort, that you feel connected and not so alone, that you feel hopeful that things will get better. It’s midlife, not the end of life. You can find a new way too.

Soft morning light through a window, representing hope and calm

At the end of last year, I had started to express my lack of ability to cope. I was blaming my husband for not listening to me or doing something to help. I felt wounded for months, but really, I didn’t know what I needed. I still don’t half the time — but that’s being a woman, I think, not just perimenopause.

I kept feeling so low and stressed, and the intense anxiety I’d felt years ago was creeping back in. For some reason, it didn’t matter what type of self-care, meditation, journaling, or mindfulness practice I tried — whatever had worked before just wasn’t anymore. Looking back, I feel like I had to break. It was the only way I could rebuild with stronger foundations.

That intense anxiety and those crippling palpitations — I can’t describe how awful they were. I was convinced I was dying, not necessarily of a heart attack, but that I was slowly eroding on the inside. No one told me menopause could be this debilitating. Sure, there’s weight gain, mood swings, and brain fog, and they’re all bad enough, but the lack of sleep and feeling constantly on edge — that’s a battle.

In the beginning, it was all day, every day. The HRT brought relief, but it’s been fairly slow and not complete. I still feel at times that I’m a shell of who I was, occasionally poking my head out to be a newer version of me, then dipping back inside. It’s as though you have Stockholm syndrome for your symptoms — they become so normal that when they ease, it’s unnerving. Not that you want to feel that way all the time, but the brave new you is hard to settle into. It’s as though the skin of this person doesn’t quite fit yet.

As time has gone on, things are getting easier. The fresher I feel, the better decisions I can make for my mental and physical health. The better decisions I make, the better I feel, and so on. Then you get days where there’s a looming of symptoms — not fully there, just hovering above you like a cloud. And other times, they all come back at once, and it doesn’t matter what you do, it either makes it worse or doesn’t help at all. Those are the times when you feel hopeless, like nothing is getting better and you wonder why you bother trying.

I’m reflecting mainly to remind myself that eight or nine months ago, I was in such despair on a daily basis that I cried and slept on and off all day, thick with worry that this was killing me. I thought, it can’t possibly be this hard to go through menopause. I couldn’t even do a five-minute walk to the shop. Now, even if I get anxiety and palpitations, I can mostly distract myself, turn it around, and function as a mostly normal person.

Each day, I assess things on an energy level basis. What do I have energy for? Do I watch TV or listen to true crime all day? (Evidently, sewing in the cabin on your own while listening to true crime is not the one — you do tend to get jumpy, lol.) Or can I walk to town, potter about the shops, do housework, and bake without it feeling like too much?

Journaling beside a candle, symbolising reflection and renewal

It’s been about the tiny shifts, one at a time. Not taking on too much, really tuning in with myself, and knowing what small steps to take.

I can go for two weeks with no symptoms at all, and when they do come, they’re nowhere near the level they were. I notice that if I don’t take care of my nutrition, movement, and mental health, things slip — and they slip quickly. But it’s recoverable now. Back at the beginning, it wasn’t.

Thank goodness for self-employment — without it, I’d have been sacked or on long-term sick leave. Thank goodness for a fantastic husband who’s learned to understand the riddle of words and miming when you forget them altogether, for just holding me while I cry, and for a great doctor who didn’t fob me off but listened and understood.

I must remember that I am quite brilliant. I’ve battled through and continue to work on putting my best foot forward.

I want you to know that no matter how bad it feels, there are so many women where you are. Hormones are a bitch, and the decline thereof is quite the storm to weather. But you are not alone. You are not a freak or broken completely. You are emerging from an old way into a new one, and the transition is a challenge. The good thing is that the challenges get further apart and easier to deal with. It takes time and attention to your health and wellbeing.

You’ve got this. You did great this year, and next year you’ll get even better. We’re in this together, and I’ll always be right alongside you.

I hope you have a great new year

Amber