I was sixteen years old when I was first diagnosed with GAD (generalised anxiety disorder) but the problems started way before then. I was given beta-blockers, but after two months I decided to stop for fear of overdosing on the prescribed dosage from my doctor.

I’ve always had this weird preoccupation with death. I obsess over it. I ruminate over when will it happen to me. Will it be painful? How will I die? Will I leave behind a hoard of hurt people or will no one really notice?

It’s not just about me, either. I fall into deep, dark fantasies about the awful ways in which the people I love most will die. It’s like my brain and me are separate entities and I’m watching these horrendous scenes play out from a distance, looping around and around in my head until something shakes me out of it.

When I was at University, I had this reoccurring thought engulf my brain that my dad was going to die through a horrific car accident. Late at night, my mind whirred with images of his mauled up body in the dark with no one around to save him. The thought would spin around in my mind until my whole body felt that it had happened and I’d be hysterically crying at 3 am.

I was scared that I was manifesting bad things to happen. Any news notification of a murder, crash, terrorist attack or suicide meant I had to message everyone I knew. On the surface, it would seem like a general check in. I’d erratically type out ‘Hey!! You ok?’ on Whatsapp and wait until I could see them typing back to me.

When I look back on those years, I can clearly see I was struggling. But at the time, I thought maybe that was normal or normal for me, anyway. And whilst my every day is no longer that intense, my brain will kindly send me signals that I’m heading back there again.

Subscribe now

It starts with an impending sense of doom. Everything around me is fine, but my stomach is in knots and my throat is tight. I’m suddenly incredibly aware of my surroundings, that I’m being perceived and feel constantly on edge. I am waiting for something terrible to unfold right in front of me. The air around me is muggy—I feel its touch on my skin and I want to scrub it off. To leave for space and float endlessly where air doesn’t exist.

The logical part of my brain knows I’m over-exaggerating, but telling myself that does nothing to help.

I develop little stress rashes—usually around my neck / collar bone and upper arms. Of course, I then convince myself it’s meningitis and the pain in my neck from living with scoliosis transforms into the stiff neck symptom I saw on the NHS website.

Next comes the insomnia. The wonderful extra hours in the night to be alone with my racing thoughts—what bliss! No Night Nurse, sleeping pills or double-dose of magnesium can save me here. I get bouts of insomnia roughly every three months and I have since I was a child, so it’s not necessarily a spiral indicator unless paired with intrusive thoughts of my death circulating in my mind. And once these thoughts enter my mind, the mental health spiral ensues and it’s already too late to do anything about it.

I ride the wave, telling myself it’ll eventually be over and I’ll feel normal again…soon.

My heart races and I check my pulse, constantly. This time it’s a stroke, I’m sure of it. I hold my arms up in the air and count for thirty seconds. Okay, maybe not a stroke but a heart attack. I look over to my boyfriend, asleep and calm but in the morning he’ll awake to my dead body and the trajectory of his life will never be the same again.

As I start to feel dizzy from the sheer exhaustion of being ridiculous, the fear creeps into my mind that any second I’ll start to have a seizure.

Each spiral comes with a different death-causing hyper focus. During my A Level drama final exam, a lovely girl in my group who suffered with epilepsy had a seizure during our performance. For months, I couldn’t get the image of her out of my head—lying on the floor, surrounded by us all whilst her body moved as if possessed. Every time a panic attack started to bubble to the surface, I was convinced I too was now epileptic.

Another time, an old friend of mine’s boyfriend suffered a collapsed lung. Therefore, every time I struggled to breathe, it was because my lung was collapsed too.

I’ve been diabetic, had cancer, septicemia and heart disease. Any time I’ve had a pain in my leg, it’s going to cause a pulmonary embolism. I’ve been a sociopath, a compulsive liar and a narcissist. Even though I rarely go to a doctor due to any of these spirals, I convince myself I’m the worst person in the world who makes up these feelings in order to attract some form of attention to myself—even though absolutely no one has a clue to the chaos that is unfolding in my mind. They don’t need to know, I’ll mentally manipulate them into feeling sorry for me, obviously.

u can buy me a coffee if u wanna x

The length of these spirals vary depending on external circumstances. During my corporate 9-5 years, they could last months, resulting in full body rashes and a mass amount of hair loss. These days, they are quick but not painless.

I’ve not been diagnosed with health OCD, and maybe I don’t have it, but something isn’t right. I’ll be out with friends and check my pulse, in case I may be an inconvenience and pass out right there and then—totally ruining everyone’s day. I could be going about a very mundane task when all of a sudden I envision the terrible ways in which someone could brutally murder me in this exact moment. I will be in conversation with my boyfriend but all I can see is his rotting corpse. I get a headache and suddenly a tumour is taking over my skull.

What’s strange is that this isn’t constant for me. It comes in waves and my little brain likes to let me know ahead of time that it’s coming (the organised chaos is very Virgo of it). Maybe, when life gets too much these spirals are some torturous release for my mind. It could signify there’s something deep within me that I’m not addressing and this is my subconscious’s way of trying to get me to pay attention.

It’s always made me feel like I was strange—as if something went faulty during my manufacturing. Something clicks in my head and suddenly it’s like a spider is running riot across my brain and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The only bit of grace I hold onto is that I always know when it’s coming, even if I can’t do anything to stop it.

I’m a retired party girl. These days, I only come out of retirement once in a blue moon, when the stars align perfectly: the right people, the right vibe and preferably being two beers deep before I’ve even considered staying out. These days, I’m usually in bed by 10pm with a book, I drink roughly three litres of water a day, and the thought of going to work hungover is enough to qualify as a horror story.

But this is a relatively recent development. From around the age of 12 (I’m from the UK, we start young) until my late twenties, I was pretty much the opposite of healthy. I binge-drank multiple times a week, swung between starving myself and eating everything in sight, and considered hours of dancing in a dark nightclub to be a perfectly respectable exercise regime. I relied on painkillers and other drugs just to get through the day and generally treated my body as though it were a rental car I had absolutely no intention of returning in good condition.

I’m happy to say my frontal lobe finally developed and with my list of ever-growing aches and pains, I realised something needed to change. I’m not one for a dramatic overhaul, so these changes didn’t come in the form of conversions from alcohol to green juices, swapping 5am drunk dances to 5 am run clubs or illegal drugs to widely accepted (and expensive) supplement regimes—but through lots of small, often boring, decisions that gradually made me feel better.

Which got me thinking that perhaps getting healthier doesn’t have to mean becoming an entirely different person. Maybe, it can start with a few tiny changes that make your existing life feel a little better.

So I compiled a list of small changes I made, especially in my thirties, to feel a little bit better. And when I tell you my skin is now clearer than it’s ever been, my periods barely cause me an issue and I sleep like a baby—you can trust that I’m not pulling your leg or trying to sell you a course (or supplements!).

1. I always eat breakfast, even when I’m not particularly hungry

I used to raw-dog mornings on an empty stomach and three coffees. My anxiety was through the roof, I could see sounds and I was absolutely the most irritable person in the office. I wouldn’t eat until my lunch break, which sometimes wouldn’t be until 3 pm. I paraded around my fasted lifestyle like a mediocrely built man in a commercial gym.

You won’t be surprised to find out that the benefits of a fasted-diet have been widely studied, but mostly on men. Female physiology is more sensitive to fasting and missing that first meal can trigger higher stress hormone levels, stronger afternoon cravings and a higher long-term risk of metabolic changes. As a certified anxious girlie, I was sending myself into unnecessary spirals; I do still have a coffee on an empty stomach, but I tend to eat–insert eye roll–a high-protein, high fibre breakfast (INCLUSIVE OF CARBS) at around 8.30-9am each day.

It could all be coincidence, but I don’t crash at 3 pm, I don’t suddenly need to eat everything in sight to stop myself from passing out, I feel calmer and I’ve lost weight, not gained it—even though I’m adding in an extra meal to my day.

This may not be for you. You might be screaming at me through your phone to say breakfast makes you feel sick and you’re absolutely fine not eating it—and that’s cool, too. We’re all different.

2. I’ve reduced my skincare routine

Not only has this saved me time, it’s saved me money. That’s a huge win in my book.

I’ve always had more oil on my skin than all the olives of Italy combined (my mum tells me that this means I’ll always look young in comparison to my dry-skinned-counterparts). I’ve spent a disgusting amount of money on serums, actives, potions and LED masks all to only aggravate the monster beneath.

I finally had enough of wasting my money and still resembling the last pepperoni pizza slice in the box, so I decided I was just going to let my skin be. And it be’d!

This is what works for me—it may not for you—but worth simplifying your routine to see the effects.

1. In the morning, I’ll wash my face with warm water—no products. But, twice a week, I’ll use a very gentle exfoliant in the morning.

2. I’ll then use a gentle toner, hyaluronic acid, eye cream and a moisturiser. I tend to use Inkey List or Beauty of Joseon; after a lot of trial and error, I’ve found their products work well on my skin.

3. SPF, always. Again, the Beauty of Joseon one doesn’t make me break out.

4. In the evening, I’ll double cleanse. I really love Habi’s (Boot’s brand) cleansing balm—it’s cheap and cheerful, and is amazing at removing waterproof mascara. I’ll wipe this off with a warm wash cloth to ensure all make up/SPF comes off properly and follow that with a gentle foam cleanser.

5. I’ll use the same moisturiser I used in the morning and maybe the very low dose retinol that Inkey List does.

For someone that would use every product, mask, peel and scrub under the sun, this is incredibly minimal for me. To you, it may still feel like too much and that’s also ok! Or, you may love your complex 10-step regime because it makes you feel good, so keep it up!

3. I release my anger with a daily scream

I never considered myself an angry person until my therapist told me I was wrong.

Wildly Unqualified x

I told my therapist I'm not an angry person. She told me I was wrong.

On a cold Wednesday evening in February of 2023, I got off a crowded London bus after work and stared up at a strangely ambiguous building on top of a wine merchants in Wimbledon…

Read more

23 days ago · 72 likes · 49 comments · Chon Azzopardi-Brown 🌝

But when she awoke me to the idea that I actually am human, with human feelings, I realised a lot of the anxiety I felt was misplaced anger. You see, anger isn’t an acceptable emotion for women. Depression and anxiety? Much more palatable.

I’m still not great at really feeling the anger until I’m face-deep into my bedroom pillow and let out a huge scream (this isn’t going where you think it is). It’s my daily rage scream; I live in London in a block of flats, so the pillow helps ensure my neighbours don’t think I’m being brutally murdered.

And, my god, does a daily scream work a treat! I instantly feel a weight lifted off my shoulders and me and my boyfriend begin hysterically laughing—every time. There’s something so freeing about letting yourself feel something that is deeply innate in all of us.

It may not be directly because of the daily scream, I’m sure there are tonnes of other elements involved, but I hardly feel anxious anymore. And I have a guaranteed laugh every single day.

4. I line my stomach properly before a night out

When I was at University, one of my housemates and I were so desperate to look as thin as possible on a night out that we we had a little, set routine. Cous cous for lunch—the stuff you buy in Tesco where you just pour hot water over it and let it sit for a while—no food after 2 pm and if we felt hungry, we’d have a cup of green tea and pretend it was soup (I am aware now that this is a form of disordered eating).

Our goal was always to get blackout drunk. And the next day, unsurprisingly, we’d feel bloody awful.

Now this girl still loves a drink. But I’m wiser, more informed—prepared, if you will. You’ll see me carb-loading like I’m about to do a marathon ahead of a night out and I’ll always have water in between drinks. I look like a bit of a fun sponge at the bar, ordering my pint of Madre and a large glass of water, but I don’t really get hangovers in the same way I used to.

This actually helps because food slows down how fast alcohol enters your blood. It keeps it in your stomach for longer, which stops the sharp spike in your blood-alcohol level which ultimately helps prevent you getting sick and an awful hangover… the more you know!

The water in between obviously helps with hydration, which we all know gets compromised with alcohol, but also slows down the speed at which you drink—and if you’re anything like me when I’m with my pals—I get swept up in the vibe of the evening and knock them back. This helps me keep my hands busy and pace myself which, in turn, allows my liver time to properly metabolise the alcohol I’m drinking.

5. I drink more water than I actually want

That leads us on nicely to water. Look, I know that you know we all need to drink water—I’m not coming out with something revolutionary here. But are you drinking enough?

I exercise regularly, walk almost everywhere, work a job where I’m on my feet for 8 hours a day and drink a fair amount of coffee. I aim to drink between 3-3.5 litres of water a day, and I drink it even when I’m not thirsty or don’t fancy it. You don’t necessarily need to drink that much, but you should probably be drinking more.

It’s absolutely helped with my skin and I feel like I have more energy. I wee a lot, but it’s a small price to pay.

6. I only supplement with what has been recommended to me by a doctor

In this age of optimisation and maxxing, an abundance of powders, pills and miracle cures infiltrated our shelves and social media for you pages. I’ve definitely succumbed to all the empty promises before; I’ve tried all the green powders, anti-stress juices and turmeric pills money can buy—and none of them fixed any of my problems.

A recent blood test showed I am deficient in iron (as many menstruating people are) and Vitamin D (as many Brits are). Those are the two supplements I take, as recommended by a professional. With a varied diet, you should be getting what you need from food unless you have conditions like IBS, etc that may mean you’re not absorbing nutrients properly.

Regardless of your needs, please enlist the help of a doctor, dietician or registered nutritionist before your cupboards start to look like a pharmacy. Those influencers are paid to make you buy a product, so they’re absolutely going to tell you it healed something (and maybe it did!), but we’re all different—just because it worked for them, doesn’t mean it worked for you and it may cause a heap of other issues that you didn’t account for.

7. I walk as much as I can

Wow, Chon—all the revolutionary advice today! Walking, again, is not a new concept, but it’s easy to hole yourself up in your home for days without seeing the true light of day.

If I’m ever anxious, in a foul mood, have a foggy head or feel bloated, a walk will almost always help in some way. I’m lucky to live near the woods, so long walks through the common has saved me in more ways than one. But even 5 minutes of fresh air around the block is enough to spark up some creative thinking, put your recent argument into perspective or help you digest that family of four serving size of pasta (no judgement, I often eat way more pasta than is required for one 5ft4 woman).

8. I do one minute of jumping in the morning

Yes, this one is a bit more woo-woo and I definitely got the idea from an Instagram reel, but it works! Our lymphatic system is similar to our cardiovascular system except for our heart is the pump that moves the blood around the body—our lymphatic system doesn’t have an automatic pump to move lymph back into our bloodstream. It relies on physical movement and deep breathing.

So after laying flat all night, it’s a good way to get things moving in the morning. It’s also great for supporting bone density, circulation and waking you up a bit if you feel groggy!

buy me a coffee x

9. If I start to feel a cold coming on, I overdose on Vitamin C

So, that’s an over-exaggeration, but I definitely up the dosage. A ginger shot in the morning and a Vitamin C effervescent tablet in the evening for 3-5 days tends to do the trick. It sounds a bit too simple, but it always works—the cold never fully develops.

I was told this by a friend a work and was a bit sceptical until I tried it, but she’s onto something! Ever since, I’ve not had a proper cold that’s wiped me out. I was a girl who was always sick in the depths of winter but no more!

On a cold Wednesday evening in February of 2023, I got off a crowded London bus after work and stared up at a strangely ambiguous building on top of a wine merchants in Wimbledon.

This was my first ever therapy session and I was nervous. What if she thought I was actually insane? Would she think I was too boring and wonder why I was spending money on therapy in the first place? Should I be completely honest—or—study her tone, body language and way of speaking so I could mutate myself into a version of me I think she’d like?

I crossed the road, buzzed the building’s entry button and waited for the click of the door to unlock. I immediately noticed the stuffiness of the building. The damp from the wet winter had infiltrated its walls and a thick layer of dust covered the decades-old carpet in a blanket. I walked up the stairs looking for her name on any of the doors; I walked past an estate agents, an accountants and a creative agency. All these worlds collided in a building that left no meaningful impression.

At the end of the corridor, I saw it— Dr Greta Müller.1 I let out a deep, grounding sigh and knocked on the door.

Subscribe now

I was in therapy for about 6 weeks in 2023, until my rent increased and I had to drastically re-evaluate my spending. But what I learnt with Dr Greta has completely changed my whole approach to the world and to myself.

When I entered her therapy room, I immediately felt at ease. I heard stories from friends and family in therapy who said I’d likely have to try a few therapists before I found ‘the one’, but I got very lucky. She looked like the eccentric art teacher you had at school—in her 60s, her grey hair accepted and embraced, dressed in bright colours with big, plastic jewellery. She was German and direct in her communication, but in a way that held you, nurtured you, and didn’t sugar coat things. Exactly what I needed during this period of my life.

I described myself to her as an anxious person. She gave me a look that told me this was a description I had given myself and therefore played up to. I was diagnosed with GAD2 at 16—a pivotal time in my life where I noticed the old me die and a new persona engulf my entire identity.

She got to know me during this first session in, I’m sure, the usual way that therapists do. Questions on my childhood, my relationship with my parents, siblings, friends and partner. In all honesty, twenty minutes in, I was already exhausted.

There was a pause whilst she contemplated the information I had given her and formulated her next question.

“So, what is a typical reaction for you when you’re angry”. I thought about it for a while and felt stumped.

“I’m not really an angry person,” I eventually replied. The look she gave me made me feel like I’d made a mistake and I was instantly embarrassed.

“Anger is a natural, rational (and sometimes irrational) response to many things. It is a human emotion and you’re a human. You must feel anger?”

I felt backed into a corner. Of course I have felt anger, but why couldn’t I remember anything?

“I guess I’d usually cry?” I said, unsure, awaiting her approval.

“Ah—now we’re getting somewhere!” She looked at me and smiled, sympathetically. “And, let me guess, that manifests for you as feelings of anxiety?”

I nodded. Reflecting back on situations where anger would have been expected, I cried, shut off and felt anxious for a while.

The words that left her mouth have been echoing in my my mind ever since.

“We live in a world where anger is not an acceptable emotion for a woman to express. Rage, from a woman, is hysterical, out of place—an overreaction. Anxiety, however, much more palatable. Easier to hide, less ‘in-your-face’.

Women often make their feelings smaller to be less of an inconvenience. Somewhere along the line, the reaction to your anger was that you were being ridiculous, uncalled for or other the top. Does that resonate with you?”

I laughed, and then sat with that for a moment. Un-ironically to me, a feeling of rage started to surge from the pit of my stomach and into my throat and I felt tears forming at my eye ducts.

How could I have been suppressing such a big emotion? I always thought I was in touch with my emotions—I’d been intellectualising them for years!

But what made me the most mad was how I was managing other people’s feelings ahead of my own—something I later found out in therapy is typical for people pleasers life myself.

I have always been a staunch feminist. I’d talk about periods loudly in rooms of men who didn’t know how to react. I’d call men out for their bullshit in bars and defend my friends from a conveyer belt of creeps on nights out. I encouraged people to talk openly about their feelings and comforted people when they thought they were being too much. I’ve always been passionate about health, in all its forms, and championed for people to be better informed.

But for myself, this was apparently much more difficult.

Share

I’m still an angry crier. I haven’t quite shaken that yet, but I’m more aware about allowing myself to feel anger when it arises, even though it is, luckily, not often.

There are studies and bodies of literature on the connection between suppressing anger and its link to chronic health conditions—therefore, not surprising that 80% of people who have a chronic illness are women.

I grew up seeing men punch holes in walls, smash TV screens when losing a game and get in physical fights with each other over incredibly meaningless stimuli and along the way, learnt that’s ‘just how men are.’

Witnessing a ‘mad’ woman was different. There would be shouting, sure, but often tears, taking themselves away or completely shutting down. Holding all that rage, to attack themselves and leave no trace.

I feel like anger, for women, is complex emotional and political experience—shaped by social taboos, double standards and systemic expectations.

A man smashes up his Xbox? Silly, yes, but expected, accepted, justifiable. If a woman had the exact same reaction, she’d be called hormonal, unstable—ridiculed for that reaction.

So many women, myself included, feel the need to apologise for our feelings. Our emotions are so incredibly important, helping us navigate ourselves and our complex inner world, that constantly apologising for them can show up as erasing vital aspects of who we are. I’m not saying that women should therefore behave as men—whose violence often ends up taking so many women’s lives—but we should be allowed to healthily process what comes up for us.

The consequence of not doing so is usually anxiety or depression and a nice, neat pill to keep the problem quiet.

Women’s anger has been fetishized, downplayed and reduced in film and literature for centuries. I remember watching a scene from The Queen’s Gambit where Beth, the protagonist, is having the most unrealistic breakdown I’ve ever seen. Drunk, in her underwear, with a cigarette loosely hanging from her lips, make-up smudged perfectly, she dances around her home signifying her madness and depression. She just suffered a devastating defeat that completely shatters her identity. If she was a man the scene would have shown pure rage, not fuckable depression.

To be a woman is to constantly be of use. To be perceived and to perform. I think we have a lot to be justifiably angry about: the political and economical landscape has never been for women. We’re dying at the hands of men every 10 minutes, according to the UN. We work the same hours, in the same jobs, whilst still being expected to run a household, remember important events, look pretty, be thin, be smart but not too smart, be kind, make space, be safe but don’t blame all men for needing to be safe, dress appropriately, don’t be frigid but don’t be easy, be ambitious but realistic, be feminine but hey it’s okay for women to wear trousers now so what are you complaining for?! (Did I miss anything?)

Leave a comment

I tell everyone who is willing to listen about my epiphany on my anger from Dr Greta and how it has shaped how I respond to all my feelings, whether anger, anxiety, excitement or joy. Our emotions are a part of our apparatus, and what makes being human and connecting with other humans so beautiful. Your emotions are key indicators, asking to to react, reflect or chase the thing that caused it. By knowing your own emotions (i.e. feeling them, not just intellectualising them!!!), and processing them healthily allows you to unlock a deeper sense of empathy and understanding for others. Things don’t happen in a vacuum, and for women especially, there is often a trail of events that led to a ‘sudden’ outburst.

buy me a coffee x

A note from Chon:

Parts of this article may be triggering for readers and whilst I write about my own experience, I in no way mean to diminish or generalise the feelings or experiences of others. There are huge issues regarding men’s mental health and emotions—that I do not deny, but if your reaction to this is to talk to the men’s lonliness epidemic or mental health crisis, I encourage you to take a moment before commenting and, if necessary, express your emotions about this in an article of your own about men’s mental health, rather than in my comment section.

Thank you x

Within days of the UK’s heatwave, social media filled with women comparing notes. Two periods in one month. Heavier bleeding than usual. Women on contraception stopping periods suddenly bleeding again. All of us trying to find answers to something science can’t quite yet answer.

Scrolling through TikTok, Instagram and Twitter, I saw post after post from women describing eerily similar experiences from up and down the country. Some on contraception, some not - all having different menstrual cycles to what they were used to.

Was it just coincidence? Or was the heat doing something we don't yet understand?

@i3lessings8Girls be safe #fyp #period #fypviralシ #fyp #fypviralシ

Tiktok failed to load.

Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser

Before we blame the weather, it’s worth looking at the science we do have (although it is very limited on Women’s Health and menstrual health in general).

The frustrating answer is…

We don’t have one. I spent an embarrassing amount of time searching PubMed for studies linking heatwaves with menstrual bleeding. I expected pages of results but I found almost nothing.

There isn't currently any strong evidence that suggests heatwaves directly cause heavier or more frequent periods, but there are several biologically plausible mechanisms, and we're starting to see researchers ask the question more seriously.

But, if you’re looking for a study titled “Do heatwaves cause heavier periods?”, you’ll struggle to find one.

Despite millions of women menstruating every month, there is almost no research looking specifically at whether short periods of extreme heat can alter menstrual bleeding or trigger breakthrough bleeding.

Most heat research focuses on things like pregnancy, fertility, exercise performance, etc. It’s important to note that women are also still underrepresented in heat physiology research, making it difficult to draw firm conclusions.

Your hormones already affect how your body handles heat

Throughout the menstrual cycle, our core body temperature naturally fluctuates. After ovulation, progesterone rises, increasing our resting body temperature by around 0.3 to 0.5°C. Oestrogen, on the other hand, appears to help the body lose heat more efficiently by encouraging blood flow to the skin and triggering sweating at lower temperatures.

In practical terms? If you’re in the second half of your cycle during a heatwave, your body is already working from a slightly higher internal temperature before you’ve even stepped outside.

Researchers have consistently found that the luteal phase shifts the body's temperature regulation, meaning women generally begin cooling themselves at a higher core temperature than they do during the follicular phase. This may make hot weather feel more challenging, particularly during prolonged periods of heat. They tend to sweat later, cool down more slowly and experience greater heat strain than they do during other phases of their cycle.

That’s not evidence that heat changes your menstrual cycle. But it does tell us that the relationship between hormones and heat isn’t one-way. These two systems are constantly interacting.

Heat doesn't just make us sweat

When we think about hot weather, we tend to think about feeling uncomfortable. But extreme heat is a genuine physiological stressor.

To keep our core temperature within a safe range, the body starts making adjustments. Blood is redirected towards the skin to release heat. We lose more fluid through sweat. Heart rate increases. Sleep often suffers. Cortisol, our primary stress hormone, can also rise.

None of these changes happen in isolation. The endocrine system, cardiovascular system and nervous system are constantly communicating with one another, and the menstrual cycle is influenced by all three.

This is why researchers think it’s biologically plausible that extreme heat could affect menstrual health, even if we don’t yet have studies proving exactly how. A body working harder to regulate its temperature is also asking more of the systems involved in regulating hormones.

The important word here is plausible. At the moment, that’s where the science sits. We have mechanisms that make sense. We just don’t have enough research to confirm whether those mechanisms translate into heavier periods, breakthrough bleeding or cycle changes during short-term heatwaves.

Why your period might feel worse in the heat

Even if the heat isn’t changing your cycle itself, it can absolutely change how your period feels.

Think about how many common period symptoms overlap with the effects of a heatwave: fatigue, headaches, dizziness, poor sleep, dehydration and bloating.

If you’re already dealing with PMS, PMDD, endometriosis or adenomyosis, adding several days of extreme temperatures into the mix can feel like pouring petrol onto a fire.

Menstruation is also an inflammatory process. While inflammation is a normal and necessary part of shedding the uterine lining, hot weather can place additional strain on the body through dehydration and cardiovascular stress. Although researchers haven’t shown that heat increases menstrual inflammation directly, it’s easy to see why many women report feeling significantly worse during hotter weather.

Sometimes the question isn’t whether your period has changed. It’s whether everything surrounding it has become harder to cope with.

But what about women on contraception?

Many of the women sharing their experiences online weren’t talking about slightly heavier periods. They were talking about bleeding despite taking contraception continuously, using hormonal coils or having methods that had stopped their periods altogether.

Naturally, the first question was: can heat override hormonal contraception?

At the moment, there simply isn’t evidence to say that it can.

Breakthrough bleeding is already a recognised side effect of many hormonal contraceptives and can happen for a variety of reasons, including stress, illness, inconsistent pill-taking and changes within the uterine lining. Whether extreme heat makes this more likely hasn’t been properly studied.

That doesn’t mean the experiences people are reporting aren’t real. It simply means we don’t yet know whether the heat itself is responsible, whether it’s interacting with other factors, or whether something else entirely is going on.

Sometimes “we don’t know” is the most scientifically accurate answer.

So... what should we make of all this?

I think the biggest story here is that thousands of women noticed changes in their bodies at the same time, and there was almost nowhere to find evidence-based answers.

Women’s health research has historically overlooked menstruation, particularly when it comes to environmental factors like heat. We have studies on fertility, pregnancy and athletic performance in hot conditions, but remarkably little looking at how rising temperatures might influence menstrual bleeding or breakthrough bleeding.

Maybe the women posting on TikTok all experienced coincidence. Maybe they didn’t.

Right now, science can’t tell us [insert primal scream].

What it can tell us is that hormones influence how we regulate heat, heat places measurable stress on the body, and the menstrual cycle is sensitive to changes in our internal environment.

That doesn’t prove causation. But it does suggest we’re asking a question that’s well worth investigating.

And if this summer has taught us anything, it’s that women are paying attention to their bodies. Perhaps it’s time research started paying closer attention too.

Sources:

Baker FC, Siboza F, Fuller A. (2020). Temperature regulation in women: Effects of the menstrual cycle. Temperature, 7(3), 226-262.

Charkoudian N, Stachenfeld NS. Sex hormone effects on autonomic mechanisms of thermoregulation in humans.

Temperature regulation in women: Effects of the menstrual cycle: https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC7575238

Nagma S et al. (2015). To evaluate the effect of perceived stress on menstrual function. Journal of Clinical and Diagnostic Research.

https://www.marieclaire.co.uk/health-fitness/female-health/period-more-difficult-during-heatwave

I looked down at myself in the shower and noticed something that wasn’t there before.

Nipple hair.

Not the gentle, fair peach buzz that blankets the whole human body, but black, curly, stray hairs protruding from my areolas.

‘Hmm. That’s new’, I thought. I reached for my Laura Mercier tweezers and began plucking away. The more I looked, the more new hairs I found.

What has now become a monthly ritual–scanning my boobs to find the culprits whilst chuckling away at how bizarre I must look in the bathroom to my boyfriend–is something that would have panicked my younger self.

You must be hair free from the nose down at all times. Like a baby.

Read that again.

Like. A. Baby.

How incredibly bizarre and down-right stomach churning that that has been our goal?

I mean, I still pluck those nipple hairs. I’m not quite ready to let the Amazon rainforest take over my chest quite yet - and that’s probably partly because I’m still feeding into those paedophilic narratives set to us by old men. The beauty standards that keep us chasing the unattainable. Youth.

Staring down at my boobs made me realise how much I’ve changed – how much my body is changing – especially in the past 5 years.

From the second that I entered my third decade, my body became something I no longer recognised.

Smile lines that don’t leave, even when frowning. My acne has finally disappeared (this one is a big hallelujah). I can simply look at a brownie and instantly gain 5lbs. The light behind my eyes blown out (I jest - sort of).

I look at pictures of my younger self: cheeks full, gaze bright and body small. I catch myself yearning for her, even in the knowledge that she herself is chasing further thinness, clear skin and to be desired. Covered in inches of make-up to appease people whose names she’ll long forget.

I know in another decade, I’ll be looking back on the current version of myself writing this article. Wishing for her youth, her beauty - not appreciating it when it was there. The cycle is tortuous.

At 40, will my nipple hairs start to grey? Will I long for the days where they were pigmented?

I’ll take you back to December 2020 (I’m sorry if that’s triggering). It was Covid, we were coming out of the second lockdown, about to enter a third, and each day blurred into one.

Except for the 24th of December. That day sticks out for me like a sore thumb. My period was two weeks late.

That summer, I had decided to come off of hormonal contraception due to a wee bit of a mental breakdown. I had read about some correlations between anxiety and the pill and thought, after a decade, a break would do me good (which it did; almost 7 years later, I’m still not on any form of hormonal contraception).

I was tracking my cycle and using a natural method of contraception - but I’ll admit I was sporadic with it. I, for some reason, thought I could evade pregnancy; that will never happen to me, I’m just a girl!

Reader, I was 25.

I tried convincing myself that my body was still finding its natural rhythm. Five months on from stopping the pill, I told myself that this was normal - despite the fact that I had been having pretty consistent cycles until that point.

‘It’s the stress of Covid!’

I told my boyfriend, who was trying to get me to take a pregnancy test. I wasn’t ready for that yet, despite knowing my body felt different, that I was sharing my vessel with something not yet of this world.

I knew I was pregnant. I didn’t need two lines to confirm it for me. But I was battling with my brain, telling myself I was crazy.

My body was already changing. The fatigue I was experiencing felt like I was trudging through mud every second. I even found myself breathless walking up the hill from our gym - a walk I had done a thousand times.

My boyfriend walked in that morning and stopped in his tracks.

‘Your boobs look huge!’

Fuck.

‘I need to take a test.’

24/11/2020

I scurried to the Co-Op next door. Cap on and pulled down so none of our neighbours could recognise me. I approached the aisle of mismatched domestic items: floss, bleach, bin bags, tampons…

And there, right at the bottom of the shelf, tucked away in the corner - a pregnancy test.

I looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to me. Of course, it was Christmas Eve, so anyone shopping was deeply stressed, chaotically stuffing the last remnants of vegetables and Cava into their baskets ahead of The Big Day. I was relieved.

I rushed to the self checkout and quickly scanned the test. The box staring up at me from the till seemed to be judging me. The woman with a giant smile and white, shiny teeth didn’t reflect me at all. I was scared, anxious and felt incredibly guilty. I flipped the box over to avert her gaze.

When I got home, I pissed on that stick straight away. I set a timer for two minutes and prayed to a god I don’t believe in. I asked *Him to show me a negative result to prove that I’ve just been overthinking this whole thing and maybe tomorrow, my period will arrive.

This wasn’t the first pregnancy test I’ve ever taken, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. But I have never done this with such level of anxiety; I knew what would show up in that hellish window.

Two minutes passed. It felt like hours. My boyfriend was erratically pacing outside the bathroom. The timer erupted; a tropical tune filled the space between him and I. We almost laughed, but my eyes showed him a sad certainty that we just couldn’t get past.

When I looked at the test, I immediately broke down in tears. I’ve always known that I never wanted children; there is a stigma attached to women like me - that we’re heartless and evil child-haters. The guilt that hit me in that moment was overwhelming.

How could I have let this happen? So many people who want children struggle to get pregnant and I’ve carelessly achieved that, only to get rid of it?

The voices in my head suffocated me. I had friends and family members who were never able to have children of their own. And even though there was no guarantee I could actually carry a child to term, I felt incredibly ashamed of myself.

It’s an extremely emotional and volatile time. I’m grateful to all other versions of myself, past and future, for having this decision already locked in. I’ve always been pro-choice and absolutely understood, without judgement, why women in any situation may want to have an abortion. But when you’re standing face-to-face with that decision, years of societal pressure can cloud your vision.

‘Shall we keep it?’, I looked at my boyfriend through cloudy, wet eyes.

I am so thankful for him. How he kept so grounded and supportive.

‘Chon,’ he looked at me with so much love in his eyes. ‘I will support whatever choice you make, but don’t let guilt override your decision.’

I have felt an incurable sense of guilt since I was seven years old. This situation was extra evidence to me that I was a bad person.

We spoke at length and, after a big cry, I realised what I had to do.

25/11/2020

That Christmas we stayed in our London flat, rather than travelling back to Norfolk and Suffolk where our families hail from. We had a small celebration on our own - but in the back of my mind, I kept thinking about this cluster of cells growing in my uterus.

It was a horrible feeling. I wanted it out. It felt like there was a pin deep in my stomach; not painful, but irritating and uncomfortable. I couldn’t relax.

1/1/2021

I started off 2021 with an abortion. Because it was during Covid and I was early on in the pregnancy, the NHS sent the pills directly to my home.

I opened up the box. They had forgot the codeine. Shit.

I was going to have to ride this fucker out with over the counter meds and a prayer.

On New Years Day, we had my partner’s brother and his wife over. We spent the day walking around the woods near where we live and drinking coffee in the nearby village. It was lovely. It was peaceful. But all I could think of was getting this abortion over and done with. I’d catch myself disassociating in conversations, staring into nothingness. Feeling like I’ve let everyone down.

I took the pills in the late afternoon. One inserted orally, the other vaginally. I reasoned that going through this in the evening was the best option - that I could sleep it off.

That night was the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life. I was writhing in agony, floating in and out of consciousness to be sick. It felt like someone was stripping me of my internal organs one by one, moving them about with their rough hands before snatching them out of my lifeless body.

Notting Hill was playing in the background in an effort to soothe my despair. I’ve not been able to watch that movie since.

I passed so much blood that I thought I had none left. I stared down at the toilet bowl and witnessed parts of myself looking back at me.

2/1/2021

The next morning I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a haunted face stare back at me. The deed was done but I was forever changed.

We packed away our Christmas decorations and made coffee. We watched films and ate leftovers. Anything to avoid talking about what happened.

I was relieved, of course. I knew I couldn’t get through a pregnancy without wanting to tear my skin off and jump into a bath of acid. I knew I never wanted to be a mother. I felt grateful that I live in a country where abortions are available safely and for free (god bless the NHS which the far-right are so desperate to destroy).

I had always said that if I ever got pregnant that I’d get an abortion - to the great dismay of my Roman Catholic mother (who didn’t plan on having me, the third child to a second man but never believed in abortion as an option - so here I am!). I said it with such a breezy confidence - that the decision would come easily and make sense immediately.

But unless you have been in that situation, it’s difficult to know how you’ll react.

I am staunch on living child-free, but for a moment (a small, fleeting moment), I felt like maybe I should keep the baby. Even though I didn’t want it. Despite not being able to afford it. Because society says it’s evil otherwise. That unborn child could cure cancer, is what I’m told (but they never seem to care about all the real children that are stuck in the foster care system, children of the global majority1, or children that come out as gay or trans).

Almost 6 years later

And I still think about my unborn baby. They’d be almost five now. The life we’d share would be dreadful. Yes, they’d have two parents - something I semi-lacked growing up, but two parents that didn’t really want them. Two parents that envisioned a different life for themselves that got interrupted.

Two parents whose dreams were put on hold and may never be unpaused again.

As someone who doesn’t want children, I would have resented my child. I’d have tried to have been a good mother; I’m sure I would have loved them but there would be something inside me pining for a life that no longer existed for me - and would never exist again.

You become a parent and you are a parent for life. Eighteen years and then some. I don’t think it’s fair to have children unless you are 100% sure that you’re ready to flip your life upside down and fully commit to them. People rush into having children without really thinking about what that means - what it takes.

That child may have been born but into what? A world that didn’t really want them. Imagine the years of therapy, bad relationships and identity crisis they’d experience.

I’m almost thirty-one and I’m starting over in my career, something I wouldn’t have had the privilege to do if I had a child.

In a weird way, I’m grateful for the experience of an abortion. Whilst I’d never want to go through that again (and reader, trust me when I say I’m so much more cautious now), it definitely made me grow. I have more empathy now than ever for women in that situation, regardless as to whether they see children in their future or not.

Because having an abortion is not a quick and easy decision to make. And even if it seems simple on the surface, what is going on beneath is a complex maze of emotions - guilt, sadness, regret, confusion, anger. It’s a decision that stays with you for the rest of your life, even if you have nothing physical to confirm it.

None of my family know I’ve had an abortion - just two close friends, my partner and now you, my Substack sisters (and brothers) - because for so long I felt ashamed, that people would think less of me.

But as I get older I realise that these decisions don’t define us. I’d never judge a person for a decision that have made for their body, their health. So why am I judging myself so much for doing exactly that?

Having an abortion saved my life. Without it, I fear who I would have turned into.

Aunt Flo’s visiting. The painters and decorators are in. It’s shark week. A million different ways to politely and discreetly let people know that your uterus is shedding from your vagina for ~3-7 days, causing you indescribable pain, acne, fatigue, headaches, nausea and irritability (to put it politely).

I remember the very first Sex Ed lesson I had in primary school. I must have been eight or nine. Me and a flurry of other girls were ushered into the teacher’s staff room, crammed on an itchy, small and probably ancient sofa whilst one of the older teaching assistants stood in front of us. I distinctly noticed the lack of presence from the boys and wondered what they were being told in the bigger, more spacious classroom - the room that was meant for learning. This room felt secretive, out of bounds; being huddled shoulder to shoulder on that sofa made us recoil into ourselves, scared to take up too much space.

The teacher pulled out a white, cotton tube and asked us if we knew what this was. One girl whispered, “it’s used to stop nose bleeds”. The adult laughed - semi-awkwardly - and told us it was a tampon. She proceeded to explain our ‘time of the month’ to us, that we’ll probably experience for the first time in a few years.

She grabbed a glass of water from behind her, utilising it as a tool to demonstrate how this odd item worked. I remember her placing the tampon into the water and seeing it explode, filling the whole glass with its shape.

I gasped. That looks terrifying, I thought to myself.

For our entire lives we’ve discussed our periods in covens, away from public. We’ve hushed our pain, bared our teeth and pretended everything was fine.

“It’s just part of being a woman!”

Pain ingrained in us from birth. Normalised, dismissed. Told it will all get better once we hit menopause (which is a whole other topic to discuss!).

And with so many misunderstood, barely-researched menstrual cycle issues like PMOS (previously known as PCOS), Endometriosis, Adenomyosis, PMDD, many women and people who menstruate battle with their bodies and their mind.

The big question is, that is rarely explored, is a period necessary for our health?

What is a period and do we need it?

A period (menstruation) is the monthly biological process where the unneeded lining of the uterus (made of blood and tissue), breaks down and is expelled from the body through the vagina because a pregnancy has not occurred.

For someone looking to get pregnant, a period is necessary. Hormonal birth control like the pill suppresses ovulation - which is pretty vital when it comes to getting pregnant.

But if you have no intention to have kids in this current period of your life - or ever - it is widely accepted by gynecologists and medical professionals that skipping periods carries no inherent health risks.

As someone who has studied natural health and has corrected my chronic period pain, I personally like having periods. I consider it a vital sign and tracking my cycle helps me keep on top of any issues that may arise. But I realise I am part of a lucky few; I’ve grown up seeing my sister hospitalised from her period pain, fearing for her life because of her next visit from the beast in her uterus. Last year, she opted for a chemical menopause (discussed below) which has changed her life beyond belief. She is finally pain free, after 22 years of suffering. Her happiness exudes from her. She doesn’t want children - never has - and therefore this option saves her life. Literally.

Ultimately, this decision is individual - and if the freedom from periods creates a life-changing result in how you experience the month - then who is anyone to tell you not to stop them.1

What options are out there?

I think it’s incredibly important to start here by saying that working with a medicial professional like a Doctor or Gynecologist is one of the most vital elements to stopping your periods altogether.

As a certified Naturopathic Health Coach, I wholeheartedly believe there is space for both naturopathic and allopathic medicine. I’ve even worked with women who suffered from painful periods but have always been aware of the limitations of my scope of practise.

I think it is harmful to dismiss medical professionals and rely on wellness influencers and health gurus from TikTok. The lack of trust in medicine is understandable: centuries of dismissal, being told we’re overdramatic, that what we’re experiencing is normal. Knowing in your bones that something is wrong but not being heard creates echoes of doubt, frustration, confusion and sadness that constantly battle for attention in your brain. Being expected to advocate for yourself over and over again is exhausting.

I have been there, too.

It is completely down to the person sitting across from you in that warm, poorly lit room as to whether or not your issues get explored. But when you find that one, the weight lifted from your shoulders feels more freeing than anything you’ve ever experienced. To be seen, feel heard and know that you’re not losing your mind is, quite possibly, the most validating moment of your life.

A doctor or menstrual health medical specialist may have a few options for you, or you may ask to discuss the below yourself:

Hormonal contraception options:

1. Combined oral contraceptive pill: you can take ‘the pill’ continuously, skipping the 7-day break to stop periods altogether.

2. The patch or vaginal ring: similar to the pill, these can be used continuously to bypass periods and the ‘withdrawal’ bleed.2

3. IUD: ‘the coil’ thins the womb lining which can significantly reduce or completely stop periods for 5 years.

4. The injection and implant: these can both thin the womb lining to the point where periods stop completely.

Like with most medication, these options take a bit of trial and error and do come with side effects (another reason why working with a medical professional is so important).

Hormonal contraception isn’t always the right option for everyone. For me, I found it drastically affected my mental health, so I decided to stop taking it almost 6 years ago. However, I have many friends who have had incredible results, reclaimed their lives back and don’t ever see themselves without it.

If hormonal options weren’t your thing, then here are some other medical options you and your doctor can explore:

1. Chemical menopause: you may be prescribed powerful medications like GnRH Agonists or Antagonists. A medically induced menopause is a temporary state which shuts down ovarian function, stopping the production of oestrogen and progesterone.

2. Endometrial ablation: this is a surgical procedure that removes the lining of the womb to reduce or stop monthly bleeding.

3. Hysterectomy: this is a major surgery to remove the uterus - stopping all periods and prevents pregnancy. This does come with risks and a recovery period, so tends to be the last option.3

Why isn’t this widely known as an option?

It’s a loaded question. There are probably a multitude of reasons; what springs to mind is medical misogyny.

It’s no surprise to us girls when I say that it’s likely due to how little we know about the female body in comparison to the male. Historically, the male body has been seen as the default and we, just smaller - sometimes less hairy - versions of them.

So what do we do when men don’t have periods? We don’t prioritise researching them or funding solutions to the myriad issues that present themselves. We’ve got pink diva cups and paracetamol that contains caffeine (even though caffeine is known to increase period pain), isn’t that enough?

I think it also leans into appeasing men. There are thousands of stories out there where women have tried to get a hysterectomy but have been refused because she may ‘change her mind when married’, or needs to gain her husbands/partners consent. But I firmly believe that if men were the ones who were responsible for creating, hosting and birthing life, it would be seen as his body, his choice.

I’m sure there will be people who say that stopping your periods altogether stops your natural, hormonal rhythms and therefore is bad - I felt that way for a while. And whilst it does change the rhythm of your hormones, if done safely, it is considered safe. We don’t need periods to ‘cleanse’ our bodies - that narrative just feeds the viewpoint that periods (and therefore women) are dirty, unclean and need to be kept at bay during that time of the month.

The entire menstrual cycle exists to prepare the body for pregnancy. So if that’s not on your bingo card, why do you need to force yourself to endure endless days of pain each month?

In my many discussions with so many women over the past few years, a sentence always gets repeated.

‘The menopause was the best thing that ever happened to me.’

That one day that changes your entire chapter. Your cycle ceases to exist. Going through peri-menopause4 (another topic for a different day) can be excruciating too, but that one day frees you of everything you have experienced and put up with for four or five decades.

My heart breaks for those women. What if they knew about the option to suppress your periods? How much of their youth would have been saved? What could they have done, achieved, experienced? Chronic period conditions steal your life. They steal your time, your ability, the person you truly are. It breaks you down until you no longer recognise yourself.

If your periods are manageable, you’re truly lucky - I am one of them, too. I’ve never known the pain from periods that leads to hospitalisation. The pain that even morphine can’t dull.

So if someone has medically stopped their periods, it is because there was no other option left. It’s because if they didn’t, their lives wouldn’t be theirs to live.

I will never shame a woman taking ownership of her body and doing what she feels is right. Because I know that it has taken years of pain to get to that point.

Fourteen days in. The ticking in my head echoes: growing louder, more insistent.
For over half my life I’ve been the victim of this Nebula
Fragments of my former self lost in dust, in time, in space.
I shake my head vigorously, as if it will create a new cosmos inside of me
Pretending It won’t trap me this time. That I’ll escape Its grasp, that maybe It won’t want me.

But then the numbness of Its breath stops me in my tracks.
I am alone, exhausted, entranced.
Life before this moment feels like a hazy dream
A manifestation that is never quite granted to me.
The timeline of my existence becomes a monotonous hum
A ringing in my ear that never leaves, Its tone never changes. The only constant I rely on.

I know Its cause.
Two monsters in my body that are far apart but whisper sweet nothings to each other
In an effort to ruin my life, block my dreams, suck me into the dark molten beneath my feet.

This too shall pass
When the calendar ticks over to day one
And yet again I’ll pretend this never happened.
Won’t admit that something needs sorting
Because life will feel good again. My hormones jump back in line and respond to my orders.
My brain and uterus drift apart like distance friends
Knowing soon, their plot will thicken.

But that means nothing now. Now that I am fine.

Every day I am exhausted.
No matter how much I sleep, rest or doomscroll
I find myself fighting against a yawn, heavy eyelids, a battered sigh.
There’s a hum in my head that doesn’t leave
I daydream into a world of nothingness. An empty space that doesn’t exist.
This tiredness is different.

I’ve felt exhaustion before, from long nights spent dancing in dingy nightclubs with friends.
Busy weeks at work when all systems are go and you have no time to stop and think about what you’re doing.
Summer mornings when the night before was so hot you could barely sleep.
This tiredness is different.

The life has drained from me.
My direction unclear, my future cloudy, my path with no beaten track
I am anemic from joylessness, from a world gone wrong.
Each day passes by in a long, low smog. My mind hazy, empty but full.
Autopilot guides me, my customer-service smile plastered on my face like clown make up.
All good here! I proclaim, in the fear that people will worry otherwise.
This tiredness is different. I worry. Is it cancer? Is it depression? Or is this just how my life will be from now on?

There are moments of light. That sip of coffee lovingly made by my boyfriend
The foamy milk frothed with precision, care - his love.
A voicenote from my bestfriend
her Geordie accent sings to me and echoes through my brain.
The squirrels, robins and magpies that strut around our communal garden
whom over 5 years I have bonded with and have spoken to everyday.
But then that sea batters me. The salt infiltrates my mouth and I am bitter again.
This tiredness is different. Because it’s not tiredness at all.

Subscribe now

It was a hot evening in May. Where the day had been sticky with heat but the evening feels fresh. A London summer is hard to beat. All that potential hanging in the air, exacerbated by the sun’s rays. This is what we wait all year for.

We all met after work; one friend had an argument with a tough client, another is battling with sexism in the workplace and I have been in a ‘strategic career transition’ for months, working in retail again and wondering what my next step will be and when it’ll arrive.

I almost cancelled. Worried about money and feeling exhausted from being on my feet all day, I thought, for a second, that wallowing at home alone would be the solution. I’m so glad I ignored that pitiful voice in my head.

We were hot, flustered and gasping for that first sip of a crisp Rosé. Darting through a sea of Gilet’s, hen parties and colleagues letting off steam, we found a little circle table in a pub garden that felt like it had our names engraved on it. The seats were calling for us to take the weight off our bodies and entrust them to hold us through whatever we needed.

We sit down, relieved to have found a table on a Thursday evening, looking around us at all the other people connecting, laughing, therapising the day and week’s events. All in their own way, putting the world to right.

Subscribe now

Table secured, I dart up;

‘A bottle?’, I enquire, already knowing the resounding yes would harmonise from both of their mouths.

I dip off, back into the ocean of people, and head straight for the bar. As I go inside, my eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness. It feels like a different world inside; a few stragglers sitting at tables, quiet pop music buzzing in the background, a musky smell of old carpets and beer, but a territorial army barricading the bar.

I utilise my small height and slip between the crowd of 6ft+ men. It takes me back to my early twenties, holding the hands of all my friends and pulling them through the crowd at a festival or a nightclub, to be front and centre - in the hopes the DJ or artist spots us.

A tattooed bartender with a nose ring and gorgeous long red hair smiles in my direction and asks, ‘What can I get you, lovely?’.

“A bottle of house Rosé, please. And three glasses.’ She nods and disappears to the other side of the bar. In a second she is back with a bottle of Rosé so cold, the condensation is dripping down the bottle.

I tap my card, grab my prize and make my way back. When I arrive, my friends cheer. We’ve all been waiting for this.

I unscrew the lid and hear it crack. I pour us a large glass each; we sit in silence and absorb the sound of the wine glugging into each glass. We relax, let out a sigh and cheers.

‘To making it through another week!’, one of my friends says with glee, her smile radiating from ear to ear. Her brown, curly hair looks almost red in the sunlight and I notice her freckles have doubled across her nose since I last saw her.

We sip in unison, look at each other and laugh. Suddenly the weight of the day slips away as the sun sets behind us.

We each talk in turn, spilling our deepest insecurities, our worries, what we’re all battling through internally, the political landscape and the future of our planet. We share glances of compassion, of hope, of understanding.

We laugh. A lot.

One of the girls is getting married next year and her eyes light up whilst she spills her plans for The Big Day in great detail. Her light-blue eyes catch the sun and look like the sea when you’re on holiday - sparkling, calm, exciting. Her smile can’t be contained and her voice is plugged with electricity. I can hear our table getting louder and louder, the frenzy spilling out of us like the wine from the bottle.

We recall memories of our youth, of how silly we were, so uninformed, so brazen. We talk through heart aches and bad mistakes. Of old boyfriends and girlfriends who are married now, have kids, never moved away from home.

After two glasses we feel giddy. Our giggles echo through the red sky as we take deep breaths, wheezing ‘Stop!’, struggling to compose ourselves. We think of our twenty-something-selves who would have a bottle on their own as pre-drinks - who, looking at us now in our early thirties, would think we were boring. We laugh again, tinged with some sadness for our youth that we’ll never get back - burdened with more and more responsibility each day - but with full hearts at how strong our friendship has remained.

As soon as I’m tipsy, I want to smoke. We open a pack of Vogues, each reaching for one and taking it in turns to light. I hear the fizz of the cigarette as the lighter touches the end and gently place it in my mouth, inhaling that burnt tasting smoke and exhaling through my nose. There is something about a cigarette in summer, alongside a glass of wine - it’s almost romantic.

In that very moment, I am present. Nothing else but this slice of time exists. Everything before has floated away on a bed of smoke, and everything coming up doesn’t matter.

I look at two of my wonderful friends, talking over each other, going off on tangents, making witty observations and offering incredible advice and think, how lucky I am. To be in this moment, witnessing the love and compassion of two humans who were once strangers to me, offer up their time, their thoughts, their intelligence and their love to me and each other.

Suddenly, I am reminded that life is worth living - for these moments alone.

Our problems are still real. Still exist. Will still need to be dealt with. But we are not trudging through life by ourselves. The communities we build are bonded by something much stronger than our issues. Love always wins and love conquers all.

The sky is dark and the pub garden starts getting quieter. We top up our glasses with the last remnants of wine. We contemplate getting another, but our wiser inner thoughts win. We call it a night. A hangover at work in your thirties just isn’t feasible these days. My twenty-year-old-self tuts in shame.

As we go to leave, parting ways and lightly walking to our different tube lines, we look at each other for a moment. The night we just had will be a flittering moment in our lives, but one of many. Each evening healing broken parts of our minds and souls. We hug and thank each other for lending a listening ear, a kind smile and shoulder to lean on. We apologise for oversharing, and then comfort the other - reminding them that oversharing doesn’t exist between us.

I’ve known these women since we were 11. We were girls then, and still are now - but weathered, in good and bad ways. Life has beaten us but it’s educated us. It’s been beautiful and it’s been heartbreaking. One constant we have had, though, is each other. And I’ll always know that I have people in my corner.

Life for me right now is confusing. I don’t know where I fit and I don’t know which path I’ll end up taking. I’m stuck in a sort of limbo, with each day blurring into one. But I am so grateful for moments like this night. We get together less as we get older, life and responsibilities get in the way - but when we do reconvene, gathering like witches under a full moon, the spells we conjure will forever put our worlds to right.

Subscribe now

I’ve worked in lingerie before. At 18, I worked at Ann Summers before moving to Boux Avenue and at Uni I worked part time at Bravissimo. Creeps are part of the job, unfortunately - so I’m no stranger to the odd weird man being inappropriate.

But this weekend was different. At 10am, just as we opened, the store received a call. It was an international number, but we ship worldwide so nothing new there. As I answered, I struggled to understand the gravelly voice on the other end. He spoke quietly, huskily, and the line wasn’t strong. After a few ‘sorry I’m struggling to hear you, the line seems broken’, I heard him ask ‘what are you wearing?’, in a deep, American tone.

My eyes rolled. ‘Here we go’, I thought. I should have hung up there and then, but I thought, maybe, I could make this man understand that this type of thing won’t just be accepted anymore.

I obviously made him angry, or turned him on even more, because his response was:

‘JUST STAY ON THE PHONE UNTIL I F***ING C*M!’

I hung up immediately. The phone lay limp in my hand, ironically mirroring my harasser across the pond. I stared into the abyss for a second, a minute, I’m not too sure. Laughed, engulfed by nausea, then greeted the customer who walked through the door, smiling as if nothing had ever happened.

But that moment stayed with me the whole day. The whole weekend. Today is Monday and I’m still thinking about it. I wasn’t in any immediate danger, that man wasn’t even in the same country as me. But I felt exploited, violated.

Then, I felt angry. This man had the power to ruin my day, my weekend, instantly. He had the ability to make me feel vulnerable and exposed. To feel used. All without being in the same room as me.

And to some, this will seem like a rare occasion. A ‘one off’ freak who isn’t representative of the wider male species. But I, and many other women, would disagree. This isn’t a one off. This isn’t some loner dude, sat at home in a dark room, lurking in alleyways late at night. He was probably someone’s partner. A dad. Some poor woman’s manager. He probably dated and had a circle of friends he’d invite over to watch the game on Saturdays. He would politely thank the shop assistants and stop at crossings for ducks. He probably thought he was a good guy. He hasn’t physically assaulted anyone. He pays his taxes on time. Maybe he volunteers twice a year through work. This is his only vice. But it’s nothing major, right?

I am not a tool for you to masturbate with

The audacity he and others like him must have to call up a store and utilise its staff as a prop in his storyline-based, phone-sex-style porno points at a very concerning thought process. The knowledge that I haven’t (and wouldn’t) give consent to be on the receiving end of his ejaculation radio waves, that he would be catching me off guard, unable to fight back highlights his ability to rape. Whilst this may feel like an exaggeration, I ask you to sit with this a while. I’m not saying he raped me, but I am drawing a conclusion to his ability to do that. The fact that I wasn’t consenting, that I was taken by surprise was clearly pleasurable for him. There are plenty of phone services he could have called, paid for their time and understood there was a mutual agreement for him to get off. That is not what he did.

He researched an independent lingerie boutique, probably in a little town he had never heard of, all with the intention of making a woman feel objectified. He wanted to attain something from me that I didn’t want to give him, that he knew I wouldn’t have given him if he had called and asked. I was probably one of ten he called that day. And next week, he’ll probably strike again - and maybe, the next woman to answer will be younger, maybe she’ll be more vulnerable. Maybe she will have a history of traumatising assault and his call will send her into a sprial.

Maybe, he’ll get bored of calling and he’ll seek a deeper level of thrill. Something more sinister and life-changing. We see it over and over again. The police officer who we are told to trust but horrifically stole Sarah Everard’s life was known by his colleagues as ‘The Rapist’, our boyfriends who say they love us think we owe them sex at a drop of a hat, the sons we birth are the most likely ones to kill us.

‘But feminism has gone too far’, they cry

The incels would tell us we’re exaggerating or that we deserve it. That feminism is the downfall of society and all will be better if we submit to their natural ways of leading. I look at the world we currently live in, ran by dementia-riddled, paedophilic, old-money men and see zero examples of leadership.

To submit to them would be a lifetime in chains. A prison of ego-fuelled torture guised as protection. I would rather be hated by a billion men but live a life of freedom and autonomy, where my body and my mind are my own.

To say that there is a male loneliness ‘epidemic’ yet in the same breath, talk about the serious violence against women and girls, without addressing who is committing that violence makes a mockery of our plight. The same hands that destroy our lives are feeling a bit sad and it’s all down to feminism indoctrinating women into hating men? If women just suck it up and take the men as they are, instead of demanding rights and to be viewed as humans, then we could solve their little loneliness problem.

Incels (or the ‘involuntarily celibate’) in name and nature speak to our problem. That men are owed sex but women are withholding it from them as punishment. The infinite number of online forums, chatrooms and websites that teach and encourage these men to take what is theirs tells us everything about the hardwiring of the male brain. That so little of them have evolved from the prehistoric era. And we are meant to believe that they are better leaders? Please.

There is absolutely no reason to wonder why so many women are remaining single, opting to live child-free and building communities of their own. Why wreak havoc on your life when the safest option is to keep as far away from men as possible? 44% of American's would rather live on an all-women planet, and I would imagine if more of the world was surveyed, that % would be even higher.

A certified man-hater chooses the best boyfriends

I’ve been with my boyfriend for almost 7 years, yet he fully accepts that I hate men. He does, too. There are reels on Instagram that say women who hate men choose the best boyfriends and I completely agree.

We won’t just accept any man into our lives. You need to prove yourself. That we’re safe with you, that you respect boundaries, that you understand consent and that you have the brain capacity to communicate on our level.

A real man isn’t offended by Women Who Hate Men because they know they’re not included. They don’t need to justify their empathy towards women because they have mothers, daughters or sisters - they understand that, regardless of your situational relationship, women are humans and not objects for their unlimited gratification.

Real men don’t feel manly from intimidating women, by stealing our spark or mocking our whimsy. They don’t need to force us into giving anything away. They don’t need to catch us off guard. They don’t get off from non-consent.

But I’m not convinced that real men outweigh the impersonators of men. The false man’s voice is far louder and seeps its way into every aspect of our day-to-day lives. It’s a rich poison with seemingly no antidote. And, so far, only women are in the lab cooking up samples.

So yes, I hope the downfall of man is swift. That karmic debt is paid and in full.

Leave a comment

N:B: it doesn’t need to be said, but I’ll say it anyway - of course this does not mean all men. I understand, as mentioned, there are men who don’t fall into this category. But, as women, we often experience violence and harassment at the hands of men, so declaring that you’re ‘one of the good ones’ doesn’t cut it, I’m afraid. If you’re angry from reading this or this has touched a nerve, I ask you to explore why this feels personal.

Subscribe now

I have nephews and nieces who I love dearly. Children of friends who mean the world to me. I love deeply and try not to waste much time sitting in hatred… of anyone! But, I don’t want children. I’ve known since I was 15 and nothing has ever changed. If anything, the older I get, the more reasons I discover for not wanting to be a parent.

My sister is like me. We both knew from very young ages that becoming mothers just wasn’t in our destiny. But when you see her with kids, you’d have no idea. She’s patient, kind, empathetic and soft. Her nurturing and very whimsical attitude has caused so much confusion. ‘But you’d be a wonderful mum!’, people cry at her, demanding that her personality is suited to a life dedicated to that holy cause. It’s what we were made to do, right? It’s un-godly to defy nature’s call…

But child-free women aren’t evil monsters. I’d argue that maybe we’re more benevolent. We haven’t thrown ourselves into a life-altering decision just because we feel pressured to. The amount of people who have told me that having children is ‘the greatest thing you’ll ever do in life’, but in the same sentence, say that they wished they’d thought it through more or maybe, given a second chance, wouldn’t have become parents at all.

Children deserve parents who are fully in. Who are one-hundred-percent sure that this is the life for them. Who will love them unconditionally, no matter their gender, sexuality or ability. I don’t think a lot of people think about this properly and you see it all the time. Their child comes out as trans or gay or is born/becomes disabled… well, then their love was conditional. These people think they want to be parents because they have this idealised notion of what parenthood looks like yet, if their expectations aren’t met, they decline the parenthood they so blindly protested for. ‘I can’t wait to have a son!’, they cry, but three girls later their daughters are desperately trying to live up to expectations they will never meet. Hello identity crisis!

Despite how it sounds, this isn’t hate to those who become parents. I have so much admiration for those who do. Over night, your life completely changes and it’ll never be the same again. You are solely responsible for a human (or humans!), for the rest of your life. And especially for mothers; I don’t think they can ever win. Either they’ve lost too much of themselves in the process of having children or they’ve not sacrificed enough if they still retain some of their former identity. It’s paradoxical! Our bodies can create and gift this world life, but if you don’t bounce back to your former 21-year-old bod and self, you’ve let yourself go.

My cousin (who is more like another sister), recently became a mum to a gorgeous little girl. Her and her husband wanted to be parents, always - and it shows. They are truly dedicated to their soul-child and she to them. They’re tired, achy, learning on-the-go but couldn’t have imagined life any other way. But they themselves are not afraid to admit how hard it is, how no one is prepared and how, if you’re not a fuck yes to being a parent, it’s a fuck no.

I joke that if I could be a father rather than a mother, then maybe I’d want children. Those two roles are entirely different (you can come at me in the comments if you disagree). Women will be having complex thoughts and discussions on parenthood, what it means, how it will change them and if they’re ready whilst men often just want a ‘little version’ of them running around. Sounds cool, right? Mothers are the ones who stick around. Fathers can do what they please. They’re praised for babysitting their own kids. Yet mothers are expected to alter their every being for their family. The saying that a ‘great man is just an average woman’ rings so true in parenthood.

I think of my mum, who struggled, sacrificed and dedicated her whole life to her children. Where was her praise? No where, because it was expected of her. (I’d like to confirm that, now we’re older, my brother, sister and I praise my mum all the time). I can see it in my boyfriends family dynamic; his mum is the life-blood. Even now, all four children are grown, but she is what keeps that family beating. The job of a mother never ends - you are constantly guiding, listening, advising, caring for, nursing, therapising, conducting and choreographing other people’s lives. I’m so sorry, but I don’t want that. It’s an incredible job for the right person - but that isn’t me.

Child-free women are viewed as selfish. I would argue that we’re actually self-aware. Motherhood is not easy. When people tell me ‘you’ll never understand how hard it is to raise a family’, my response is “I do!”, and that’s exactly why I’m not doing it. This isn’t some fleeting decision I’ve made on a whim. It has been carefully ruminated over for half of my life.

My sister and I have a running joke. When we’re out and about and hear a screaming child or someone tells us a horror story about pregnancy, we look at each other and say underneath our breath reason #4,569 to not have kids. It’s silly, but also is true. We probably have so many reasons now that we could write a book. But, ultimately, they all come back to #1 - we. just. don’t. want. to.

I think some people have a natural pull to motherhood, other’s don’t. I’m glad that we live in a time where it’s possible for us to make that decision for ourselves, rather than having to blindly follow what many others have just done for centuries.

Lots of my friends are in this grey, unclear, foggy space. They’re not sure if they want to be parents. The world we live in is incredibly turbulent and uncertain - do they want to subject someone else to it? With no guarantee of a safer or better future? This is #199 for my sister and I. Even if I wanted children, I’d be hesitant. This world isn’t set up for everyone and there’s no guarantee that your child won’t be born with a physical or invisible disability, that they won’t be gay or trans. Life is tough even with privilege (I’m a white, able-bodied, cis-gendered woman so I come with a lot!), but our current society is so ableist, so anti-trans, so racist, so misogynistic that I couldn’t bear to think of bringing someone else into that. If I had a girl, I’d fear for her life, if I had a boy, I’d become unhealthily obsessed with ensuring he didn’t grow up to be ‘one of the bad ones’. So I can totally understand those who at one point thought that becoming a parent would be their life path, totally change their mind or have no idea what to do.

It’s not something to take lightly. The decision you make is for life and it doesn’t just affect you. So I will be living child-free and guilt-free. I don’t mind that I’m contributing to the declining birthrate because I’m not forcibly bringing someone into the world that I don’t want. My children deserve a mother who wants to be a mother, and I don’t - it’s out of kindness that I’m not subjecting them to a life of unjust hurt.

If you decide to be a parent, I wish you so much luck and send you so much admiration. The world is big enough for both our chosen existences to live side-by-side.

Leave a comment

Recently, I’ve been feeling a level of tired I’ve never experienced before. I’ve been burnt out in the past and this isn’t that; last year I was working a very stressful corporate job that destroyed my soul and my health entirely - I was tired then, but in a physical way.

This is a physical tiredness, too. But my soul feels heavy. I have no desire to do anything. Each day blurs into one and I just hope I can get to the end of it and back into my bed.

I’ve struggled with my mental health before. At 16 I was diagnosed with anxiety and I’m pretty sure I have health OCD/anxiety, I’m on a waitlist for an ADHD assessment and the older I get, the more I think I’m also on the Autistic spectrum. My mind is a motorway where one half is blocked with roadworks and the other half is filled with rush-hour commuters. But I’ve always been a ‘half glass full’ type of person. At school, people would comment on how I must be on happy pills. My boyfriend is always praising my optimism, despite everything I’ve experienced and all the world is.

When I was in therapy, my therapist would tell me that our sessions were her most energetic. I think I still retain this kind of exterior - but it’s always for other people. I can mask pretty well, I’ve had decades of experience. I don’t know if I’ve really let anyone see the real me.

And now I’m tired and this whole act is harder to keep up. I keep on a smile but my eyes look haunted. The ghost of me lost in there, somewhere.

I only came to this realisation yesterday, just before I started writing this essay. I was operating so functionally that even I didn’t notice. I kept asking myself, ‘what is wrong with me? Why do I feel so shit?!’, and then it clicked. Depression hasn’t come on like a slow, dark cloud, it’s hit me like a fucking truck. Maybe there was a slight warning when the headlights blinded me seconds before but nothing about this has felt gradual.

Subscribe now

I have this vivid memory of being 15 (which is amazing because much of my childhood is a blur), where I was laying in bed one night and saying to myself that I’ll always have a grip over my mental health, that I’d be able to control it. I’m not sure what sparked that, but I think maybe that teenage girl was starting to notice something in her brain wasn’t right, and that was her own way of consoling herself.

I look at my current situation and it’s not surprising why I feel this way. I’m in what I’m calling a ‘strategic job transition’ which essentially means I’m working in retail trying to figure out my next step, I have very little money during this time so I’m not doing anything, I’m relying heavily on my boyfriend to live which makes me feel useless - oh AND - the world is actually falling apart. And within that, there is so much I have privilege there, I do recognise that.

But I’m pretty sure most people are experiencing some level of depression and anxiety. Weirdly, the absolute bin fire of the world we inhabit gives me some hope for my mental clarity. Like, maybe this feeling is fleeting. I just need to get myself back on track, hope the world gets fixed and I’ll be ok again (odds on all that happening?).

I flit between states of depression and guilt. Like I’m making this whole thing up for attention. How can I be depressed when there are so many people out there in way worse situations than me? Surely this isn’t depression and my fragile ego just needs attention or a boost.

But then talking about how I’m feeling to people I know terrifies me. What if they think I’m vulnerable? What if they won’t take me seriously because I feel this way? What if I’m lying and they’ll be able to see straight through it?

I’ve never really pegged myself as a depressed person. I’ve always been an ✨ anxious girlie ✨. Anxiety: I know her. I can joke about her. I know how to survive her. Depression? That feels weighty, more serious - quite scary. There are endless examples of where depression has catastrophically ripped through a person’s life, destroyed everything they once loved, ruined relationships and left them a shell of who they once were. In the most extreme of situations, stole their lives.

I don’t want that to be me, obviously. No one does. But how long, if left, does a wave of depression turn into a full-blown tsunami?

I’m doing the things you’re supposed to do. I force myself to exercise. I eat well. I journal. I’m considering going back into therapy (I’m lucky to live in the UK where free services are available on the NHS). But I hate every moment of all of that. I’m so tired of surviving.

I have this inescapable feeling that my head is full but also empty. I’m not showing up as a good partner, friend or family member. I can see myself being snappy, not paying attention. I hate this version of myself. I don’t want to be this way, but I can’t control it. It’s like I’ve been pulled out of my body, forced to watch myself on autopilot. I’m screaming at myself, but the vessel of me is not listening. Then I think that maybe this is who I am at my core, and my niceness was all an act just to manipulate people.

I feel like the worst person in the world.

Even writing that feels pathetic. Obviously, I’m not the worst person in the world, but that’s what it feels like. It’s what I tell myself.

And what is the point of this self-indulgent essay, you ask?

I don’t want people to worry about me, which sounds contradictory because I’ve just written and will publish an article with the title ‘i think i’m depressed’. I more so want to make sense of my feelings. Document this time to track that it doesn’t get worse. Maybe, reach one person who feels similarly to me who, upon reading this, may feel like they’re not weird, crazy or alone.

I do think it’s important that we talk about these feelings. Life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. And the dark stuff can be beautiful, in its own way. We’re humans. We’re complex beings with a multitude of emotions. I really am fine, just working through something new to me. I do have hope. I do believe things will get better. And I do hold myself accountable for figuring this shit out.

I’m not asking for sympathy. I don’t need advice. But, if you can relate to any of this, I hope you know that you’re not alone. Depression does feel isolating which is why community is such a great way to fight it. If you need to talk, there are obviously professionals out there, but my DMs are also open. I hope we all heal x

I don’t even think I know my real self. Being asked to describe myself is my worst nightmare. “Tell us something interesting about you,” initiates a fear response in me comparable to what our early ancestors would have felt when coming across a dinosaur. It’s ridiculous, I know - but how am I expected to answer that when I don’t know? My whole personality has been carefully built and curated on other people: on characters from TV shows that I thought were cooler than me. I’ve stolen traits from friends, family and strangers I’ve met in the girls bathrooms at the bar who I felt people would like more. I’m a thief, decisively and purposely creating a museum-of-interest to fuel my own fragile ego.

And where has this all got me? Well, I’m burnt out. Living a lie and striving to exceed the very expectations you’ve secretly set up in others is tiring work. I’ve been the lead in a one-woman-show my whole life and I don’t know how to decipher between the character I’ve been playing and my real self when the curtains close. I’m sad. Sad for the younger girl who never let herself just be. And what makes me even more sad is that I know this isn’t a unique experience and so many people have yet to experience the most beautiful parts of themselves.

Subscribe now

The countdown to the dreaded 3 0

The day I turned 28, something in my brain switched. Panic. I knew her well, but in different settings, (hello anxiety and health OCD!). This felt weird. No longer in my mid-twenties, I felt like I was getting old. The narrative tells women that we’re past our prime, that our best years are over. It’ll be harder to stay skinny! You’re losing more collagen and muscle mass by the second! Everything tells us to hunker down and just accept that the rest of your life just isn’t worth living; no one will value your thoughts, opinions or care to give you a second glance.

The people pleaser in me was terrified. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to keep everyone happy and on-side, so what do you mean I’ll have to work even harder to be liked by my peers? It’ll take more effort ‘not to rock the boat’ just because I’m older? I felt like life was passing me by and I had nothing to show for it.

Leave a comment

By the time I was 6 months away from that dreaded 30th birthday, I was feeling calmer about the situation. But only because I convinced myself that turning 30 would change my life. That some magical, ethereal powers at be will suddenly take charge and I’ll rise from the ashes all sparkly and new. I’ll suddenly have my life together. Everything will click for me at 30, right?!

Wrong

This obsession with time we have intrigues me. We need a new year to suddenly be healthier. A new decade to be smarter. A new week to be more motivated. Those capabilities exist within us at any given second. You can totally just decide at 11:11 am (for the whimsical girlies) on a random Tuesday that you are suddenly so back. And that is what my 30s are slowly teaching me. This incredible breakdown of self.

I am who I am and I am who I want to be. I get to decide. And I get to change. How awful would it be to be the same person all your life? We’re constantly learning, experiencing, feeling - all these things will directly or indirectly change the person we are and influence the person we become. That is the beauty of life and the privilege of ageing.

On reflection, turning 30 has been life changing for me, just not in the ways I expected. As I get older, I care less about how I’m perceived. My focus is more on how I perceive me. Is that selfish and egotistical? It depends. In the wrong hands, maybe.

But I want to be a good person. A person who is there for others, who creates a safe space and builds a community that supports and champions our differences. Someone who isn’t afraid of learning or trying new things, who keeps an open mind and an open heart. Who doesn’t listen to the perceptions of people whose lives I wouldn’t want to trade with. A person who is grateful but also actively seeks change. Who doesn’t dumb herself down to make others feel more comfortable. Someone who seeks justice and advocates for others. Who lives in the moment and is hopeful for the future. Someone who is cringe and free!

The older I get, the less I care (in a good way, not a selfish kind of way). The older I become, the more I realise that this is the only life I have and I have to live it for myself. There are no guarantees (other than we will all eventually return to the stars), and I may not be lucky enough to see another three decades. I cannot spend the next part of my life in the same way I spent the first part.

I’m not one for regrets, I believe my experiences have allowed me to get to the place that I am today. I am older, wiser and more in tune with who I want to be. That will only continue to shift and grow.

So, for anyone who is scared of turning 30 (or any other age!), I hope you find some solace here. Change is inevitable, change is scary but if you stop resisting that current, you’ll be pulled to something more beautiful. I promise. 🌊

My periods were incredibly painful; I had to double up on painkillers during days one and two just to function. Told to grit my teeth and get on with it, it’s what women do.

That made me pretty uncomfortable from the get-go but I realise now was a foundational lesson that affected the rest of my life - women suffer, do it in silence as to not make the others uncomfortable.

My sister’s period pain was even worse. She would pass out, throw up and have incredible pain due to her periods - in the last year alone, she has been hospitalised three times, driven to A&E in an ambulance due to being in and out of consciousness. For over 20 years, she has been searching for answers - still to have none. Her final option has been a chemical menopause. She doesn’t want children, so this seemed like a great option for her; at the age of 37, she could be near peri-menopause anyway, but her story isn’t unique - so what about the women and people who have periods who do want kids?

Endometriosis affects 1 in 10 women but takes, on average, 8 years to diagnose. We don’t know the cause and there’s no cure. PCOS affects 10-13% of women at reproductive age, can increase the risks cancer, diabetes and heart disease but still is chronically under researched.

When I was 26, I started suffering with my own hormonal symptoms. I lost my hair, had chronic acne, gained weight and couldn’t sleep. My anxiety was at an all time high, my self-esteem was 0 and my mental wellbeing was on the edge of a cliff. My periods were worse than ever: erratic, painful and unpredictable. When I went to the doctor, (after a billion blood tests), they couldn’t find anything wrong. I felt so lost and isolated, that I decided to enrol in a health coaching course to understand my body more. Once I started putting things into practice, everything changed.

Over the next few years, I started working with women who were just like how I was: lost, confused, out of touch with their body and in chronic pain each month. Their periods wiped them out, dictated their lives and took them out of the drivers seat. I was able to teach them about their pain, why it happened and what they could do to reduce it; 85% of those women had pain-free periods in under two cycles. Whilst I don’t coach any longer, I wanted to share parts of my protocol that may be useful - because every woman should have this information for free.

Disclaimer: I am in no means a medical professional. A health coach is just that, a coach, a guide & someone who keeps you accountable. During this article, I will discuss evidence-backed tweaks you can make to reduce inflammation and pain but I will also list red-flag symptoms that need to be looked at by a doctor.

Subscribe now

Why the f*** is my period so painful?

There are a multitude of reasons why your period pain is completely wiping you out, but before you sigh of exhaustion and click off this article, stick with me for a second, because I’m going to help you figure out what may be causing yours.

Let’s start big with endometriosis.

Endo is a chronic and painful condition where tissue similar to the lining of the uterus (endometrium) grows outside the uterus, typically on pelvic organs like ovaries and fallopian tubes. This misplaced tissue reacts to hormones, thickening and bleeding during the menstrual cycle, causing inflammation, pain and scar tissue. Causes are largely unknown, but some studies do relate it to traumatic experiences in early childhood.

Key symptoms:

• Severe pelvic pain

• Painful sex

• Heavy or prolonged bleeding

• Extreme fatigue

• Infertility

• Painful bowel movements/urination

• Chronic lower back pain

• Very intense period pain (can often cause sickness and / or loss of consciousness)

Adenomyosis:

Adenomyosis is a condition where endometrial tissue grows into the muscular wall of the uterus, causing it to enlarge and bleed during menstruation. The exact cause of adenomyosis is unknown, but it is believed to result from endometrial tissue invading the muscular uterine wall, likely driven by factors like hormonal imbalances (specifically high oestrogen), uterine trauma from surgery (such as C-sections), or inflammation following childbirth.

Key symptoms:

• Intense menstrual pain

• Heavy bleeding

• Chronic pelvic pain

• Bloating

• Painful intercourse

PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome):

PCOS is a common hormonal disorder affecting 10–13% of women of reproductive age, characterised by irregular periods, high androgen levels (causing acne/hair growth), and enlarged ovaries with follicles. You must meet 2 out of 3 diagnostic criteria for PCOS.

Key symptoms:

• Diagnostic criteria - Irregular periods (however, you can have PCOS with regular cycles, too)

• Diagnostic criteria - Hyperandrongenism: high level of male hormones (testosterone), leading to physical signs like excess facial/body hair, acne & male-pattern hair thinning

• Diagnostic criteria - Polycystic ovaries: ultrasound showing 20+ follicles on at least one ovary

Other symptoms include:

• Weight gain / difficultly managing weight

• Skin changes like darkened patches on the neck, armpit or groin

• Fertility issues

• Pelvic pain

• Anxiety/depression

• Sleep apnea

Prostoglandins:

Prostoglandins are chemical messengers that help make your uterus contract during your period. We all have them, but too many can make your period cramps even more intense.

A high level of prostoglandins can cause ‘referred pain’, which is why some people experience deep pain in their lower back and thighs during their periods.

High prostoglandins symptoms often look like:

• Severe menstrual cramps

• Heavy bleeding

• Referred pain

• Increased pain sensitivity

• Headaches/migraines

• Nausea/diarrhea

• Bloating

High levels of prostoglandins are usually triggered or made worse by chronic stress. Chronic stress leads to more inflammation in the body, higher inflammation leads to prostoglandin levels increasing, which leads to more pain - which leads to more stress. The cycle is endless.

Fibroids:

Fibroids are quite common. They’re non-cancerous muscular tumours that grow around the womb. The exact cause is unknown (bet you’re beginning to see a theme here) but it is suggested that if you have a mother or sister with fibroids, you have an increased risk. It’s more commonly seen in Black women (and it’s often more severe in Black women) and those with a higher weight.

Key symptoms:

• Heavy, painful periods, sometimes causing anemia

• Pelvic pain or pressure: feeling ‘full’ in the stomach, or lower back pain

• Needing to urinate more often or urgently

• Pain/discomfort during sex

• Constipation

PID (pelvic inflammatory disease):

PID is an infection of the uterus, fallopian tubes and ovaries commonly caused by STIs like chlamydia or gonorrhea. However, bowel bacteria or vaginal flora can also cause the infection.

Symptoms can range from mild to severe, and some people can have no symptoms at all.

Key symptoms include:

• Lower abdominal or pelvic pain that feels like a dull ache

• Pain during or after sex

• Heavy, ‘foul’ smelling or abnormal discharge

• Bleeding between periods or after sex

• Fever, chills, nausea, vomiting or painful & frequent urination

Okay, so what the f*ck do I do about it?

If you’ve managed to get this far, here is the exact protocol I used with many of my clients. To note, everyone is individual. During my coaching, I would run through whole health history’s with my clients (including their birth, family health and current lifestyle) to build a tailored plan - but here are some universal truths that just work.

First things first, if you have any of the below ‘red-flag’ symptoms, please, for the love of god see a medical professional. I will write an article on how to advocate for yourself with your doctor so you are truly heard and not dismissed - because at least 52% of women feel dismissed by their GP.

Red flag period symptoms that require medical attention:

• Soaking through pads/tampons every 1-2 hours

• Bleeding that lasts longer than 7 days

• Intense period pain that disrupts your life and isn’t eased by painkillers

• Bleeding between periods and / or after sex

• Passing clots larger than a 10p coin

• Feeling dizzy, lightheaded or experiencing extreme fatigue

• Cycles shorter than 21 days or longer than 45 days - or sudden, frequent and unpredictable changes in cycle length

• Pain during sex, bowel movements or urination

I mean it. Go to a doctor. You are not being dramatic. You are not overthinking this. Things won’t just get better after a couple of weeks. Go. To. The. Doctor!!!

If you’re not in the red-flag-zone but are still doubled over, screaming ‘when will this end!!! I didn’t even ask for a uterus. Why did Eve eat the apple?!’ then here are some tweaks I want you to make…

Share You can call me Chon x

Diet:

Food is not medicine (because medicine is medicine), but unsurprisingly it is fuel for your body and what you put into it is important (you wouldn’t put diesel into a petrol car, would you?!). It doesn’t need to be complex, and you don’t need to ‘cycle sync’ but I liked to split up my client’s focus into two different phases across the month.

Follicular phase:

This starts from day 1 of your period and ends after ovulation. This is the time where you feel most energised, your skin and hair look its best and you feel ready to socialise with the world (thanks, hormones!). Focusing on nutrient-dense food to support rising oestrogen and energy levels is key.

Some supportive food to have at home might include:

• Cruciferous veg like broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, kale and rocket help manage oestrogen metabolism.

• Spinach, beans, lentils and lean red meat to replenish iron stores from your bleed.

• Fermented foods like kimchi and kefir to support gut health and detoxification.

• Sweet potato, oats and other complex carbs to help sustain your mood and energy.

• Omega 3s & other healthy fats from olive oil, avocados, walnuts and oily fish (like salmon and mackerel) to support hormone production and reduce inflammation.

• Nuts and seeds like chia seeds, almonds, brazil nuts, flaxseeds and pumpkin seeds. Gotta get that crunch!

Luteal phase:

This starts after ovulation (roughly from day 14 of your cycle up until your period) and is often the time people really struggle with mood and energy. The calming hormone progesterone dominates whilst oestrogen drops, but if there is an imbalance or if ovulation doesn’t occur, people can suffer with fatigue, mood disorders and trouble sleeping.

Focusing on fibre-rich food, complex carbs and healthy fats helps manage PMS, reduces bloating and can help to stabilse your energy.

Some supportive food to have at home might include:

• Sweet potatoes, quinoa, oats, brown rice and lentils to help stabilse blood sugar.

• Dark choc, pumpkin seeds, spinach and nuts. The magnesium will help reduce cramps and cravings.

• Your cruciferous veggies are here to save the day once again! They’re great at supporting the liver and helping rid your body of excess oestrogen (which can cause breast tenderness and heavy cramps).

• Healthy fats play a big part in this phase, too. The omega 3s help reduce inflammation (which could be the root cause of your pain!).

• Healthy protein, whether that be from meat, fish or vegan options like tofu, tempeh and beans - this will help you maintain energy when you really need a boost.

• Chickpeas and pumpkin seeds - these zinc-rich foods help support your mood.

I’ve also found (through personal experience and with the clients I worked with) that reducing caffeine in this phase can make a hugeeee difference. Caffeine can restrict your blood vessels, including those in your uterus, which can increase pain. It can also add to inflammation in the chronically stressed girlies and make things like bloating and breast tenderness more intense. I usually decrease consumption from my luteal phase (1 cup per day) and 5(ish) days before my period is due, I have no coffee at all.

Lifestyle:

This one is huge, and often the most difficult. It’s a bit of a broad spectrum because it includes so much.

Some quick and easy wins are increasing your water intake, moving your body more (in any way you enjoy), reducing your alcohol intake and reducing your saturated fats. All things we know we should do, but sometimes pass over. My advice is don’t try and do it all at once. Start with one, build a habit and when it becomes natural to you, you can add on something else.

Next is sorting out your sleep. Our sleep is vital - especially during our luteal phase. Lots of women report sleep is worse or more difficult during the lead up to their period, often because of the change in hormones - but research shows irregular sleep patterns disrupt the body’s circadian rhythm and increase cortisol (the stress hormone) which can affect all aspects of your menstrual cycle. The biggest thing for me (as someone who has suffered with insomnia for years) is building a nighttime routine. Yours may look different, but here’s what I like to do:

1. An hour before going to bed, I put my phone on DND and don’t look at it. Doomscrolling does not help you switch off (and you can’t solve any of the issues right now anyway!).

2. Turning out as much light as possible. It’s cute, cosy and helps prepare your body for sleep.

3. I personally won’t eat 2-3ish hours before bed and won’t drink from an hour before. It’s good to let your body digest your food before you get vertical, and I have the bladder of an infant so I just don’t want to be up in the middle of the night.

4. If I’m feeling particularly anxious, I’ll meditate. I’ll find a 5-10 minute jobby from YouTube that’s guided and helps me focus on my breathing. Makes all the difference!

5. I try my best to go to bed at the same time and wake up at the same time every day. Your body loves routine and rhythm!

6. In bed, I’ll read for 30-45 minutes. This is something my partner and I have been doing for ages - I find it helps me relax.

7. Journalling - I’m a chronic over-thinker and worrier, so this really helps me get all those thoughts out of my brain so I can go to sleep with a clear head.

Another big thing to consider (and is easier said than done), is to manage your stress. We live in a world with constant stressors - and I firmly believe the systems set up do not benefit women at all (just read Invisible Women by Caroline Criado Perez). But it has a huge impact on our health, including menstrual health.

You’ll likely have noticed the link between stress, inflammation and pain. That chain of events, if left for too long, can cause other health-related issues - so stress management is a big one to sort. It’s worth spending some time really evaluating your life. What’s causing your stress? Is there a way you can reduce it - maybe by speaking to someone or asking for help? Is it stress that is necessary, or maybe you can cut it off in some way? For example, I had a client who had a huge amount of stress from a very poor relationship with their parents. Eventually, she came to the decision to cut them out of her life and I kid you not, in less than a month, a lot of her symptoms cleared up (again, I know this is easier said than done).

Repression is next. Of anger, sadness and joy. We are emotional beings with the capacity to experience a wide range of feelings - but so often we’re told it’s not palatable. As women, anger is seen as ‘un-lady-like’ so we’re taught to repress it, usually showing up as sadness or anxiety instead. But holding all this in adds to our stress - and you guessed it - increases inflammation and therefore pain. There are ways to express rage that are safe and doesn’t affect others. I started to incorporate a ‘daily scream’ into my routine which is just as it says on the tin. I’ll scream into a pillow (so my neighbours don’t think I’m being attacked) and instantly it makes me laugh. It feels silly but also like a huge weight just lifts off of my chest - try it and let me know how you feel afterwards.

Vitamin D:

Vitamin D gets it’s own whole sub-section, you ask? Yes. Because it’s drastically overlooked! If you live in a country like the UK, you know all too well how little sun we get. Well that has a big impact on your health!

This study shows how women with painful periods can reduce its severity with Vitamin D supplementation, which allowed them to reduce their reliance on pain meds. Amazing, right?! Vitamin D is anti-inflammatory, helps manage pain-receptors and can help reduce those pesky prostoglandins we talked about earlier.

It’s important that, before you start supplementing, you have your levels tested by a doctor, dietitian or registered nutritionist before you take anything. There are billions of supplements on the market, and not all of them great - so work with a professional to figure out the right dosage for you.

Subscribe now

Period care products:

I could write a whole different essay just on this subject alone. The rage I feel inside is untameable. Scarily, a lot of the period care products on the market could be making your period pain worse. Yep, the things we end up spending a sh*t tonne of money on each month, for something we can’t control, is probably doing more harm than good.

Research has found tampons and pads from big-named brands contain lead, arsenic, PFAs (forever chemicals), fragrances and bleach. And we’re putting this on or in one of the most absorbent parts of our bodies, for hours a day, for a week every month.

And all of these chemicals have been found to disrupt the body’s endocrine (hormones) system. Great.

To add to the trauma, period products were only tested with real blood in August 2023. So we’ve been using products that harm us and haven’t even been properly tested to work!

Switching to non-toxic brands was one of the first things I got my clients to do. Some brands I love are:

• Mooncup - they have pads, tampons, period pants & mooncups so you can really find whatever works for you that are all non-toxic. They’re also competitively priced, meaning you won’t have to suddenly start taking out a loan just to afford period care

• Daye - organic & sustainable

• Grace & Green - zero-waste, organic & non-toxic

• TOTM - organic, non-toxic and responsibly made

There are lots of brands out there now, and most are stocked in various retail stores - so it’s a lot easier to find what works for you!

Tracking your cycle:

Regardless as to whether your cycle is regular or irregular. Knowledge is power and data helps understand what may be driving your period issues. This is the first thing I worked on with women - how to track and why it’s important.

There are some incredible apps out there, with really great free options that helps make this easier (I personally love Stardust and Lively, but you could do this in a journal or in the notes app on your phone.

Key things to track:

• Your cycle length - from day one (first day of your period), to the last day (the day before your period starts). After a few cycles, look for any major changes in the length of your cycle. This could point to underlying conditions like PCOS.

• How you feel each day. You don’t need to spend hours, just a few minutes noting your mood and any symptoms you’ve had (bloating, sleep, acne, emotional changes, fatigue, pain, stress, etc).

• Once you become confident with tracking, looking into ways that you can track your ovulation is really useful. Ovulation is the main event! Without it, people can experience lots of menstrual cycle issues. You can still have a bleed without ovulation, too - so just because you get your period, it doesn’t mean you’ve ovulated. If you want more information on how to track ovulation, let me know and I’ll write another piece!

Tracking is important for so many reasons. With data, you start to notice patterns and then you can pinpoint issues or make changes. When you seek medical help, having this data is vital to being taken seriously and showing your GP how your menstrual issues are affecting your daily life.

What I want you to take away from this

This was a long one, so big congrats for getting to the end. I don’t want this to be overwhelming; it can feel it at first but you don’t need to make a million changes on day one. Habits are built slowly - pick one thing, do it for a while, then add something else to your routine.

The biggest takeaway should be that periods shouldn’t be painful. Sure, your uterus is cramping so it is, unfortunately, going to be uncomfortable. But it shouldn’t stop you from going about your day. Painkillers should ease it - and if they don’t, something deeper needs to be explored.

Your pain is real. You deserve to be taken seriously and you need answers.

Whilst I’m no longer working as a coach, my DMs are open for anyone who is struggling with their menstrual health and wants some advice x

You love your mum, but you can’t understand her. She adores you yet is the first to see and point out all your flaws. My relationship with my own mother was no different. Chaotic, confusing, heart breaking and ever-changing.

For context, my mum moved to the UK in her early twenties with all the hope and excitement that comes with love. She married someone older, more mature and had big dreams of the opportunities that this could all offer her.

Subscribe now

I’ll skip the details but it didn’t work out. That man was not my father, but the father of my older brother and sister - the less said about him the better. My mum met my dad shortly after and had me unexpectedly. It’s safe to say my mum hasn’t had the best experience with men - whilst my dad is not a bad person, their relationship was strained early on and ended pretty quickly.

So here my mum is, with three children and little-to-no-support. I grew up in a world where money was something we always chased. My mum would often work three jobs and skip meals just to ensure we had what we needed. She also developed a chronic illness, Lupus, due to stress; it’s safe to say that she had a lot on. She dreamed of more–an easier and more fruitful life. She’s incredibly talented and smart - wished she could have studied more and ended up in a career that actually excited her.

I was young but not stupid. I knew my mother was struggling - doing all she could to provide for us. But life with her was difficult. Notoriously strict and somewhat unsympathetic, my sister and I often felt compared to our older brother who had life figured out early on.

There’s a big age gap between my siblings and I (the result of me being a ‘happy accident’); my brother is a decade older than me, and my sister is 6 years older than I am - so by the time I was 11/12, both had moved out and moved on to live their own lives.

Life at home ate away at me. I was anxious, unhappy and confused (plus, throw in a bunch of haywire hormones!), so I moved in with a friend around 14/15 and later with a boyfriend and his family at 17, until we broke up a month before I moved away to University.

I could never understand my mum. Why couldn’t we get on? Why did everything lead to a fight? Why couldn’t she understand me for who I am? I saw my friends with their mums - yes, never perfect but wholesome. Unconditional. Supportive.

But time and distance did us the world of good. I’d come back from University in short bursts, not long enough for a full blown arguement to ensue. We missed each other. We would speak every week. Make plans for what to do in my time back at home.

And now, years later, as I enter my third decade and she her seventh, I see my mum for who she really is. A girl who had so much hope, so much potential, dreams of her own - living on this planet for the first time. Things didn’t go to plan for her. A constant state of survival. Let down time and time again but those who were supposed to love her ‘til death did them part.

And she sees me and my sister become the women she created. Strong, independent, loud. We take up space!! Something she didn’t get to do. I can see she wanted to protect us from the world that seemed cruel. Hide us from the people who would break our spirit. She couldn’t see the life that we so desperately wanted to consume.

Mother / daughter relationships will always be complex, flawed, troublesome. But they’re also beautiful in spite of that. Growing older has allowed me to know her. The girl she was and the girl she still is inside. So whilst life and our relationship was tough growing up, I am proud to be my mother’s daughter. I am just like her, and she is just like me. What a gift.

The Big Promise

This promise started young, but it was all that ever mattered. Get a good education, go to University, get a degree, land some internships and soon you’ll be in your dream job earning great money - life will be good, you’ll be excited to work and your salary will fuel your life.

From parents, teachers, politician’s and the random older couple you met on that one night out after a few drinks - this was all it took. You just had to get through school and life would finally start living. Success was around the corner!

So you abide. You do all the right things. Make choices that will dictate your future from a young age all for the promise of The Good Life. Maybe you’re the first generation with the opportunity to go to University - you can’t believe how much time has changed in a lifetime. You feel grateful, lucky, like you’ll break the generational financial curse.

It’s not your parents fault. Either they didn’t go to University and genuinely believed it would make your prospects easier… Or they did go to University and, in comparison to their peers who didn’t, life was easier for them.

You accumulate thousands in debt, but everyone tells you not to worry - you won’t see it leave your pay cheque and, eventually, you’ll pay it off when you’re in your high-flying corporate career… what could go wrong?

At the foot of the ladder

Education? Completed it. Debt? Up to your eyeballs. Hope? Dwindling on a thread. But now, you’re at where life begins - the foot of the corporate ladder. All of the opportunities and possibilities are just above you; get ready to climb.

So you climb. You climb and climb and climb. Making promises to yourself at each step.

“Once I hit this salary, I’ll make more time for travelling.”

“Once I make it to Manager, I’ll start prioritising my health more.”

“When this project is over, I’ll stop working late nights.”

To what end? There will always be something else to achieve. Something else to sacrifice yourself for. Something else for that hit of validation.

The salary increases rarely meet inflation. The promotions add extra responsibility to your shoulders, often for very little reward. The projects never stop coming. And years later, you wonder why you’re no longer happy. Confused to how you lost yourself along the way.

The reality

The working world we were promised no longer exists. The hazy dream of having a job, a life and money to spare was never our reality. Demands are too high, salaries are too low and workforces are too short-staffed. No amount of free fruit, cycle to work schemes or a monthly ‘mental health day’ will change the fact that the working environment just isn’t appealing anymore.

When people are burnt out from their jobs, unfulfilled & dissatisfied with the work they spend 40+ hours a week doing and have no spare cash (or energy!) to enjoy life outside of work, it is genuinely no surprise so many of us ‘don’t want to work’.

Gone are the days where even an entry-level salary could promise a future of owning property, going out with friends weekly and having at least one holiday per year. Now we must choose: between a life of stress, unhappiness and burnout but with the potential of a good salary or choose freedom, ownership and sanity - but the liklihood of struggling to make ends meet.

So it’s all doom and gloom?

Not necessarily. Look, I know the majority of this article has seemed negative - but there is always hope. I’ve seen so many people find incredible companies or jobs that have helped them bring their spark back. It might not be your reality now, but the good news is that your reality is yours to change.

Take a leap of faith. Try something new. It doesn’t have to be quitting your job with no back up plan (I did this and it’s been an interesting ride - more for another day), but it could be carving out time for you - for once. Connect with your inner child (here comes the woo woo), but seriously, do. What brought you incredible joy as a child? Rediscover that - trust me, it’s beautiful.

The reality is, we all have to work (unless you come from a lotta money - and if so, are you adopting?), but you don’t have to lose yourself to it. We underestimate just how resilient we are, how we’re able to adapt and bounce back. We’re scared of change - it’s deep wired within us for survival. But what if it all worked out?

Leave a comment

Subscribe now

Share