It’s a beautiful Thursday in August when the anxiety hits.

That sense of impending doom lurking over me. Normal for this time in my menstrual cycle. I know this. And yet, it swipes the rug from under my feet.

Knocks me to the ground. The air leaves my body. I can’t breathe.

Each month it comes. I try to figure out how to deal with it. How to lessen the blow. Most of the time — I can’t.

I am the victim in my own film. Hiding, petrified, in a cupboard. Holding my breath. There is a killer in my house.

My skin is crawling. Adrenalin is pumping through my veins.

I want to cry. Run. Scream. But I can’t.

That’s what it’s like. A feeling that will last for days. Usually.

But not this time. This time I’m ready. This time I’m doing things differently.

I get in the car and drive

With the music blasting, I start to sing at the top of my lungs. Screaming almost.

A few minutes later, the knot in my solar plexus begins to release. I pull the car over into a lay-by.

The tears come. And I cry. I cry. I cry.

Finally, a wave releases down the back of my neck and through my spine.

My shoulders drop. My body calms. I can breathe again.

Arriving home, I am not the same person who left. I’m lighter. Calmer. The anxiety has gone.

There is no sense of impending doom. Only peace.

I have completed the cycle

Completing the cycle is a term Emily Nagoski uses in her book Burnout.

She says dealing with your stress is a separate process from dealing with the things that cause your stress.

To deal with your stress, you have to complete the cycle.

There is a difference between a stressor and stress

Stressors are what activate the stress response in our body. The stuff that causes us to lose our shit in the first place.

The constant notifications. Rude colleagues. Traffic jams.

Stress, on the other hand, is the body’s response to the stressors. Think fight or flight.

When the brain feels threatened, it makes a split-second decision. Battle? Or run?

Either way, the body prepares. Adrenalin floods our veins. Blood pumps. Heart races. That’s stress.

I’ll say this again because it’s so important:

A stressor CAUSES the physiological response.

Stress IS the physiological response.

That means when we talk about “stress management”, we are usually focusing on the stressor.

Turning off notifications. Reporting a colleague. Taking a different route.

But just because we’ve dealt with the stressor doesn’t mean we’ve dealt with the stress.

We haven’t helped the stress move through the body. And if we don’t complete the cycle, it stays stuck.

Stress is not necessarily bad

As Dr Hans Selye,’The Father of Stress’, says,

Stress is not even necessarily bad for you; it is also the spice of life, for any emotion, any activity causes stress.

But of course your system must be prepared to take it.

The same stress that makes one person sick may be an invigorating experience for another.

We need stress. It’s how we grow. Mature. Evolve.

But when our body is always switched on, that’s when we burn out.

The stress response is supposed to be short-term. Fast. Survival-mode. Then off again.

But when we don’t complete the cycle? The switch stays on.

Emotions are like tunnels

Stress (fight or flight mode) comes down to one thing. Emotion.

Fight equals anger. Flight equals fear.

Emotions are the root of stress. They’re automatic. Chemical. Instant. And if we let them move through us, they’ll resolve on their own.

As Nagoski says, emotions are tunnels. If you go all the way through them, you will get to the light at the end.

So what’s the issue, then?

The issue is we get stuck in the stress response.

We scroll social media even when it makes us anxious. We go to the meeting even though we want to cry. We feel really fucking angry and someone tells us to calm down.

So we smile. We are polite. We are nice girls. We don’t get angry, right?

We push the emotion down. Numb it. Ignore it. And we get stuck in the tunnel.

And the truth is, we all get stuck at some point or another.

Every bloody one of us.

How to complete the cycle

There is no right way. Everyone is different. What works for you now might not work next month.

So have a toolbox. Here are my 5 main tools. Well, 6 if you include writing.

1. Exercise: Nagoski says it’s the most efficient strategy. She’s right. It works.

2. Crying: In the shower. In the car. With a weepy film. There’s nothing like it.

3. Breathing: When we’re in fight or flight, we hold our breath. Deep breathing tells the brain we’re safe. A sigh equals a signal that we’ve completed the cycle.

4. Nature: You’re away from the stressor. You’re walking (exercise). You’re breathing. There’s sun. The world softens.

5. Music: Singing. Playing piano. Dancing like an idiot. This one gets me through everything.

Knowing when you’ve completed the cycle

Your body will tell you.

It’s a physiological shift.

For me, I let out a big sigh and literally say that’s better. My shoulders drop. My chest opens. I feel lighter.

Sometimes, I feel a wave release down the back of my neck, through my spine. Like the hairs have been standing up and now they can lie down.

Like an orgasm. It’s undeniable.

Lola knows how to do this better than most humans

Lola is my seven-year-old Rotterman (Rottweiler/Doberman) She’s a bit of a scaredy-cat. Despite how mean she looks to other people.

When we meet another dog, her hackles raise. Her body is in stress response.

But even when the other dog is gone, her hackles are still up.

So she shakes. She shudders. She completes the stress cycle. Her nervous system resets.

We could learn a lot from her.

Final thoughts

Stressors aren’t bad. Stress isn’t bad.

But we must process it. We must complete the cycle.

Because otherwise, we stay stuck in the tunnel. Trapped in the stress response.

Sometimes, a single cry or walk is enough. Other times, you need layers.

Tears. Walks. Music. More tears.

Like ogres and onions, stress has layers. And it’s only by peeling them back that we get to the light.

But if we keep working on it and if we trust the process, we will find our way out.

Years ago, an old colleague (and friend) did something that left me hurt and angry.

And for years afterwards, I felt this knot of fear and anxiety about bumping into them in the street.

You know that feeling, right?

When your stomach twists just imagining seeing them? So you even avoid going places where they might be.

After a few years of holding onto these emotions, I eventually wrote an ‘unsent letter’.

One that was filled with rage. Anger. Hatred. Pain. And, honestly, a fuck-tonne of swearing.

The tears splattered over all the pages I wrote.

After six messy, raw, everything-I-couldn’t-say-out-loud pages, my body did this thing.

It let go.

My shoulders dropped. My jaw unclenched. And I could finally breathe again.

That feeling then gave me space to write something else.

Forgiveness. Understanding.

I realised their actions (the thing they did to me) came from a place of fear.

It didn’t excuse them. But I could see their fear. And weirdly, I forgave them.

But I wouldn’t have reached that point of compassion if I hadn’t first poured out all the anger, pain, and hurt.

And then, I did something I never thought I’d do. I thanked them. Not face to face obviously, but in the unsent letter.

I thanked them because, as much as it hurt at the time, what they did set off a chain of events that led to something better in my life.

Now, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that writing an unsent letter is some magic cure-all for life’s shitstorms. It’s not.

But it’s a tool I keep coming back to. Because it works.

What are unsent letters?

Unsent letters are exactly what they sound like… a letter you write but never send.

And in fact, it’s the not sending part that makes them so powerful.

You get to say everything you want to say. No filter. No polite version. Just raw, unfiltered truth.

Unsent letters are for you. And you alone.

The idea is simple

Write a letter to the person that’s causing all that anger, shame, or pain in your mind.

And it doesn’t just have to be a person. You can use this to write to something that’s causing you trouble.

A situation. A different version of yourself. A thing.

Personally, I’ve written unsent letters to:

• the driver who cut me off

• to people who’ve shamed me

• to those I’ll never get to speak to again

• to my eating disorder

• to my imposter syndrome

• to the version of me that was burned out

• to covid

• to my anxiety

• to my son when he was a baby (as well as that version of me that was parenting at the time)

I’ve had clients in the past write unsent letters to their chronic pain, the healthcare system that failed them, or even their younger, more vulnerable selves.

How to write an unsent letter

Here’s how it works. Start by letting it all out. Everything you’re feeling.

The anger. The sadness. The rage. The shame. The hurt.

No holding back.

Scribble. Swear. Scream (can you scream into a page?!).

Whatever is there. Write it down. Don’t try to analyse. Don’t overthink it.

If it’s there, if that’s what you’re feeling… it’s valid. It’s ok. There is nothing wrong with you for feeling all this.

You are human.

Acknowledge every emotion you’re carrying. Everything that your body is holding onto. And write it down. All of it. No holding back.

Allow your body to start the healing process. To finally release these emotions that are stuck. To let them go.

And that’s it. That’s enough. Because that act alone can be transformative.

But, if you’re ready to go deeper, there’s one more step I swear by.

It’s the part that shifts everything: forgiveness.

I know, I know. I get it.

My initial reaction when I read about this technique…“Forgiveness? Fuck off.”

Because it’s the last thing we want to do when someone or something has hurt us. And yet, doing so shifts things all the more.

So listen. It’s not easy. And it doesn’t always happen straight away.

But when you’re ready, try finishing the letter with forgiveness.

And maybe even thank them (yes, thank them) for the lessons they unintentionally taught you or the unexpected growth that came out of it.

But this isn’t about letting them off the hook. It’s about releasing the hold they (or the situation) have over you.

As Marianne Williamson said, “Peace stems from forgiveness.”

And who the fuck doesn’t want more peace in their life, right?

What do you do with it?

So you’ve written your unsent letter. Now what? What do you do with it?

That’s up to you.

Keep them. Shred them. Bury them. Or, as I did, burn them in a ‘ceremony’. One that helped me create even more closure. Catharsis at its best.

Ultimately, the decision of what to do with unsent letters is up to you.

The important thing is to find whatever brings you peace, closure, and the opportunity to heal.

The act of writing it is the important part. What you do after? That’s just the cherry on top.

Final thoughts

Unsent letters are one of my favourite go-to tools for healing because they just work.

They give those big, heavy emotions a place to live outside your body. The anger. The grief. The anxiety. The shame. The fear. And once they’re on paper, they loosen their grip on you.

Emotions aren’t meant to be held onto. They’re meant to move through us.

Pass us by. Like clouds.

But when we hold onto them, when we don’t let them drift through, they fester. They grow.

They take up way too much fucking space. And create shitstorms.

But they don’t stay out there. They rage. Within us.

But writing them down? It transforms them into something softer. Lighter. More manageable.

And whether you keep your letters, bury them in the garden, or burn them to ash, the goal is the same. Peace. Closure. Healing.

So grab a pen. Grab some paper. And write the letter you’ll never send.

And to quote Elsa (yes, that Elsa)… Let it go.

The study of the menstrual cycle and exercise has been happening since at least 1876.

This was when Professor Mary Jacobi won the Harvard University Boylston Prize Essay. Her study looked at how menstruation affects physical work and the need for rest.

And yet, almost 150 years later, there are still no guidelines for fitness and nutrition specifically for women.

We could blame the gender data gap for this.

Where the majority of studies are carried out on men and then just applied to women.

Where females are significantly underrepresented in all human studies-in all fields.

And where men are seen as adequate proxies for women.

[Let us also not forget that there are many studies that may not ever get published]

But that’s not the only reason.

Because honestly, the research that has been conducted on women is, well, flawed.

You would think that with decades of research, consistent methods of studying women would have been developed. But you would be wrong.

That’s even with researchers in the early 2000s giving critical feedback on how women should be studied.

This paper obviously began to raise awareness of the flaws within this field. And yet this doesn’t change the fact that we are still relying on research that is inconsistent, unreliable and invalid. Even 20 years after this feedback.

The truth is, the reason these studies on women are poorly designed comes down to one thing…

Researchers don’t fully understand the menstrual cycle.

Understanding the complexities of hormonal changes

Oestrogen and progesterone are sex hormones. But they don’t just deal with reproduction. They affect the whole body.

They target individual tissues, including epithelial, connective, muscle, and nervous tissue. And influence biological processes. Metabolism. Breathing. The immune system. Our brain. Digestion. The cardiovascular and nervous system.

So different amounts of these hormones will “influence the mechanisms that control and regulate cell function and integrated physiologic adaptation in women.”

To put it simply, oestrogen and progesterone affect literally everything in the body.

But how they affect these different tissues and systems will depend on the amount of these hormones. As well as the combinations of hormones.

And the amount of hormones, and the combinations, change. Not only throughout a woman’s life but also every single day of her menstrual cycle.

A lack of validity

During a woman’s life, there are five main factors that will affect oestrogen and progesterone levels:

1. normal fluctuations across the menstrual cycle.

2. disruptions to the menstrual cycle caused by illness or disease, such as PCOS or endometriosis

3. manipulation of the menstrual cycle with external hormones such as HCPs or HRT

4. pregnancy

5. menopause (and perimenopause)

If this is not understood (or ignored) by researchers, then there are a number of mistakes that are being made. Which again makes the research inconsistent, invalid, confusing and conflicting.

Elliott-Sale et al. (2021) wrote,

“The validity of studies, or lack thereof, in sport and exercise science using women as participants is rarely discussed.”

What is valid for one woman may not be valid for another.

So when we read the research, we need to check that the women’s hormone and reproductive profiles actually match what we are trying to find out.

It’s like looking for injury risks in footballers by studying swimmers. They just don’t match.

The same is true for women whose hormone status is different.

Basically, we cannot compare the 16-year-old whose menstrual cycle has not yet settled, with the 30-year-old who has just given birth.

We cannot compare the 45-year-old with perimenopause symptoms, with the 36-year-old who has PCOS.

We definitely cannot compare the 60-year-old post-menopausal woman with the 27-year-old who has endometriosis.

And obviously we cannot (or should not) compare the woman taking hormonal contraceptives with the naturally cycling female.

Each of these women has a different hormone status. A different reproductive profile.

Each has different amounts (and combinations) of progesterone and oestrogen in their body.

And as we know, different amounts of hormones affect our body, mind, energy and moods in so many ways.

Yet I see this all the time when reading through the research. Or rather, I don’t see it.

Because when females are used, rarely is their hormone status or reproductive profile mentioned.

They are simply labelled as ‘women’.

The importance of considering menstrual cycle phase

Another problem is that when females are used in studies, researchers often test them only in the early follicular phase.

This is so that they can minimise the effects of oestrogen and progesterone.

Meaning when oestrogen and progesterone are at their lowest. And women are more ‘male-like’.

Less obscure, if you will. Less complex.

Sometimes the researcher has not even thought about the menstrual cycle and the effect the hormones could have on their study. And so the menstrual cycle phase is not mentioned at all. Meaning the female subjects are studied at any point in their cycle.

Hence a woman who is menstruating (↓ oestrogen & ↓ progesterone) may be compared with a woman who is ovulating (↑ oestrogen & ↓ progesterone). Or compared to a woman who is in the luteal phase (↑ oestrogen & ↑ progesterone).

But we simply cannot compare these phases. They are hugely different.

And every woman will tell you she feels completely different around menstruation compared to every other part of her cycle. Regardless of what the research shows.

And this affects, well, everything.

Inconsistencies in menstrual cycle phase definitions

So what about the studies that do break down the menstrual cycle phases? They’re good, right?

Actually, that’s always not the case.

After all, we cannot (or at least we should not) look at just one single study.

[I love the quote from Scott Alexander: “Aquinas famously said: beware the man of one book. I would add: beware the man of one study.”]

We need to look at multiple studies to see if they are saying the same thing. Or whether contradictions are being found.

The problem here is that research doesn’t have consistent methods of defining the different phases.

Diagram by author

The 2 Phase Model

In the simplest terms, the menstrual cycle divides into two phases: the follicular phase and the luteal phase.

These are separated by ovulation. Not menstruation, as most people think.

These two terms are often used to describe the different phases that a woman is in. So she is either in the follicular phase or the luteal phase.

The problem?

Splitting the menstrual cycle into only two phases hides the hormonal shifts happening within each of those phases.

The 3 Phase Model

Luckily, most research does not rely on the two-phase model. Most research on the menstrual cycle focuses on a three-phase approach:

1. menstruation (↓ oestrogen ↓ progesterone)

2. pre-ovulation (↑ oestrogen ↓ progesterone)

3. luteal (↑ oestrogen ↑ progesterone)

But again, this comes with the assumption that hormones in these phases are static.

And guess what? They’re not.

The 7 Phase Model

Thankfully, some researchers do go deeper.

They use sub-phases like early follicular, late follicular, ovulatory, early luteal, mid-luteal and late luteal. Which is brilliant.

Because they’re starting to appreciate all the different hormone states that exist. And what that means for the research.

So am I happy with this?

Well, I would be. If every study followed the same methods and used the same definitions.

But they don’t. At least not at this moment in time.

Hence we have studies that divide the menstrual cycle into two, three, four, six or even seven phases.

Meaning there are inconsistencies in terminology and research design. And this can lead to the grouping of participants who do not match when we compare multiple studies.

It means the luteal phase of one study may not match the luteal phase of another study. And what may be referred to as “menses” in one paper may simply be labelled “the follicular phase” in another.

Obviously with the mis-match in definitions, the hormone profiles of women are mis-matched too.

The importance of accurately verifying menstrual cycle phase

As I mentioned, sometimes we are lucky enough to find researches considered the menstrual cycle. And yet, the hormonal profile of females is often implied rather than confirmed.

According to Janse DE Jonge (2019), less than half of the studies on menstrual cycle and exercise performance measured hormones.

And when hormone measurements are not used to determine the phase, researchers often use calculations instead.

This is where they use the idea that every woman is the same, each with a perfect little 28-day cycle. And on that basis, ovulation is the 14th day after menstruation.

The problem? Healthy cycles vary in length between 21 and 37 days.

This means that assuming every woman ovulates on day 14 doesn’t make sense. Not one little bit.

This often puts women in the wrong phase.

Another issue is that when researchers use calculations instead of actual measurements, women with anovulatory cycles may also be included.

These are women who do not ovulate and therefore do not produce progesterone. And so affecting results and our understanding.

The overlooked hormonal transitions

It’s important to remember that hormones are not static. Despite what we want to believe with the definitions of phases.

Of course, there are hormonal changes occurring during the transitions between phases.

But as Bruinvels et al. (2022) point out, studies often ignore this.

“most of the prior research informing our practices with athletes tends to rely on a three-phased model with the assumption of steady-state hormone levels existing.”

But hormones are not steady. Ever. They change. They fluctuate. Moving from high to low. From low to high. And everything in-between.

And as they do so, they challenge homeostasis. Creating a dramatic shift in the hormonal environment.

And so affecting the way a female thinks, feels and behaves.

Recommendations and efforts to improve research

It goes without saying, the complexity of the menstrual cycle is a major barrier to including women in research.

And from everything I’ve covered above, I’m sure you can understand why.

And yet, it is simply not right to exclude women from research, especially on the basis of convenience.

Thankfully, there are researchers who are doing what they can to improve future studies.

Janse DE Jonge (2019) made recommendations to verify menstrual cycle phase.

Elliott-Sale et al. (2021) guide readers to adopt good practices when working with women in science studies.

Schmalenberger et al. (2021) make recommendations to help make study results more meaningful and replicable.

Granted, there may never be a universal design for women’s research.

But we at least need to try.

Final thoughts

So, with all these issues, should we even bother looking at the research?

I believe so.

The studies may not be perfect, but they give us a place from which to start.

Even flawed research is research. And it can provide valuable insights. Ones that lead to further exploration and improvement.

Obviously, it’s important to look at any research with a critical eye. And consider the potential biases or limitations.

But dismissing it entirely would put us back in the dark ages.

Acknowledging the flaws in research can guide future studies. Giving us deeper understanding and more accurate conclusions.

Ultimately, research is an ongoing process. One of discovery and refinement.

Where each study, each piece of work, adds to our collective understanding of the world around us.

Sources

• Bruinvels, G. et al. (2017). Sport, exercise and the menstrual cycle: where is the research?

• Bruinvels, G., Hackney, A.C. & Pedlar, C.R. (2022). Menstrual Cycle: The Importance of Both the Phases and the Transitions Between Phases on Training and Performance.

• Elliott-Sale, K.J. et al. (2021). Methodological Considerations for Studies in Sport and Exercise Science with Women as Participants: A Working Guide for Standards of Practice for Research on Women.

• Janse de Jonge, X.A.K. (2003). Effects of the menstrual cycle on exercise performance.

• Janse DE Jonge, X., Thompson, B. and Han, A. (2019). Methodological Recommendations for Menstrual Cycle Research in Sports and Exercise

• Schmalenberger, K.M. et al. (2021). How to study the menstrual cycle: Practical tools and recommendations.

I’ve seen it. Time and time again.

Women share their thoughts with someone.

Whether myself (when I was coaching). Other coaches. A private Facebook Group.

A conversation where they bare their soul.

Releasing some thoughts and feelings that they have been struggling with.

Initially, they feel relief. Euphoric even. And yet, it doesn’t last.

Because once that fades, they are left feeling extremely uncomfortable.

And I mean really uncomfortable.

So what’s going on?

The hangover

Kasia Urbaniak says that after we enjoy a big win (and sharing something private that we’ve been fighting with is a huge fucking win!) we may experience something strange.

Something she refers to as “post-expansion contraction,” or a Victory Hangover.

Jenny Burrell refers to this as a ‘Vulnerability Hangover’ which definitely fits.

As Urbaniak explains,

“Often, a Victory Hangover takes the form of a shame spiral.

You might feel despair or a sense of unease.

You might find yourself obsessing over a minor detail or a mistake.

Your hangover may feel like rage or fear.

You might feel overexposed, resulting in a desire to hide.

Sometimes this contraction can make you feel floaty — like you’re lost, untethered.”

So why does this happen?

It’s because our body is recognising a change. It doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. It just knows that something is different. And that it’s trying to find equilibrium again. A new default.

It was settled at that old set-point. It was comfortable.

But in order to grow we need to expand. Sharing what’s going on in our lives is part of this expansion.

And in doing so our body feels uncomfortable for a little while until it can get used to who we are now.

Because the truth is… we’re no longer the same person.

Once we have bared our soul, told the truth, been authentically us, our body needs a little time to catch up.

We grow in the discomfort

In this catching up, in this in-between, this is where we feel uncomfortable. But it’s also where the magic happens.

When a caterpillar becomes a butterfly, people forget about the discomfort. The struggle. Even the pain.

But we need to appreciate the whole process of metamorphosis.

The butterfly only exists because of what’s it’s been through.

Coping with the hangover

Now there are things we can do to help with a victory/vulnerability hangover. And Urbaniak says,

You will expand again, and develop a new set point.

In the meantime, there are really boring, simple remedies that can ease the drop.

You know most of them already: pajamas, Netflix, a bath with Epsom salts, lots of sex.

A massage if you’re feeling flush, and a good cry if you’re not. Movement and dancing — anything body-based — will help.

It’s also worth remembering that there are things that will not help,

Here’s what won’t work when you’re in the throes of a Victory Hangover: analysis.

In fact, even a Victory Log is a bad idea.

Also a bad idea? Picking a fight, which may seem tempting.

Do not misinterpret the hangover

The most important thing is not to misinterpret the hangover.

It’s not a sign that we’ve screwed up or that it was a terrible mistake to expose a vulnerable part of ourselves.

It’s also not a sign that we shouldn’t have gone after something we wanted.

And its definitely not a warning that we should never ever again challenge ourselves again.

Whether you refer to it as a victory or a vulnerability hangover, this post-expansion contraction, is natural. And it won’t last long (maybe a few days).

Yes it’s unpleasant. But it’s a reminder that we’re growing as a person.

Acknowledge it. Sit with it. Celebrate it.

And know that it’s there because we’ve more than likely done something pretty fucking awesome.

For the last few weeks, I’ve been struggling to cope with my emotions.

I haven’t struggled this bad in a very long time. It really has been years.

Of course I understand myself so much more than I ever did, at the age I am now. And with the work that I have done over the years.

But that doesn’t mean these heightened emotions have stopped. That I’m immune to difficult times in my life.

It just means that I can get through them quicker. And with less destruction to my close relationships (usually).

Only this time was a tough one. It was a biggie. And I paid the price.

Yesterday, I couldn’t hide from it anymore. So I decided to face whatever was happening head-on by Swamping.

What Is Swamping?

In her book Pussy, Regena Thomashauer talks about Swamping as the process of moving emotions through our body.

She says:

We are not all that different from toddlers, who collapse in frustration one moment, hurling themselves to the ground, only to pop up and go play on the swings with their friends the next moment.

Toddlers have not been taught to stop embodying their emotions, so they do it naturally.

But by the time they reach school age, most kids are thoroughly cut off from embodying the way they feel.

By then, they have been taught that their emotions are bad and wrong, and they begin to push them away.

Numbing our emotions. Shutting them down. Disconnecting from them.

It doesn’t stop what they are doing in our body. It just prolongs the pain. And “deprives us of living our emotional and creative power.”

Swamping, as Thomashauer says, “gives us our power back.”

How My Swamp Looked

Resisting

Yesterday, I had the day off work, which meant I had the chance to Swamp.

I didn’t want to, of course.

What I wanted was to write. Create. Work on my projects.

I wanted to be productive.

I had the day off from my ‘normal’ job, and I had the chance to do the stuff I loved.

I couldn’t waste it by just doing nothing (that was my initial reaction to the idea of Swamping).

Only I couldn’t do the stuff that I wanted to do because I couldn’t think straight.

I had no motivation. I just felt numb.

Surrendering

So I held my hands up and surrendered to the Swamp.

I sat.
I cried.
I journaled.
I screamed.
I cried some more.
Snot was everywhere.

I journaled more. I asked myself questions. I sat with the responses. With the feelings and emotions coming up in my body.

The sadness. The anger. The loneliness. The pain. The guilt. The shame. All of it came up. And I mean All. Of. It.

I listened to everything my body was telling me, everything that had been ’stuck’. I watched it unfold in front of me.

I didn’t run. I didn’t numb it. I didn’t push it away. I surrendered to it all.

And it was one of the worst days I’ve had in a very long time.

The Aftermath

Finally I got to the end of my Swamp. After three long hours… I was done.

(I was planning on a short Swamp. But this had been building for so long that I decided to just keep going and see what happened).

As Thomashauer says:

Just like a little kid having a tantrum or a meltdown doesn’t last forever, there is a beginning, middle, and end to a Swamp.

And as I sat there, empty, drained, I realised, there was quiet.

I went to bed. I woke.

And for the first time in so long… I could breathe.

Swamping More Often

I’m still re-learning how to feel my feelings. The ones I was told were too much.

And this time I’ve learned that Swamping helps me. So fucking much.

Now, rather than letting emotions build up, I am planning on Swamping on a more regular basis.

When I feel myself flip-flopping between extreme emotions, that’s when I’ll jump into my Swamp.

No excuses. No feeling that I need to do more ‘productive’ stuff.

Just me. Getting in to, through, and out the other side of my Swamp.

Because as Regena Thomashauer also says:

What I’ve learned in this process is that rupture is the portal into the woman you’re meant to be.

No matter how huge or devastating your Swamp is, unimaginable beauty, power, and glory is always on the other side.

For on the other side of Swamping — on the other side of rupture — is where we find our radiance.

Why Am I Telling You This?

Social media is full of happiness and sunshine and ‘look at me.’

It’s full of all the ‘good’ stuff. Not the difficult parts.

But when you’re in the middle of a shit-storm like this, (or maybe as Anna Przy says, a ‘big sad’) it’s hard not to feel like you’re failing somehow.

And so, you do anything to not feel.

But shit-storms and big-sads… they are normal. And the more we allow them to come into our lives, the more we surrender, the quicker they will leave.

So if you’re in the middle of a big-sad or a shit-storm right now? Find a safe space. Jump into your Swamp. Sit in it. Wallow. Scream. Shout. Cry. Let it all out.

All of it.

Take your time to wade through the deep stuff. The fear. The ego. The judgement. The shame. The darkness. The doubt.

It’s not going to be pretty. It’s not going to be easy. And it will take as long as it takes.

But eventually, you’ll make it to the other side.

I promise.

I used to be able to identify each of the 4 phases (Inner Seasons) of my menstrual cycle.

Firstly, Inner Winter. Menstruation. Where my hormones are low. And all I want is to hide from the world. Restore my energy. And reflect on my past cycle.

Then, my Inner Spring. The Follicular Phase. Where oestrogen begins to rise. My energy returns. And motivation and excitement follow. I am a playful, social, mischievous version of myself. One who doesn’t want to miss out on anything.

After Spring comes Summer. Ovulation. Where oestrogen and testosterone peak. And I’m an absolute boss at everything. I am the most authoritative, eloquent and confident version of myself.

Then it’s into Inner Autumn. The Luteal Phase. Where progesterone dominates. I’m getting things organised. Focusing on the essentials. And making decisions. I’m a mellower, more mature, empathetic version of myself.

And then come the transition days. The ‘voids’. The in-betweens.

The shift from summer to autumn, and from autumn to winter. Where my hormones are dropping. And I feel the ground giving way beneath me. A time I need to lower my expectations. And get more sleep.

The shift from winter to spring, and from spring to summer. Where my hormones are rising. A time I experience headaches and anxiety (a bit like a caffeine hit). Meaning I need to take more breaks. And not let my ego (oestrogen wild side) take over.

This is my cycle.

This is what I have studied and got to know at a profound level. I could literally predict my energy. My motivation. My moods.

Each cycle would be the same as the last. And I could pinpoint when my vulnerabilities would show. What days I’d have certain ‘strengths’. And what I would need each day in order to support myself.

Things have changed

But as my cycle and hormones have shifted over the last few years (and more so in the last 18 months), I’m struggling.

Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

Some cycles are still my ‘normal’ 4-phase, 4-season cycle. Where I’m ovulating and my body (and brain) knows what’s going on and what to expect.

But more and more, I’m having anovulatory cycles. (This is when an egg isn’t released, so ovulation doesn’t happen. No ovulation means no progesterone.)

So I’m spending more time in the ‘void’. In the in-between.

Not only that, but my oestrogen surges. Over and over again. As my body tries to make ovulation happen.

And between the surges, there are drops. Sudden, confusing drops.

(Note: I can always tell what my oestrogen is doing by observing my cervical mucus.)

Hormonal Shit-Shows

As a result, I’m experiencing more hormonal shit-shows. Let me give you an example of what happened recently.

I went from feeling overwhelming gratitude and peace within my body one minute. To uncontrollable rage the next.

That moved into a deep, end-of-the-world, black hole, sinking feeling.

Then came a burst of excitement. Energy. A confident, change-the-world vibe.

Which then plummeted into anxiety. And a crushing fear that made me want to run and hide from the very world I was just planning to change.

Honestly, it was over and over. Round and round. For days.

And the thing is, I can cope with these feelings when they come with each season of my cycle (which they usually do.)

But when they hit all at once?

I feel… Crushed. Lost. Confused. Raw. Vulnerable.

All the seasons in a single day

After trying to explain to my husband what I’ve been experiencing (he takes the brunt of many of my meltdowns), he said it sounded like ‘climate change’.

Like I was experiencing all the seasons in one day (like it does here in the UK). And he was spot on. That’s exactly how it feels.

And funnily enough, in the book Wise Power, the authors say the same thing about perimenopause,

“The Inner Seasons don’t work in the way I’m used to — they can all happen at any moment in the anovulatory cycle. It’s like climate change. It is climate change!”

I’ve learned to cope with my vulnerabilities as they arise in each of my phases. I can predict them. I know what I need to support myself. After all, each phase has different vulnerabilities and different needs.

But when all of them arrive at once (and I have no way to predict them) I don’t know whether it’s suncream, a raincoat, snow boots or an umbrella that I need.

The Quickening

One thing that has helped is reading Wise Power by Alexandra Pope & Sjanie Hugo Wurlitzer. I highly recommend it if you’re going through perimenopause. Or as they call it, the Quickening.

It’s made me realise that even though I may feel lost and disoriented as my menstrual cycle, my anchor, starts to come adrift… all of this is entirely normal.

“In your 40s you hit the autumn of your menstruating years.

It’s normal now to feel a restlessness kick in and an urgency to answer life’s deeper questions:

‘What’s it all about?

What do I really want?’”

The authors say our 40s are all about listening more strongly to that deeper pulse within us. The one that’s “beyond societal expectations and demands.”

That we may start feeling the impact of our past. And a deep desire to understand ourselves better.

Inner Work & Healing

In a nutshell, this autumn phase of our life really is the time for inner work and healing.

“It’s true that, hormonally, you do shift in your 40s, but that doesn’t need to spell declining health, as though it were an inevitability.

Your hormonal health is a monitor and mirror of your overall health and wellbeing.

So, think of it as a report card on how you’re doing — with any symptoms as a cry for attention, for self-care.

You can’t ignore or take your health for granted any longer. Self-care is now non-negotiable.”

This is something that I am now taking to heart.

My 40s is for me. A time for me to learn. To rethink how I support myself.

To heal. To nourish. To grow.

To understand this normal transition.

And to use it (with love and intention) to guide this decade of my life.

This week has been all about getting to grips with Substack. And honestly, I feel like a complete beginner again. No idea what the hell I’m doing. And yet for once, I’m not panicking.

I’m just playing. Mostly.

That was until I opened the Notes section.

What the fuck do I write on here? Does it need to be profound? Valuable? Personal?

I ended up journalling about not knowing what to use Notes for. Eventually I scribbled:

“Stop overthinking. Start before you know the plan. You don’t need to see the whole staircase.

Just take a fucking step. Think… Ready. Fire. And then Aim.”

And that was it. That was exactly what I needed to share. A little #notetoself.

Why do we make things so much more complicated than they need to be?

Anyway.

I’ve been diving back into old blogs and articles I’ve written over the years. There are hundreds of them. But because I changed my website host, none of them are actually online anymore.

There are also almost two thousand drafts. Ones that I never had the time to complete—until now that is.

So right now I’m enjoying rereading and updating them. I’m researching. I’m adding bits I’ve learned since. Then I’ll re-share them here on Substack.

(Current obsession and research rabbit holes include hysteria and its links to witchcraft. Obviously 😆)

The first of the posts to be added are:

• Why Is There Always a Queue for the Women’s Toilet

• Bone-Deep Tired

• My Sensitivities

• Why It’s Ok to Not Have Your Shit Figured Out

• 43 Random Facts You Probably Didn’t Know About Me

More coming soon. I’m loving being able to play around again*.

Sarah 🖤

* For those of you who are new here. I’ve recently ‘retired’ from coaching after twenty-four years. It started as my main job, then became my second full-time job after covid. Which meant I had zero time to write just for the hell of it. Add two boys, a husband and dog into the mix and that’s basically three full-time jobs, right? 😳

As women, we queue for the bathroom. It’s a given, right? (There is even a twitter feed dedicated to this fact.)

Actually a survey in 2018 found that 59% of women say they “very often” or “quite often” have to queue to use toilets in public places. That’s compared to just 11% of men who reported doing so.

Now although this is something that I knew, I didn’t think much about why this is the case. Not until I read Invisible Women by Caroline Criado Perez.

I sort of, well, just accepted that that was how things were.

As a woman, you stand in line.

You wait.
And wait.
And wait.

But we don’t wait in line for the fun of it. We don’t do it to moan to other women about relationships (something a bloke once told me he thought was the reason 🙄).

Nor do we wait in line because we (and the women we are waiting behind) are ‘inefficient’ at going to the toilet.

Nope. According to Perez, it’s about:

• architectural gender bias

• women’s physiology

• and unpaid work.

1. Floor space

I am building a (hypothetical) building.

I have ‘this much’ floor space for toilets (boxes out an imaginary floor space with fingers).

I divide the floor space equally between males and females (cuts the imaginary floor space in half).

Gender equality, right?

Not quite.

Providing equal floor space in male and female public toilets may not be equal after all.

Male toilets have urinals. Which need far less floor space than cubicles.

Hence, the number of people who can relieve themselves at once is far higher in the male bathroom than in the female bathroom, per square foot of floor space.

2. Frequency

Many women need more trips to the bathroom than men. Fact!

Pregnancy reduces bladder capacity. And with over 800,000 women in the UK alone being pregnant each year. That’s a lot of bathroom breaks.

Also, women get 8 times more urinary-tract infections than men. UTIs that make you feel you need to go pee. Even when you don’t.

And the treatment?

Yup, that’s right. It’s to to pee more often.

So again, more trips to the bathroom.

3. Duration

According to Perez, women take up to 2.3 times as long as men to use the toilet. But it’s not because we’re slow or incompetent. It’s because there are other things (and people) to think about.

“Women make up the majority of the elderly and disabled, two groups that will tend to need more time in the toilet.

Women are also more likely to be accompanied by children, as well as disabled and older people.

Then there’s the 20–25% of women of childbearing age who may be on their period at any one time, and therefore needing to change a tampon or a sanitary pad.”

Hence, longer queues.

A Call for Equity for Fathers

The most logical solution is for a woman to take the child/ren to the bathroom.

Why?

Because baby-changing facilities are (almost) always in the women’s bathrooms.

But that doesn’t make it right. And it doesn’t make it fair. On women or men.

Donte Palmer brought this to light when he shared how he and other fathers change nappies in public bathrooms. Which usually included squatting and changing nappies on their knees!

Something they had to figure out, since there are no changing facilities for men to use.

Final thoughts

I’m not sure what I intended to do with this knowledge. Or why I needed to write about it.

Maybe it’s about being aware. About acknowledging that inequalities (on both sides) exist.

Or maybe it was the curious part of me asking: “Why are we waiting again?”

Whatever the reason… I like knowing shit like this.

If nothing else, I’ll have something to talk about with the woman standing next to me. While we’re queuing for the toilet!

Sources

• Al-Badr, A. and Al-Shaikh, G. (2013) Recurrent Urinary Tract Infections Management in Women

• Criado Perez, C. (2019). Invisible Women: Exposing Data Bias in a World Designed for Men.

• Office for National Statistics (2022). Conceptions in England and Wales

• yougov.co.uk. Potty Parity: would it be fairer to make women’s toilets bigger?

Almost two years ago, New Zealand’s Prime Minister, Jacinda Ardern, announced her resignation.

In her speech, she utters the words that so many women feel deeply: “…I no longer have enough in the tank.”

She admitted, “I am human”. And you know what? She is. We all are.

She goes on to explain she has given all that she can. For as long as she can. And she now has nothing left to give.

“And now it’s time,” she says, to spend time with her family once again…

Arguably, they are the ones who have sacrificed out of all of us.”

Aren’t they always?

It’s the same story. For women all around the world.

So, this post isn’t about politics. This is about burnout.

It’s More Than Just Tiredness

The concept of burnout actually dates back to the 1970s.

It was coined to describe the “physical and emotional exhaustion that workers may experience on the job, especially those who provide some type of service to others.”

Burnout was originally characterised by three symptoms:

1. Emotional exhaustion: a constant, progressive drain of energy

2. Depersonalisation: showing up as negative attitudes towards clients, patients, colleagues, and work

3. A low sense of personal accomplishment: where confidence dips, and a feeling of defeat creeps in

Among these, emotional exhaustion is the major player.

Research consistently shows it’s this first symptom that creates the ripple effect. Impacting our health. Our relationships. And ultimately, our work.

And as with so much in life, women get hit the hardest.

You Don’t Have to be a “Big Deal” to Burn Out

Here’s the thing: burnout isn’t reserved for the rich or the famous. And it’s not reserved for the so-called “successful” either.

I’ve worked with so many women dragging themselves through burnout. Most without even realising it. Why? Because we’ve been conditioned to believe we’re not “special” enough to burn out.

Shauna Niequist put it best:

Part of the crazy of it is that we don’t allow people to fall apart unless they’re massively successful.

You can’t be just a normal lady with a normal job and burn yourself out — that’s only for bigshot people.

And so the normal, exhausted, soul-starved people keep going because we’re not special enough to burn out.

What a load of bullshit.

Burnout doesn’t care. About your job title. Your follower count. Or your income.

It’s happening to women across every kind of life, work, and circumstance.

Burnout Is Not Reserved for Paid Work

Here’s something else: when we talk about work, we only seem to discuss what’s paid. But what about the rest of it?

What about all those unpaid hours? The ones we sink into running our homes? Supporting our families. Showing up in ways that don’t come with a pay cheque?

What about the woman who cares for her sick mother?

The woman who homeschools her child?

The woman juggling 3 kids in 3 different schools?

What about the meals cooked, the bedsheets changed, the clothes ironed, the dishes washed, the doctor’s appointments, the dentist visits, the parent’s evenings, the general never-ending mental to-do list?

We don’t get paid for that. But it still counts.

The stats say it all. Women spend on average 3–6 hours per day on unpaid work, while men contribute 0.5–2 hours.

But I’m not pointing the finger. This isn’t about blame. This is about acknowledgement.

We need to appreciate just how much we do. How much work (paid or not) we carry every single day.

Honestly, I have never met a woman who felt like she does enough.

Burnout Is Personal

Some studies have tried to measure how much work (paid or unpaid) leads to burnout.

But the truth is, burnout is deeply, deeply personal.

There’s no universal tipping point. No single amount of hours or tasks that breaks us all the same. What overwhelms one person might be fine for someone else. So comparing ourselves to others (especially those carrying more) is a losing game.

We start to feel shame.

“She’s doing it all. Why the fuck can’t I?”

But Niequist, once again says it way better than I could,

If you’re tired, you’re tired, no matter what.

If the life you’ve crafted for yourself is too heavy, it’s too heavy — no matter if the people on either side of you are carrying more or less.

Why We Need to Quit the Superwoman Bullshit

When we’ve got nothing left in the tank, it’s time to rest.

We’ve got to remind ourselves that it’s okay to pause, to say no, to ask for help, to change direction, to quit the whole damn thing if we need to.

There’s no shame in it.

We don’t need to hit Prime Minister-level responsibility to admit we’re human.

How I Knew It Was Burnout

Someone recently asked me how I knew I was burned out. I’d love to say it was the recurring illnesses (tonsillitis was my main sign). But honestly? It was the resentment that finally gave it away.

I started resenting everything. Everyone. I just wanted to be left the fuck alone.

At first, it was more about overwhelm. Too many expectations. From others. And from myself. But eventually… it turned into bitterness.

I didn’t want to do any of it anymore.

When a client messaged to book in, I’d get angry. Because I felt I had to say yes. So I did. And resentment simmered.

I couldn’t understand the feelings. They felt foreign. But I kept going anyway. Saying yes. Pushing through. Pretending I was fine when I was anything but.

I always talked about living our truth. But I knew I wasn’t living mine.

[Apparently, anything throat-related can represent not speaking our truth. My version? Tonsillitis and quinsy. Two hospital visits included.]

It wasn’t until COVID lockdown forced me to stop (when no one needed anything from me) that I realised just how fucking exhausted I really was.

Not just tired. But a bone-deep “I’m done” kind of tired.

Learning What Enough Feels Like

This was the hardest part. Learning what enough actually feels like. I’d never felt it before. No matter what I did, it never seemed to be enough.

If I hit a milestone, I’d just raise the bar. More goals. More effort. More pressure.

And here’s the truth I hated admitting… I can’t do it all.

So I had to choose. I have to choose. Constantly. I need to know when enough is enough.

And honestly, it’s a lot less than my brain allows me to believe.

Signs of Burnout to Watch Out For

If you’re wondering if burnout is creeping up on you, here are some red flags:

• Constant exhaustion (sleep never fixes it)

• Irritability (snapping over small stuff)

• Loss of motivation (everything feels like a chore)

• Detachment (you’re emotionally checked out)

• Feelings of inadequacy (nothing you do feels good enough)

If several of these sound familiar… it’s time to pause. To say no. To rest. To be.

Let’s Be Brutally Honest

Burnout is complicated. Personal. And it doesn’t give a shit who you are or what you do.

But the more we talk about it, the more honest we are, the better chance we have to catch it. In ourselves. And each other.

So here’s my challenge to you:

Running on empty? Admit it.
Exhausted? Stop.

Rest isn’t a reward. It’s a fucking necessity.

And whether you’re a Prime Minister or a “normal lady with a normal job”, you have every right to take up space, feel what you feel and stop the constant ‘doing’ and achieving.

Because the truth is… your to-do list can wait.

But your health? That can’t.

Sources

• Bayes, A., Tavella, G. and Parker, G. (2021) The biology of burnout: Causes and consequences

• Ervin, J. et al. (2022) Gender differences in the association between unpaid labour and mental health in employed adults

• Membrive-Jiménez, M.J. et al. (2020) Burnout in Nursing Managers: A Systematic Review and Meta-Analysis of Related Factors, Levels and Prevalence

• Nagoski, E. and Nagoski, A. (2020). Burnout : the secret to unlocking the stress cycle

• Sky News. (2023). In an emotional statement, Jacinda Ardern has announced she’s resigning as New Zealand’s prime minister.

I cut the labels out of all my clothes.

I can’t stand the smell of bath bombs.

And noisy environments? I really fucking struggle with. Especially when there are lots of different sounds competing at once.

I’ve talked before about my sensitivity to noise on facebook, but I wanted to go a bit deeper and explore the other sensitivities too in a longer post.

Why? Because every time I share something like this, someone messages me to say, “Oh my god, me too. I thought it was just me.”

And honestly, that’s why I do it.

Because there’s comfort in knowing you’re not alone.

And I know there’s someone out there (maybe right at the start of figuring themselves out) who’ll recognise a bit of their own story in mine.

A few things before we start…

I’m not officially diagnosed with anything (ie Autism), which is why I don’t label myself that way. I tend to use neurodivergent. Because it helps me to understand (and explain)… my brain just works differently.

And before anyone starts diving into definitions or saying “we’re all a little autistic” — that’s not what this post is about.

This isn’t a debate.
It’s a personal share.

I just want to talk about my sensory sensitivities. What they look like, how they affect me, why they matter and how I’m learning to deal with them.

Anyways…

Filtering

That’s the key with these things — the filtering.

The outer world is kind of the same for all people. So if you have 10 people in a room, what’s going on in the room is pretty much the same for them all.

And when it comes to typical people, they filter things out. The sounds. The lights. The smells.

For those of us who are sensitive, we’re not able to filter the same. And so all the noises and lights and smells come into our inner world.

So although the outer world might look the same, how we experience it doesn’t.

Which explains a lot. I’ve always known I felt things more deeply than those around me. I just didn’t realise that the world was literally louder for me too.

What’s changed?

I’ve always been sensitive. Even as a kid. But not in the obvious, covering-my-ears kind of way. You wouldn’t have noticed it from the outside. It didn’t show up in noise or light or textures back then. It showed up in feelings.

I felt everything.

All the emotions. All at once.

And that part hasn’t changed.

What has changed are my sensory sensitivities.

Although if I’m honest, they were probably always there. I just ignored them. Masked them. Numbed them. Constantly.

So why now?

Well, according to Autism.org, it could be linked to hormones.

They say that many women in their 40s and 50s start to realise they might be neurodivergent.

Hormone changes and fluctuations can turn the volume up on sensitivities that have always been there.

So things we used to brush off suddenly feel impossible to ignore.

The noise. The smells. The tags in clothes. The world.

So hormones play a part

Obviously this may not be the case for every woman. Some women are not as sensitive to their changing hormones (is that another sensitivity?!).

But they definitely play a part for some of us.

Personally, I know that my sensitivity to sound is increased when my oestrogen is high. And this has worsened during perimenopause which brought my neurodivergence to light.

And so I think it’s important that we recognise hormones affect us. Which means that sensitivities ebb and flow depending on where we are in our menstrual cycle and what stage of life we are at.

The famous five

I think it’s worth saying that when we talk about senses, most people instantly think of the big five we learned about in school:

1. Taste

2. Touch

3. Sight

4. Sound

5. Smell

But science has moved on a lot since those days (at least for those of us who remember chalkboards and VHS recorders).

We now know there are way more than just five senses.

As Ashley Ward explains in his book Sensational:

“This rule of five is still the basis for our early education in the senses, yet it’s some way from the whole story. We certainly have more than five and depending on how we slice and dice the different categories, we might have as many as fifty-three.”

Fifty-three! No wonder I’m exhausted.

But to keep this post short(er), I’m sticking with the classic five today.

What affects me

Not all my senses have difficulty filtering out the world. Or maybe it’s more that I feel like I can cope with some more than others. The point is, some affect me massively in a negative way, others not so much.

Anyway, in order of my sensitivities:

1. Sound

2. Touch

3. Smell

4. Sight

5. Taste

With regards to smell and sight, although I’ve put them that way round, I think they may be joint. I suppose it depends on the situation.

Sound

OK so this is a biggie for — me being sensitive to noise. And yet it’s not any noise. I love (my) loud music. I love the sound of the clocks ticking. And thunder storms.But I struggle with some other aspects. Like Amusement Arcade halls and bowling alleys. Like too many voices in a restaurant.

But it’s not just the loud stuff. It’s the little noises. The stuff no one else seems to notice. Like when my jacket rubs against itself and makes a scratching sound.

I didn’t realise just how badly noise affected me. How much of my energy it took. Not until I used earplugs and realised how different I felt. I no longer felt like I was on edge all the time, and I felt I could breathe again.

The earplugs I use (I use Loops btw) don’t block out the noise, but they soften it so that I’m not being assaulted by a million different sounds all at once.

People have asked me how wearing earplugs affects my ability to listen. The truth is, without them, there’s just way too much noise. Too many distractions. And I struggle to focus on what someone’s actually saying.

With earplugs, all that background noise is dimmed. It filters out the unnecessary stuff so I can really tune into the person in front of me and give them my full attention.

Touch

Regarding touch, there are so many different aspects. I guess it comes down to what Ward said in the quote above — it depends how you slice and dice it.

Itch

Apparently the sensory process that allows us to perceive itch is called Pruriception. (Ha! You learn something new every day!).

I have to cut all labels out of my clothes, even if it means leaving a hole in the fabric.

I have no idea why those fuckers are so itchy to me, but if there’s a label, I cannot think about anything else.

Sensual Touch

I think this is the most difficult to explain because it’s all about what my hormones are doing as well as context.

In a nutshell, I can’t cope with light touch when my oestrogen is high. To the point that it’s painful. And I will tense up. This is where I need firm touch.

When my hormones are low, stroke me all you like because it doesn’t affect me the same way. And in fact, I need more stimulation as I need more input. (You get the point, right?)

(As a side note: I’m trying so hard to write about hormones and sex and touch and how it can change through the menstrual cycle. But it’s a fine line between sharing enough to help and sharing too much personal stuff. And I don’t want it to read like a text book. Always…)

Tickling

Who in their right fucking mind thinks that tickling is fun?

Touch my feet or try and tickle me and I may well laugh (it seems like an automatic reaction). But that doesn’t mean I’m enjoying it.

And I will kick you in the face until you stop. And then I will kick you more for causing me so much pain and upset.

Temperature

It’s either too hot or too cold, and I can’t seem to control my body temperature very well (and no, I’m not talking hot flashes/flushes here).

Usually it’s more that I’m too cold and need a blanket or my down jacket. Even in summer.

But then that could also be my need for nervous system regulation using the blankets or heavier clothing.

Smell

I smell everything, but not in the ‘normal’ sense.

Of course I smell flowers, coffee, books (hands up to my book sniffers!). But I also smell everything else. And I mean everything.

I struggle with some smells. I cannot cope with lilies. I also know when one of my boys has had something for lunch that contained garlic. And I fucking hate the bath bomb places.

Not to the point that they make me physically sick, but to the point I have to take myself out of the situation because I cannot think about anything else.

Sight

As I mentioned, this is not a huge sensitivity for me.

Sometimes I need to dim my phone or screen. Often I need to wear sunglasses.

But maybe it’s not a sensitivity for me because my world isn’t massively exposed to too many bright lights and such.

I work from home and I like the lights low. I often wear a baseball cap when I’m out or sunglasses. And I like the visor down in the car.

But I don’t work in an office with strobe lighting. So again maybe the reason it doesn’t affect me is that I’m not exposed to them too much.

Obviously for others, that’s not the case.

Taste

Some people struggle with taste and textures to the point that they just can’t eat. And some of those end up being admitted to eating disorder wards, wrongly believed that they have anorexia. And yet it’s not that. They simply cannot cope.

In fact, 65% of autistic adults have trouble with food textures.

I’m not one of them. Taste doesn’t affect me massively. I love food. I can taste it.

There are some textures I cannot cope with (such as woody chicken). But generally it’s not one of my senses that’s any different from most people (I think).

Children with sensitivities

I’m 43. And it’s only in the last few years that I’ve been able to understand what the fuck is going on. And I am (still) learning.

When I come across new situations and places, I get new information. Find things that I can’t cope with. And when that happens, I take myself out of the situation, I reflect, and if I need to return in future for whatever reason, I make sure I’m prepared.

And yet it’s still hard for me.

So when I see kids in prams who are in the middle of a shopping centre or a bowling alley, holding their hands over their ears, upset, and the parents laughing and telling them “not to be silly,” I can’t help but get angry.

It may not be loud for the parent. And the other children may love this environment and be laughing and having fun. But there are some children who cannot filter out the noise. The lights. The smells. All of it.

And they’re hurting. They’re being traumatised. And I’m seriously not saying that lightly. Their body is unable to cope.

So please, if you think your child is “too sensitive” — they’re not. They just process and experience the world differently.

Help them to understand their needs and be their safe space for them. Encourage them to tell you what they’re feeling, what they’re experiencing, even if you don’t understand or feel it the same way.

And more than anything, be their advocate so they can navigate the world in a way that helps them show up as their best self.

A gift and a curse

I think one of the things I never really appreciated is how so much of these sensitivities are not only a curse, but a gift. I only ever saw them as something that was ‘bad’. Something that I struggled with. Something that made life difficult for me. Made me different.

And yet I’m learning to change my perception. At least I’m trying to.

I am sensitive to emotions, which means I’m also empathetic.

I am sensitive to noise, which makes me appreciate the deep sounds of music, the sounds of geese flying overhead, the rain on the window.

I am sensitive to smells, which makes me appreciate real books, smell the roses (literally), the smell of my dog.

I am sensitive to touch, which makes hugs and kisses so much more intense.

Everything is subjective

When it comes to understanding your own sensitivities, it’s important to remember that everything is subjective.

Of course it is. No one else is you. You are you. And your experience is what matters.

Now if you’re like me (and I know some of you are), you will gaslight yourself. You will tell yourself that it’s not real. That you’re making it all up. That your experience and what you feel isn’t any different from anyone else’s.

It took a long, long, long time for me to stop this (I’m still working on it) and to trust my experience. To say “this is how it feels to me.”

It’s like when you say you’re cold and someone else says “you can’t be cold, it’s boiling today.” Or “I’m hungry” and they say “you can’t be, you’ve just eaten.”

How the fuck does anyone else know if you’re hot or cold, if you’re hungry or not, if something hurts or doesn’t, if something is loud for you, or it’s too bright?

Just because your experience may look different from the rest of the people around the table, doesn’t make it not real.

It’s yours. Own it. Stand your ground. Advocate for yourself. Say “this is how I feel”.

And know that if you were sitting at my table… you’d fit right in.

Sources

• Ashley Ward. (2023). Sensational

• MacLennan, K., O’Brien, S., & Tavassoli, T. (2022). In Our Own Words: The Complex Sensory Experiences of Autistic Adults

• National Autistic Society. Autism and the Menopause.

• Thomas, K. S., Keating, J., Ross, A. A., Cooper, K., & Jones, C. R. G. (2025). Avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder (ARFID) symptoms in gender diverse adults and their relation to autistic traits, ADHD traits, and sensory sensitivities.

When I hit 40, I thought I would have shit figured out.

After all, I had spent the first half of my life figuring it out, right?

So surely, when I hit 40 and finally became a grown-up, I would know who I was, what I liked, and what I didn’t.

Plus, I would know what I wanted to do with the second half of my life and how to get there.

Just like everyone else has their shit figured out. At least that’s what it looked like to me.

But instead, I hit 40, and things shifted. I was knocked off course. What I thought I wanted wasn’t, after all.

I felt lost.
Confused.
Frustrated.

Like I was in some in-between space.

I was supposed to be heading somewhere, but I had no fucking clue where that was going to be.

And I’m not alone with this. So many of us carry this belief that we should have our shit figured out by now. Whatever milestone “now” may be. 30. 40. 50. 60. 70. Or older.

And yet, so many of us still feel frustrated, afraid, or angry that we haven’t.

So why the fuck does this happen?

1. We Compare Our Inner World With Everyone Else’s Outer World

We scroll through social media and see that everyone else (appears) to have their shit together.

They have the house.
The job.
The kids.
The partner.

They have the dreams and the goals. They have the energy and motivation to achieve them. They know exactly what they want and who they are.

WTF?

And here we are, trying to remember what we walked into the next room for.

Feeling overwhelmed by everything on our to-do list.

Wanting to change things but not having a clue what it is that we actually want.

2. We Have a Fear of Being Judged

If we admit that we don’t have our shit together, that what we have in our life isn’t what we actually want, that we don’t know what the fuck we are doing, then we are admitting that we have failed somehow.

And if we have failed, then people will judge us.

So, we’re doomed either way, right?

If we admit it — we’ll be judged.

If we don’t — we still feel alone.

Like we are the only one who was not granted the guidebook to life.

3. Our Own Expectations

We each have standards for ourselves. Our own expectations. Stuff we expect to have achieved or at least figured out by 30, 40, 50, and so on.

But the years pass by.

And before we know it, we haven’t done half of what we expected of ourselves.

And we still have no fucking clue what we’re doing or what we want to do.

The Truth?

None of us have our shit figured out. Not really. We’re all just winging it. And anyone who tells you otherwise is lying.

We’re all changing our minds. We’re all feeling like we’re failing or not where we should be.

And this becomes even more noticeable in our 40s and 50s. Because surely by now, we should have figured this shit out, right?

But we are not the problem. We are doing just fine. We are exactly where we need to be.

There is no right or wrong way to live.

And the more we can drop the fear of failure, the fear of being judged, the fear of rejection… the more we can enjoy all that life has to offer as we journey together.

We Evolve

This shit that we think we should have “figured out” is a moving target.

Life is dynamic. And so are we.

The things that made sense to us in our 20s may no longer serve us in our 40s or 50s.

But unless we sit and think deeply about this, we can continue on the path we were originally on.

Even when it is no longer the right path for us.

Our goals and dreams evolve. And so do we.

Everything we once thought was our truth can suddenly feel so wrong.

And that’s OK. It’s all part of the journey.

Surround Yourself With Authentic Women

We compare our inner world (that messy, fucked up version of ourselves) to that outer, perfect presentation of someone else’s outer world.

What we really need is to surround ourselves with authentic women.

The women who are real. And raw. Who aren’t afraid to tell us how much they’re struggling. Who don’t have their shit together either.

No judgment. No expectations.

Just love. Joy. And hopefully, a huge dose of radical honesty.

Lower Your Expectations

You know those expectations, right?

The ones where we should have our shit figured out?

• Be productive.

• Energetic.

• Fun.

• Motivated.

Every. Single. Day.

You know the ones? Well, we do that to ourselves.

We are the ones who create these unrealistic expectations. No one else.

We think we need to keep these high standards because others expect us to. But no one does. Everyone else is so wrapped up in their own shit to even notice ours.

What would happen if we let go?
What if we let go of the need to be perfect?
The need to be someone that we’re not?
The need to have our shit figured out?

What if we just allowed ourselves to be human?

To be flawed. Imperfect. And maybe a little messy?

Embrace the Uncertainty

More often than not, this feeling of not having our shit together comes from not knowing what’s next.

But not knowing is part of life.

Yes, it’s fucking uncomfortable.
Painful even.
But still… it’s part of life.

And we can either fight that fact. Or embrace it.

When we let go of the need to have everything figured out, we give ourselves the freedom to explore new possibilities.

To discover new paths. To ebb and flow with life. Instead of trying to control it.

Live in the Moment

Instead of thinking about what we haven’t accomplished — instead of worrying about what we should be doing — focus on the here and now.

Just one moment at a time.

Yes, it may still be uncomfortable. It may bring up emotions you didn’t expect.

But that’s good. That’s all part of the process.

Have faith that if you keep showing up in the present, you will always find your way home.

Redefine Success

More often than not, if we feel we don’t have our shit figured out, it’s because we are living by someone else’s standards.

Maybe we’ve been climbing someone else’s ladder. Following the flock.

But success is personal and unique to each of us. So redefine what success means to you.

Is it really about the job title?
The status?
The bigger house?

Or is it about living a life of ease?
Doing what lights you up?
Spending time with those that matter?

Whatever it is, make sure it aligns with your values. Not someone else’s.

Final Thoughts

Scared to admit that you don’t have your shit figured out yet? Welcome to the club. It is perfectly normal to feel this way, no matter your age.

The problem isn’t that you don’t have it figured out. The problem is believing that you should. That’s bullshit. A huge lie.

Life is a process. One of learning. Growing. And evolving.

Embrace the uncertainty. Live in the moment. Redefine success on your terms.

Surround yourself with authentic women who admit they don’t have their shit figured out either.

There is no guidebook to life. But there are lessons to learn. Experiences to be had. Connections to be made.

It’s a beautiful, messy journey. So embrace the chaos. Find joy in the present. And be OK with not having all the answers.

After all… none of us really know what the fuck we’re doing.

Not the polished bio. Not the professional “About Me.”

The real shit. The quirks. The mess.

So here’s me.

Unfiltered. Unapologetic. Possibly oversharing.

1. I live in Wrexham, North Wales—but my heart belongs in Llangollen.

2. I’m a dog mum to Lola, a 7-year-old Rotterman (Rottweiler/Doberman cross).

3. I married my high school crush James. He’s been my rock since I asked him out for a dare at 15. He said yes, thank fuck.

4. I named my boys Dexter and Morgan after the serial killer books/TV shows.

5. I’m have a morbid fascination with death, hysteria and ‘witches’—and how all this links together in history.

6. I am also obsessed with my menstrual cycle and inner seasons.

7. I’m (still) learning to stop giving a fuck about what people think.

8. Covid was a huge turning point in my life—it changed everything!

9. I used to collect qualifications—thinking I needed more and more before I could help people (imposter syndrome, anyone?).

10. I trained as a personal trainer even though I hated exercise. Thought it would automatically give me the body I wanted. It didn’t. [NB: I’m no longer a PT]

11. Following on from that… my life once consisted of dieting, 4 hours exercise a day and weight loss pills.

12. And following on from that one… I suffered with bulimia for years in my 20s.

13. I studied zoology at university. Quit. Went back. Studied animal behaviour. Quit again.

14. I could talk about Obsidian, Craft and personal knowledge management systems for hours.

15. I research everything.

16. I call my ChatGPT Sage (after the character in The Boys—just not as crazy!) She’s ace. She helps me stop second guessing myself and to get my ideas out when I’m struggling to articulate them.

17. I swear. A lot. Strategically. Poetically. Unapologetically.

18. Small talk bores the shit out of me.

19. I used to hate being introverted (when I didn’t know it was even a thing). Now I embrace it more than anything. And will happily cancel plans if I have no internal battery left.

20. I cry at everything—and I love it. I used to think it was a problem. Now I know it’s medicine.

21. I make jokes at inappropriate times (if I don’t laugh, chances are I will cry).

22. I get anxious when I see unknown numbers calling or texting me to the point that my hands shake.

23. I’m highly sensitive—especially to noise, smells and touch (which all get worse when my oestrogen is peaking - see point #1)

24. When I can’t sleep I count upwards in 3s. Or play the alphabet game. For example: dog breeds - A = Alsatian, B = Bulldog, C = Collie, D = Doberman etc. It usually works.

25. My morning ritual? Water with apple cider vinegar as soon as I wake.

26. My evening ritual? Eye mask. Earplugs. Mouth tape. Non-negotiable.

27. I can only sleep with my hands and feet under the covers. Elbows can peek out, but not hands or feet. I blame my mum who used to tuck us in so tight as kids we couldn’t move if we tried.

28. I used to obsess so much over which way my handwriting was slanting—I would rewrite pages and pages just so it was all the same (which usually led to indents on my fingers).

29. I learned the poem The Owl and The Pussycat for a recitation in school when I was around 10 years old. I can still recite it today.

30. I have a weird habit of sniffing everything.

31. When I’m on my spin bike with headphones in, I often scream. It feels so fucking good. But it scares the shit out of my family. And my dog who often comes up to me to see if I’m ok.

32. I often slide around in my socks in the kitchen. Like a child.

33. I hate baths.

34. I get my best ideas in the car as I voice journal. Or whilst washing the pots. Or in the shower.

35. I will argue with anyone who puts milk and sugar in the mug while the teabag is still in. Just don’t!

36. I cannot do accents. So don’t even ask.

37. But I can complete a Rubik’s Cube. I also keep one on my desk to complete throughout the day.

38. The smell of lavender reminds me of going to my Nin’s.

39. Every dinnertime, we do “All Hands on Deck”. Everyone puts a hand in the middle of the table and shares something they’re grateful for. Sort of like Saying Grace. We borrowed it from the film Shazam 5 years ago and have been doing it every single day since.

40. Me and my husband give strangers (and dogs) nicknames when we don’t know their real names. But talk about them like we do.

41. I cut my own hair. Have done since I was 14, when I buzzed it all off and dyed it orange (Annie Lennox style—for those old enough to remember what I’m on about). Since then, I’ve dyed it every colour (except green). I even had pink hair for so long I was known as Sarah Pink. These days, I’m all for rocking a blonde Mohawk.

42. I cut the labels out of all my clothes.

43. I high-five, fist-bump, and hug everyone. Probably too much. Don’t care.

Bonus fact: I recently retired from the health and wellness world after 24 years. I’ve let go of all the old labels—therapeutic coach, women’s health professional, remedial massage therapist, personal trainer, biomechanics coach. A whole career packed away in a box. Why? Well, that’s for another post.