I used to know exactly who I was. Or at least, I thought I did. I had a version of myself that I'd been performing so consistently for so long that I'd stopped noticing it was a performance. I knew my role. I knew my place. I knew how to be the person everyone around me needed me to be. And then, somewhere in my early forties, that version of me started to feel like a coat that no longer fitted. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just tight across the chest, restrictive in ways it never used...

There’s a version of this story you’ve probably heard before. Perimenopause arrives, your libido waves goodbye, you buy a good moisturiser, find a GP who doesn’t dismiss you, and spend the next decade being vaguely less interested in everything that used to make you feel alive. It’s the version they show in films, the punchline at dinner parties, the resigned shrug from women who got there first. But here’s what nobody actually tells you: that’s not the only version. And for a lot of women,...

You used to go out without a second thought. Pub lunch? Yes. Meeting new people? Fine. Now, the thought of a casual gathering fills you...