
I looked in the mirror, and a stranger looked back.
I was 47, and I didn't recognize the tired woman looking back.
It started small. A word that vanished mid-sentence, in a meeting I'd run a hundred times. Then it wasn't small anymore. It was everything, all at once.
3 a.m., soaked through and wide awake. Snapping at my husband over a dish in the sink. The dryness I dreaded mentioning, that made me avoid the one thing that used to bring us close. The third UTI in four months. A body gone soft and tired and quiet. And a libido that had simply left.
Everyone said the same useless thing: "It's just menopause. You'll get through it." Like it was weather.
So I stopped pretending I was fine and decided to find an OB-GYN who specializes in menopause to consult with.























