I’VE BEEN QUIET. MY ADHD HAS NOT.
- 2 days ago
- 4 min read
I’ve been a bit quiet on here for the last three weeks.
Not because I’ve run out of things to say. Christ, no. My ADHD brain would consider that a personal failure.
I was involved in a horrific car accident. A lorry went full-on into my car and completely totalled it.
She has now gone to car heaven. RIP, old girl. 🪦
I’ve finally replaced her with a little shiny red Mercedes A-Class who, obviously, required a name immediately.
Meet Millicent. ❤️
Unfortunately, I didn’t come out of it completely unscathed either. I’ve sprained both wrists — because apparently one would have been far too convenient — and my neck is bloody painful. I’ve had an MRI and I’m waiting for the results, alongside physio, medical appointments and trying to get my body back to some semblance of normality.
It never rains but it fucking pours.
But while I’ve been physically forced to slow down, my ADHD brain has been running around upstairs like a toddler who’s found the Haribos.
IDEAS.
So many bloody ideas.
And I realised something.
Trying to post every single day was becoming another job I’d invented for myself.
And frankly, women in midlife already have enough fucking jobs.
So Moolife is changing rhythm.
🔥 MENOPAUSE MONDAY🖤 WELLBEING WEDNESDAY⚡ FEEL GOOD FRIDAY
Still me.
Still blunt.
Still sweary.
Still saying the things women are thinking but are sometimes too frightened to say.
Just with a bit more intention and considerably less me trying to feed the social-media monster every bastard day.
So buckle up, Moos.
And today, I want to tell you why I think you should read my FULL SWEARY BLOG if you’re a Moo Midlifer.
Because my writing isn't polite.
It isn't clinical.
And it certainly isn't going to tell you to drink some fucking herbal tea and manifest your way through menopause.
My words can be brutal.
But they're honest.
And they're written by a woman standing in the middle of this shit with you.
I’m not a doctor. I’m not pretending to be one. I’m a menopause therapist and an art therapist — but I'm also a 55-year-old menopausal woman who has had to take a bloody hard look at how I was living.
And I didn't particularly like everything I saw.
I started smoking when I was 14 years old.
FOURTEEN.
It became part of my life for decades.
And let's call it what it is.
Smoking is a disgusting, filthy habit.
I knew that.
I did it anyway.
Until I decided I didn't want to anymore.
This week I celebrated:
100 DAYS WITHOUT A CIGARETTE.
One hundred fucking days.
And I am MEGA proud of myself.
I've also stopped drinking alcohol.
I'm now into my sixth week without booze.
And something is changing.
Not because I've suddenly become Saint Moo of Kale and Mineral Water.
Not because I'm trying to become thinner, younger or some fucking wellness influencer who gets sexually excited about chia seeds.
I'm doing it because I finally realised something incredibly simple:
I can't demand that my body carries me through midlife while continually giving it shit to carry.
And the difference has surprised me.
I take medication for my blood pressure and cholesterol, and I'm not suggesting for one second that I'm throwing those tablets in the bin. I'm not.
But my levels for both have reduced significantly.
My energy has SOARED.
I'm less bloated.
My skin has improved enormously.
My head feels clearer.
And I feel more connected to my body than I have in a very long time.
That's why I want Moolife to talk about more than menopause symptoms.
Because menopause doesn't happen in isolation.
It lands in the middle of your LIFE.
Your habits.
Your marriage.
Your work.
Your stress.
Your sleep.
Your relationship with alcohol.
Your relationship with food.
Your relationship with movement.
Your relationship with yourself.
And yes — changing oestrogen levels can affect a staggering amount.
The brain fog that makes you wonder whether you've lost your fucking mind.
The rage that arrives before you've even worked out what you're angry about.
Sleep being absolutely annihilated.
Libido packing a suitcase and apparently relocating without leaving a forwarding address.
Joints.
Hair.
Skin.
Bladder.
Weight and body composition.
Mood.
Memory.
Concentration.
And that strange feeling of looking at yourself and thinking:
Where the fuck did I go?
But here's the bit I'm becoming increasingly interested in.
What if menopause isn't only asking us what medication, supplements or treatments we need?
What if it's also asking:
What can no longer come with me?
For me, cigarettes couldn't.
Alcohol couldn't.
Constant rushing couldn't.
Treating my body like something I could endlessly take from couldn't.
And I'm beginning to understand that feeling better in midlife isn't necessarily about desperately trying to get the old version of ourselves back.
Maybe she's not coming back.
And maybe that's not the tragedy we think it is.
Maybe the invitation is to meet the woman who's arriving.
That's what my sweary blog is about.
Not perfection.
Not preaching.
Not pretending I've cracked menopause because I've stopped drinking Chardonnay and smoking fags.
It's about questioning our shit.
Laughing at some of it.
Changing what we can.
Getting proper help for what we can't.
And refusing to spend another decade feeling bloody awful because we've been conditioned to JUST GET ON WITH IT.
No.
Fuck that.
Women who refuse to suffer politely live here.
Welcome back to Moolife.
The quiet three weeks are officially over.
And Millicent and I have got some shit to say. ❤️🔥
Love from Missy Moo x
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