Why I Was A Fake At Fifty

A true story about my menopause - the sneaky mind and body snatcher.

Why was I fake when I turned 50? I’ll tell you why – it was because I was absolutely petrified about who I’d become and I didn’t want to be that woman. I needed to find the old me again and if ‘faking me’ was the only way to do it, that’s what I’d have to do. Read on and all will be explained…

Enjoying my 50th and drowning my anxiety in prossecco!

The menopause completely threw me off course from life as I knew it. I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognise who was looking back. The dull skin and blank expression, lifeless, thinning hair, the change in my shape – (from pear to apple if fruity figure descriptions help with the imagery.)

And it wasn’t just how I looked that was a shock, but more concerning to me was how I felt.

It was if my body and mind had been hijacked by a stranger – a bit like the movie Freaky Friday but without the fun mishaps. Unlike the movie though, this was real life. It dawned on me that there wasn’t going to be a fictional bolt of lightning hitting me in a disused playground at 2am to reverse the damage and bring the old me back. 

I felt as if I was well and truly trapped in somebody else’s body with somebody else’s mind taking over my life – and I wondered whether this was ‘it’ for me now.

Each day I would wake up and not know what to expect. One day my mind would tell me I couldn’t drive on the motorway like I had regularly since passing my test at 18. I couldn’t comprehend how I’d ever managed to do that without sweating and shaking. Now, I’d find myself pulling off ‘scary’ roads in a complete panic and having to psyche myself up for the drive back home.

The next day, I’d be woken at 3.30am with sweat drenched sheets and palpitations that echoed through my ears like the sound of a speeding train rushing through the bedroom. They would carry on thumping, terrifyingly for hours.

How about the day I screamed the house down and lay on the landing sobbing because my daughter got in the bath that I had just ran for myself?

Or when dear old #StressedHusband had to convince me that my three adult kids were not going to die at home while we were travelling through South Africa. I couldn’t seem to get dark and intrusive thoughts out of my head.

In between the bouts of brain fog, severe anxiety, palpitations, hot flushes, and vertigo, I would get little flashes of who I used to be and I so desperately wanted to be that positive thinking, happy, go-getting woman again because being imprisoned in this unknown mind and body was unbearable. I didn’t know how to navigate my life now that I was this ‘other’ person.

But then…

After a visit to an understanding GP, I was prescribed HRT and most of my symptoms began to subside. I started to see more of the woman I was and the morning dread with its terrible thoughts and anxiety began to slowly ebb away. Undisturbed sleep was my friend again and I think once that was on an even keel, I could cope better with other things.

One thing that HRT wasn’t improving though, was my lack of confidence. Before my menopause I wasn’t exactly on the Beyoncé scale of self-assurance, but I wasn’t hiding under the duvet each morning like I was tempted to do now.

My trigger point came when I was offered a fantastic work opportunity that would pay me well, get me a by line as an editor on a 98-page magazine and throw me in front of well-known bods in the publishing industry, and my initial reaction was to feel overwhelmed at the idea of it and turn it down.

I finally ‘fessed up and told the commissioning editor and former colleague that the project looked too difficult for me. There was new tech to get my head around, lots of young and highly capable staff members who I didn’t know and who I was sure, would think of me as an old has-been. I couldn’t bear to be found out as not being up to the job. Deep down, of course I wanted to take on this challenge – the ‘real me’ would’ve jumped at the chance, but this new, unimproved version was so unsure of herself.

I knew it was now or never to tackle this lack of confidence - and I was worried that if I didn’t stand up to it now, I would just slink into the background of my life and take the easy, not so exciting way out forever more. So, I faked it.

I said yes to the job. I got dressed for the part (black and leopard print are my power outfit staples) and ventured to the cool offices to meet with the young, hip team that I’d be working with. A few of them were younger than my children! And although my hands were sweating and my voice was a little trembly, I stood up (only because I was asked to) and gave them a run down on my past experience and how I envisioned we would work together on this project.

I felt sick with nerves but pushed my way through the introduction as brain fog tried to derail me. I did the best I could before making a quick dash to the loos, convinced I’d made a mess of it. As I gripped the side of the sink, legs shaking and anxiety bubbling in my stomach, one of the young girls in the team walked in. She was the one I’d noticed staring at me intently as I spoke earlier – obviously thinking I was old enough to be her mum and wondering who on earth I thought I was to be working there. I smiled shakily as she approached me. Then she said, “I checked out your blog, Glowology and your Insta before I met you. It’s amazing how many magazines you’ve worked for and I love your positive-ageing advice. How cool that you worked at Cosmo and you get to try all these fab skincare and beauty treatments! You’re probably too busy, but I’d love to buy you a coffee sometime, and pick your brain about breaking into journalism?”

Wow. I wasn’t expecting that at all. This lovely young girl even looked a little nervous as she spoke to me. That episode taught me such a valuable lesson, which is that it’s so important to question negative self-talk and ask yourself, ‘are those derogatory things you’re saying about yourself actually true?’ Because 9.99/10 times, they’re not.

And also, acting like the person you want to become until you become it – or in my case, acting like the person you used to be until you go back to being it – really helps.

So, if you feel lost in the grip of the menopausal version of you, keep looking for the glimmers of the old you, remember who you really are and know that all is not lost forever. Trust me, you will be back to your old, fabulous self again one day soon – even if you have to fake it until you make it.