Midlife is like that unexpected plot twist in your favourite drama - a bit confusing, sometimes hilarious, and always full of surprises. For women stepping into their 50s and beyond, it’s a time of change, challenge, and, yes, opportunity. Health becomes a headline act, not just a background extra. So, what’s the secret sauce to thriving in this vibrant chapter? Let’s dive into some practical, witty, and downright sensible health tips for women midlife. Health Tips for Women

This is the thing about friendship in midlife. It’s not that you don’t have  friends. It’s that having friends now involves admin . Actual admin. The sort of admin that used to be reserved for renewing your car tax or chasing a refund from British Gas. Because when you’re younger, friendship is basically… proximity and chips . You’re just… around people. Constantly. There’s always someone. Someone’s always doing something. You can fall into a friendship simply by standing nea

This is one of those questions that sounds harmless enough until someone actually asks it. You might feel that tiny internal scramble while you work out how to answer without overthinking it. How many friends have you got? What are we counting here, exactly? The people you see regularly? The ones you could ring in a proper crisis? Or perhaps the folks you still feel fond of, even though you haven’t managed to see them since before everything went a bit odd and time stopped me

There are some subjects women reach midlife and realise we’ve never really spoken about properly. Not in public, anyway. Knickers are one of them. They sit quietly at the bottom of drawers, bought in hope, tolerated in practice, rarely questioned — until one day you notice you’re spending an unreasonable amount of mental energy adjusting, enduring, or resenting your underwear. This isn’t a dramatic story. It’s a small, domestic one. But like many midlife realisations, it turn

Optimism in elastic form The search for a comfortable bra is, essentially, optimism in elastic form. For years I believed I was “about” a certain size. Not because it was correct, but because it had been agreed at some point in the past and I saw no reason to reopen the matter. Every new bra came with hope. Hope that this one would be comfortable. Hope that it wouldn’t dig in, ride up, or require adjusting in public. Hope that my body had quietly returned to how it was in 200

Part Three of a series on midlife, money, visibility, and learning not to disappear. Somewhere along the way, I absorbed the idea that by this age, money would feel calm. Managed. Settled. That I’d have grown out of impulse and into permanent prudence without really noticing. That hasn’t quite happened. To be clear: my rent is always covered. The bills are paid. I save a little each month. The basics are handled. Responsibly. Reassuringly. But anything left? Anything left is