55 and I went on a date last Thursday. Actual date. Sat across from a man in a wine bar and tried to remember who I was before I started disappearing. The thing is I looked alright? I wore the green dress I'd written off as "too much" and my friend said I looked brilliant and I almost believed her. I did not flush (miracle). I did not cry in the loos. I talked and laughed and he was fine, perfectly fine, but that's not the point. The point is I drove home and sat in the car and felt proud of myself in a way I haven't for ages. Not because of him. Just because I went. I'm 55 and divorced and my body is doing whatever it likes and I've spent two years feeling like the version of me that men might find attractive has quietly retired without telling me. And maybe she has, I don't know. But Thursday felt like evidence that something is still here. I've been writing down the days I feel okay about myself, genuinely okay, not performed okay. It's more often than I'd thought. That's the thing I'm holding onto at the moment. I've got a GP appointment coming up and I want to talk about the confidence stuff, the way anxiety has eaten into how I feel about my own body, not just the physical symptoms. I don't know how to say that without it sounding vain. Is it vain? It doesn't feel vain. It feels like survival. x