Sixty-one. Periods stopped eight years ago. You'd think sleep would have sorted itself out by now, wouldn't you. It hasn't. I still wake at 3am, sometimes 4, sometimes both, lie there for an hour thinking about absolutely nothing useful, then drag myself up exhausted. My GP looks faintly baffled when I mention it. Like I've wandered into the wrong department. What has actually helped, and I say this cautiously, is the strength training I started last spring. Not because it cures anything. It doesn't. But I sleep a bit heavier on the days I've done it, and I feel less like I'm made of wet cardboard the morning after. I go twice a week with a friend from the village, which is the only reason I've kept it up if I'm honest. The other thing I've been thinking about is protein. I read something about muscle loss speeding up after sixty and it quietly terrified me, so I've been trying to actually eat breakfast with some protein in it rather than just a coffee and good intentions. Whether it's making a difference I genuinely don't know yet. I've got a GP appointment next month and I want to ask properly about bones and heart. Long-term stuff. I've been on HRT for years and I want an actual conversation about where I am now, not just a repeat prescription and out the door. Anyway. Just nice to be somewhere that doesn't assume menopause stopped being relevant the moment the periods did. x