When I imagined my 40’s, the transition into perimenopause was in my mind. I had already been considering the strength-based exercises I wanted to continue within my routine, knowing how important this would be transitioning into the next season of life. My aim was to continue to support bone and muscle health as I moved from my mid-30s into my 40s and to put myself in the strongest position possible. However, certain movements—such as runs, lunges or time on the cross trainer—triggered breakthrough bleeding. This meant I couldn’t always train in the way I wanted or progress my strength work as I’d imagined. While I knew my body would change with time, surgically induced menopause was never part of the picture I had envisioned.

Yet here I was, 41 years old, recovering from surgery, and beginning my menopausal journey far earlier than expected. Not through a gradual transition, but abruptly, as a result of surgically induced menopause. Alongside physical recovery, I was also navigating what it means, emotionally, hormonally and practically.

The last article ended with me transitioning from an overnight hospital stay and the journey home. What followed was a level of adjustment I hadn’t fully anticipated.

I went from being fiercely independent to needing help with the simplest things. I couldn’t move freely. Getting out of bed meant rolling onto my side, using my upper body strength to swing my legs around and gradually elevating myself. I was advised to wear compression stockings for two weeks, and for a total of six weeks while immobilised. Going for a walk gave me moments of relief from wearing the compression socks. I was advised not to stand for longer than 30 minutes at a time yet still needed to keep gently moving to reduce deep vein thrombosis (DVT) risk.

I was also told I shouldn’t bend over, but I soon realised I could safely squat to reach things instead. Squatting wasn’t foreign to me; my muscles were familiar with the movement from the gym and were able to support me well. One key takeaway from this experience is the value of maintaining lower-body strength and mobility before procedures, learning and practising squatting beforehand can make everyday movements during recovery far safer and more manageable.

But that balance alone was exhausting.

Relying on family was humbling. Waiting for help while others juggled work, life and supporting me created pressure, not just on me, but on them too. Actively developing my skill of patience took time and reflection.

had returned from Thailand shortly before surgery, my circadian rhythm was out of kilter, with me still waking very early but tired by mid-evening. Add to that my neurodivergence, and sitting still post-surgery felt challenging.

I would sit in the garden thinking of things I needed, and my family would kindly bring me what I asked for, only for me to realise moments later that something was missing. That sense of unease would creep in, and I’d find myself getting up to fix it anyway, despite everyone gently telling me to sit down. This would cause unsettlement for those around me, leaving them feeling a little bit uncertain how best to support me. That lack of autonomy took time to process, both physically and neurologically.

Even small things mattered. I was told before leaving the hospital that I couldn’t lift a kettle for six weeks unless it only contained one cup of water. So, I even had to teach my family to leave the kettle that way. One morning, I woke early, and the kettle had been left full of water. I didn’t want to disturb anyone, but I realised instead I could use the lightweight milk pot on the stove, tipping in just one mug of water, and I heated it that way. Even though this feels so trivial and insignificant to mention, when you are making small steps of progress, a tiny win like this feels enormous. Celebrating the fact I could finally boil a cup of water independently this way, I even filmed myself.

No one had told me to think about clothes post surgery – it had not even occurred to me.

Many of my clothes were too tight around my abdomen. Waistbands were uncomfortable. Dresses and long, loose T-shirts became essential. These are the details we often overlook, yet they make a real difference when you’re recovering.

My abdomen was delicate. Keeping the area clean and dry required care and attention. Healing isn’t passive; it asks something of you every day.

One of the biggest surprises was how light my diet needed to be in those first few weeks.
Your gut doesn’t simply bounce back after surgery. It needs waking gently. Smaller portions. Easily digestible foods. Nourishing soups. Meals that deliver nutrients without overwhelming digestion.

For the first three weeks, this wasn’t about restriction; it was about supporting healing. And it reinforced something I speak about often, that nutrition isn’t static. What your body needs changes, and sometimes this can be dramatic to match events or situations throughout your life, and this was one of those events for me.

I am used to having different forms of movement in my life, standing at a desk to work, lunchtime walks to get away from my desk, or early mornings or evenings at the gym. Suddenly, I had to focus solely on pelvic floor work and nothing else. No cardio. No strength training. Just pelvic floor exercises, in isolation. So, for someone used to structured training, this was a real mental shift. But it was essential for recovery.

Waking became gradual, although it started the day after returning home. Short walks outside in the first week, accompanied by Nicholas for companionship as well as to ensure I didn’t push myself too far. Slightly longer each day the next week, and thereafter, slightly further each day as I began to feel more confident, but still without needing to push myself too much, or cause any strain. Progress wasn’t linear, and it wasn’t meant to be.

During this time of healing, recovery, and reflection, I chose to grow my hair. It was a small decision, but a deeply symbolic one. I had worn my hair short for many years, largely because my circumstances left little time to care for it properly each day, however, I thoroughly enjoyed the ease of wearing it short and curly. I had also devoted an inordinate amount of time to caring for my daughter's hair, as hers was long.

But in this moment, as life slowed and I was forced to pause and rethink, in this season of recovery I now had more time for myself, and moving forward I realised I had to create more space for my own downtime. Time I could dedicate to growing my hair and, as an African-Caribbean woman, to giving myself the care and patience that the journey requires. It was a small decision, but a significant one. It gave me something that was mine, an expression of care, identity, and self-connection at a time when I could finally be slow and steady and allow myself the space to be fully present with myself.

I was told I couldn’t drive for 10 weeks. Another adaptation to independence that I needed to accept.

But, a few days after surgery, I decided to join Nicholas on a short drive to collect my daughter from the station, an opportunity I had felt would help in my recovery, with a change of scenery. What could go wrong? All I would be doing would be sitting in a car instead of sitting in my house or in my garden.

I felt every bump. Every movement. Neurologically, it was overwhelming.

When I got home, it hit me: I couldn’t do for now what used to be normal. I had to fully recover before attempting life as it was before.

And talking of changes, or lack of control placed upon some situations, when you run a small business, recovery carries additional layers. You can’t simply stop. Some meetings continue online from home, as soon as you can be mentally present, even if your body is still healing.

Medically, HRT was advised in my situation.

At 41, the risks to cardiovascular and bone health following surgically induced menopause outweighed the risks of taking HRT. The plan is to use it for a limited period (around 10 years), then wean off under medical supervision.

Initially, I was prescribed a combined patch. I didn’t start it immediately due to a delay getting the prescription, but once I did, I experienced headaches (three in the first week), one severe enough to require lying down for several hours. I’ve never been prone to severe headaches, so this wasn’t something I could ignore.

After speaking with my GP, we switched to an oestrogen patch with a low-dose progesterone tablet. That change made a significant difference. Timing mattered too; changing the patch in the morning worked better for me, because at night it induced a headache the following morning. The tablet must be taken an hour before food or two hours after food, so this has to be factored into your daily routine... and you need to plan ahead! A few months after surgery, I visited family during the festive period, and actually ran out of medication and had to wait for the progesterone to be dispensed. This resulted in me having a couple of days without it. I felt some side effects (headaches) from the lack of continuity of medication, a lesson well learned.

The patches hurt to remove (a small but honest detail!). Taking them off during a shower helped significantly. I may explore gel in future, but for now, I didn’t want to change too many variables at once before allowing my body to adjust properly to each new phase of the new journey.

Collecting my HRT medication for myself the first time was a ‘moment’.

It made everything real. This is my life now. Navigating medication. Being mindful of my health in new ways.

The pharmacist was wonderful — and I also learned about the HRT Pre-Payment Certificate, which significantly reduces costs. It’s an important initiative that supports access to essential treatment for patients.

You can find information and apply via the NHS website.

Recovery, menopause and HRT aren’t just medical experiences; they are deeply human ones. They affect identity, relationships, independence, nutrition, movement and mental wellbeing.

And they remind us that our bodies deserve reassessment — not judgement — at every stage.

If you’re navigating perimenopause, menopause, recovery from surgery, or simply feel your body has changed and you’re not sure why, reassessing your nutrition can be a powerful first step.

Book a complimentary enquiry call, to discuss how we can help you assess your nutrition.