Month: August 2025

Menopause may impact mental health

Stats from the British Menopause Society (BMS) on menopausal symptoms

  • 50% of women say their home life is impacted
  • More than 1/3 say their work life is impacted
  • 42% have an average of 7 symptoms which are much worse than anticipated
  • 36% say their social lives are impacted
  • 50% of menopausal women who have experienced symptoms over the past 10 years, have not consulted a health professional

Every one of us will be affected at some point by the top to toe refurb otherwise known as menopause, that every woman goes through – whether husbands, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, children, other relatives, colleagues, neighbours or any other human.

While some women have little to no symptoms, and some manage to gain the appropriate medical support promptly, many do not. A fact that has been acknowledged by the medical profession who subsequently introduced mandatory training for Gp’s, on Menopause, in 2024. This delay despite women making up half the population. However while the lateness of this beggars belief, even late, slow progress is still progress.

I was recently reminded of the fact that many women still struggle alone with menopausal symptoms. They often wrongly believe that everyone else is coping and they should be too. Some women are coping whether because they don’t experience such debilitating symptoms or have secured helpful support. But for many, the symptoms are so debilitating as to stop some previously high-flying career women from working at all.

This is clearly an unacceptable reality but one that requires all to participate in changing the tide. This includes women who are not suffering in menopause, accepting that others may have a very different experience. It is unhelpful and unkind to dismiss the experience of a woman struggling with menopause if this is not your own experience.

It was a conversation I had with a local woman who was starting on HRT, that compelled me to write this. Personally, it took me three years of fighting for help to find the excellent GP who is now walking and supporting me through everything menopause related. But just because I’m now being helped and supported doesn’t mean this is true for all. The conversation I had, re-ignited my passion for the injustice of so many women still suffering with symptoms and still struggling to access appropriate support and help.

As taken from the Balance-Menopause website, the latest research conducted by researchers at the Liverpool Moores University and Newson Research, states …

‘Suicide rates among women aged 45–55, the age when perimenopause and menopause typically happens, are notably higher, which could potentially be linked to hormonal fluctuations that affect mood regulation. Despite this, little qualitative research has been carried on the relationship between perimenopause, menopause and mental health challenges, including suicidality.

Researchers at the Liverpool John Moores University and Newson Research spoke to 42 women who experienced suicidal thoughts or mental health problems during perimenopause. Women reported varying degrees of suicidality, from abstract thoughts to suicide attempts, and feelings of hopelessness and entrapment were identified as common triggers.

Other findings from the research, which included interviews with women from the Newson Clinic and the general population, included:

  • Delays in receiving appropriate hormone replacement therapy (HRT) and misdiagnoses, such as being prescribed antidepressants instead of HRT, worsened symptoms
  • Women reported significant improvements in mental wellbeing after receiving timely HRT
  • Support from loved ones and colleagues, and lifestyle changes were also identified as beneficial.

Researchers concluded that better understanding, quicker access to hormone treatment and more support from health professionals could save lives, and that more open conversations are needed.’

For more expert facts, stats and advice, try Dr Louise Newson for her Balance FB page. This offers expert opinions, and includes an App to track cycles and symptoms. This app can support us women to capture and convey symptoms, to share with a Gp, which in turn helps them to prescribe the most helpful treatment. There is an informative an helpful article in the library of The Balance-Menopause website, which gives details on how best to approach a Gp appointment.

For readers, I recommend, ‘Older and wider’, by Jenny Éclair (hilarious) and, ‘What is wrong with me?’, by Lorraine Candy (encouraging). For those preferring TV or podcasts, all things Davinia McCall.

Menopause is when a woman has had no period for over twelve months. Perimenopause is the time preceding this when periods may change by becoming lighter/shorter/heavier/erratic/different. Our system may then start to malfunction in multiple ways as hormones are connected to most parts of the body’s functioning, stretching way beyond hot flushes.

What I wish I had known before entering perimenopause is, 1) it existed, 2) that it can start in the 40’s (earlier for some), 3) that a basic level of menopause training has only been included in Gp’s training since 2024, 4) to trust ourselves as we are the expert on our own body and therefore to persevere until finding a Gp who has had, or sought Menopause training, or a Menopause Nurse, who listens, understands and helps. There are some excellent and suitably trained medical professionals in the NHS so for those of us who can’t afford to go private, don’t give up until you find one.

Perimenopause is like a top to toe refurbishment that changes the body from being able to house a growing baby, to not. Some lucky women have no symptoms (trying not to be envious), some have a few and some of us have tons!

The symptoms that may be experienced range from; anxiety/depression (try oestrogen before anti-depressants in line with NICE recommendations), fatigue, sleeplessness, brain fog, difficulty making decisions (even what to wear/eat), forgetting words/trains of thought, walking in to things (regular bruising), losing things (especially the plot), rage (Tourette’s style swearing), tearfulness, nausea, joint pain and many more.

As a Christian, I’ve had a few choice conversations with the Almighty about how he didn’t come down here in a female body!

These symptoms can be hugely debilitating which does NOT mean we are weak, failing or ‘should’ be ok. Every woman’s body is different in experience, as well as in what helps or hinders it. Furthermore, the latest research shows that history plays a role as symptoms may be exacerbated by childhood trauma (Adverse Childhood Experience ACE), long covid (proven to impact ovaries, thus hormones), stress and neurodivergence. When any/all of these are present, the risk of burnout also increases.

However, don’t despair, if you want to know you are not going mad, or alone, there is an extremely friendly Menopause group who meet bimonthly in Ruth’s Café, Stotfold.

Vicky Sharpe, who runs a Physiotherapy clinic, Physio Health Hub, hosts The Menopause Café as a welcoming space to chat, share experiences and support one another through the menopause journey. The café opens at 7.30pm with a speaker on a specialist subject starting at 8pm and closing at 9pm. The next meeting is Wednesday 24th September with a menopause coach, speaking. Anyone is welcome to come along.

The best birthday bonanza yet

Birthdays can be an emotionally charged time. Whether due to unmet hopes, difficult family memories or relationships, including estrangements, poor health or because we feel the absence of those who are no longer with us. Or a whole myriad of other reasons.

The day of our birth seems to turn up the volume on existing emotions whether ones we like or ones we don’t. Following two birthdays (and Christmases) of intensely painful grieving, this year I was beyond ecstatic to be well enough to enjoy everything up to, on and continuing, around my birthday. Although I had forgotten how exhausting enjoying myself so much is! But this is a great experience to be reminded of. And it tastes all the sweeter for the awfulness of those birthdays that preceded it.

I’ve lost track of the number of times loved ones have sung happy birthday to me whether in person, or international family over the phone, or on a video call. I’ve tried to lose track of the amount of cake I’ve demolished but the paunch continues to keep count. I’ve had my socks blessed off by closest family through treats of afternoon tea, cream tea, tea and cake (I see a pattern), lunches, dinners, flower deliveries, home made birthday cake (by the very talented Ruth), a massage and facial, bbq and drop ins from loved ones.

It’s basically been a feast on every level from my favourite menu;

Great company/convo’s (usually including farts – thank you God for their entertainment value!)

Silliness, play and belly laughs (could lead to accidental farts)

Fantastic feasts of all my favourites (see above re food and farts)

Music and Dancing (special thanks to DJ Jerome for my party/mental health maintenance playlist)

Pools and pampering; jacuzzi, steam room, sauna, hot beds (lush)

Beauty of flowers whether growing in fields or in vases in my home

I’m meeting another friend for more birthday eating today, followed by an overdue rest day tomorrow where I’ll only leave the house for a massage! I need to digest all these rich treats to prepare for the next celebration of canoeing and of course more scoff, on Wednesday with my fab Swiss friend.

And then I’ll spend two weeks recharging my social battery as the above are only the entrees to whet the appetite for the main event. This will take the shape of a party where we will feast on food made by many talented cooks/bakers before being fed by the banquet that is my favourite musician.

As I sit under my parasol enjoying seeing the butterflys and not enjoying seeing the wasps, (thank you God for citronella), I reflect upon this milestone birthday.

Many years ago I was asked what I thought man wanted most in life. I heard myself respond,

‘ … to be seen, known and loved anyway’.

This still resonates with my internal truth detector.

And while it has taken me the full half century including the crappest three year lead up to get here, I can now say, hand on heart, the biggest gift through it all is,

‘having an embodied (not just theoretical) experience of being seen, known and loved anyway.’

It’s one thing to grow in our knowledge that God see’s, knows and loves us despite ourselves, because let’s face it, it’s his job to.  Not that I believe he feels it to be a chore. I believe he loves nothing more that to shower us in his healing, hope giving love. And not just for us to hog for ourselves but like all good gifts, to share generously with all around us.

But, it is another matter entirely to know that my human family see’s, knows and loves me. For me, family are those people who show up for me in good times and bad. Those who have shown up recently and on the longer term, to sit with me, feed me, pray with me, remind me that God has got me, walk with me, talk with me, be with me and encourage me when I have been unable to do this for myself. For me, that is family and the most profound gift that God could have given me. He knows I’ve been longing and praying for this for a very looooong time. Like many prayers, it’s just been answered in a different way to how I expected!

What a God we all have – the giver of life itself has given me the greatest gift ever in the family he has surrounded me with in recent years. He has blessed me beyond my wildest imagination through this birthday.

I am overwhelmed by his (totally undeserved) grace, generosity and love for my flawed but determined to grow and learn self.

Of course, those closest to me see all my flaws including the wind related ones as well as my many quirks. The experience of being loved and accepted by them anyway blows my heart and mind. And it gives me immense joy to return the privilege of loving them back in this way.

There will of course always be those who choose to misunderstand me, my motives and my heart. And that’s ok. It’s inevitable. We can all fall victim to misunderstanding others or making up stories about each other in the absence of asking and listening to one another. We are all human, we all fall short of the glory of God and we can all misunderstand others as much as we can be misunderstood. Something I see as a lose, lose scenario. We can choose to work on resolving misunderstandings by recognising that they offer the chance to increase and improve understanding for all involved. The win/win way of the living God.

It’s not always easy being a flawed human in relationship with other flawed humans. But it helps to know the one who gave us our first birthday (and every subsequent one until he takes us) is always willing to help us grow and learn through every situation and challenge.

Wow, wow, wow.

This birthday, I am giving the biggest thanks to the God who gave me life and who continues to give me good gifts (even those that initially look so awful that I want to return them). But especially for the gift of being loved by family and being able to love them back.

I pray that my God continues to reveal his heart to every human heart, whether in times of joy, sorrow or transitioning in between. Because I believe that he loves to woo us so we can see, know and love him back. Not from an egotistical position but because as the maker of life and love, he knows there is nothing more valuable or enjoyable.

The pre – post 50 paunch

Having run to the park where the exercise machines are, I sat down and dipped my head to catch my breath. My eyeballs were met with the sight of the paunch. Or the return of the roll, or the budge resistant bulge. I like to think it was only looking so pumped because of the position I was sat in. But it may have more to do with the incessant consumption of cakes and crisps. (I’m proud of my twenty years of sobriety but not so proud that my addictive tendencies still get the better of me). Perhaps the recent growth spurt of the paunch is an almost 50 thing. Of course, all things perimenopause can also contribute to expanding middles.

I don’t like my paunch but like a lot of things I don’t like (in life), I am learning to accept it a little more graciously. On a good day. I’ve decided I’m willing to make the necessary trade off by allowing myself to eat the exceptionally delicious cakes I bake (I’m not a fan of false modesty) while letting go of my desire to maintain a minimum sized paunch. Since the age of forty my body has been gradually changing in numerous ways. The way my paunch fills out more quickly than before, following less cakes, is the latest in a long line of bodily changes. I am practising going with this process rather than fighting it. Sort of. I accepted the overnight expansion of my thighs around forty, as well as the overnight thievery of my waist a few years back, but I’m still struggling to accept the presence of the paunch.

In fact, my previous blog showcased one of my preferred ways of managing the paunch, by which I mean disguising it (I hope). I am referring to patterns on clothes as in the bigger, brighter and bolder, the more effective at drawing the eye of others away from the paunch. At least this is what I am attempting to achieve! And there are also these ruffles around the middle of swimsuits, dresses and the likes. I’m sure they have a more sophisticated name, but I don’t know it. Either way these are also a paunch disguising middle aged helper.

Somewhere along the line, I must have internalised the message that paunches, otherwise known as stomachs, are something to be embarrassed about and therefore hidden. I’m not trying to claim I have the biggest paunch in town, but I am aware that it is a fuller, more regular, persistent feature, the closer I get to fifty.

I have a complicated relationship with food and my body due to the aforementioned addictive traits. Sometimes people dismiss any comment I make on the subject with remarks such as,

“You don’t need to worry about your weight Jo”.

In truth, none of us need to worry about anything. However, for me at least, I can worry on a world record achieving level about anything and everything. However, I try (I sometimes succeed and I sometimes learn), to practice taking responsibility for what I can, in this instance, looking after my body. Following fifteen years of abusing it with drink and drugs, I’ve spent the last twenty trying to reverse the damage. These days I try to listen to what my body says so I can give it what it needs rather than what it doesn’t (in theory).

For example, this week after a particularly piggish crisp devouring session, my stomach said,

“Jo, I feel uncomfortable trying to digest the type and volume of food you’ve just shovelled in me. Would you mind putting less of that type of food in and more of the type that feels good afterwards and not just during?”.

Like most things I don’t really want to hear because I don’t want to act upon them, I registered this but remained too non-committal to reply. The next night I repeated the same scenario. What madness. For me, all crisps have the pringle, ‘once I start I can’t stop’ effect. This meant two nights and two subsequent mornings were spent with a sore stomach, which very graciously refrained from telling me, “I told you so”.

This whole situation was a bit crap so I had a stern word with myself. The next night when my hands had furiously shovelled in two bowls of highly flavoured, perfect crunch offering crisps, I took a pause. I wrestled the crisp sack out of my hand and dragged myself in to the kitchen, kicking and moaning (I can’t stand screaming).

Once inside, I saw that the kitchen looked like I’d been visited by burglars, and, or teenagers. This was sufficient to distract me in to starting the end of day clear up. I cannot face a chaotic kitchen in the morning, even after a coffee. I stayed focused on the task at hand while the pull of the crisps, stayed strong. But, by the time I finished making the kitchen respectable, the urge to keep shovelling had passed. Mostly. And I chose to brush my teeth immediately before I could change my mind. I can’t stand eating anything after I’ve brushed my teeth. I never got menthol cigarettes either.

Anyway, learning is slow, experiential and repetitive. But that’s ok, because I am strong willed, persistent and committed to growing. However, I would prefer the growth to be more psychological and less physical, especially where the paunch is concerned. The one step I am taking to help myself in my mission, is to accept that I cannot co-habit with crisps. Either I stop buying them ‘for my party’, or I store them at the house of someone who has consistently mastered the art of crisp consuming control.

There is something on this subject that has stayed with me for years and still makes me smile. An old friend introduced me to some music. I am very grateful for those who do this as I am clueless about song or artist names. In fact, I’m rubbish at everyone’s names these days, more so since the hormones went rogue. Anyway, the music was by Lauryn Hill who was holding an intimate gathering to talk and share her songs. I can’t remember the context but she spoke about her stomach sticking out and said something about how we all have stomachs as much as society may teach us to hold them in and hide them! She was so free and accepting of her stomach that I couldn’t help but smile. It still encourages me to practice accepting and loving my paunch while also trying to maintain some boundaries about what I throw in it.

And so, at almost fifty I am trying to love me and my middle-aged body, in a healthier way, including loving my usually pattern covered paunch.

Party’s, patterns and pockets

The business of middle-aging with all its blessings and non-blessings, is bang on my radar right now, as I find myself hurtling towards my half a century. The numbers 5  0 have been front and central since the start of the year, so I already feel like I’ve left my forties, if only intellectually.

As one who believes in celebrating everything worth celebrating as a way of balancing out everything not worth celebrating, or even worth commiserating, I’m going large. At the start of the year, I booked a party to celebrate the occasion. After which I’ve spent most of the year regretting this decision due to unexpected health challenges. Thankfully, I have bounced back on board enough to make this happen. Thanks go to God and all who have supported me, as well as encouraged me to have the party and helped to prepare it. Grateful.

Over the years, I’ve been accused of milking my birthdays in terms of the number of celebrations I have. This has been especially fair and true from the age of forty. Although not so true in the last three years thanks to perimenopause and all that aggravates it. But, as a rule, I’m massively pro fun/play and silliness, as therapy. For these balance out my serious, grown-up job. And I like them. A lot.

When it comes to a party, I am partial to those with interesting people, good scoff and music that moves me to the dance floor and keeps me there. But I’m also permanently exhausted which means I want to be home, on the sofa, under a blanket (in all seasons), holding a cup of tea and relaxing, by early evening. Traditionally, parties have been evening events which conflicts with my desire for home comforts and early nights. However, if the holy hattrick of essentials are present, I may be too.

Earlier this year, my experience was expanded by a brunch party. My fabulous friend and her highly talented, dance inviting band (The soul Collective), played at a daytime brunch party. This was a revelation to me. A party at brunch time and in broad daylight no less! It was fantastic! As one who is recovered from alcohol and as happy to go solo on the dancefloor as in life, I loved it!  And I really loved being home, showered and pajama’d up by 6.30pm. My kind of middle-aged magic if not very rock n roll! (I do enough rocking these days and rolls are something I’m becoming more accustomed to the closer I get to fifty).

Anyway, as I look back, despite all the platitudes telling us not to, I like to reflect on the key events along with the learning that has come through them. Eventually. As one trained to recognise how the patterns of the past show up in the present, the saying, ‘you don’t drive your car looking in the rear mirror’, irks me. Everything in life is about balance. When we don’t look back enough to our past, it can catch up and take us over. The past attempts to teach us, to release us from the ‘here we go again’ repetition of repeating old patterns. By looking back and learning from the past, we can become more present and focused in the here and now. We can also become released from the past patterns to practice brand spanking new and healthier patterns in the present as well as the, ‘yet to come’. More about that in my book.

I love spotting patterns.

When it comes to clothing, I have learned that patterns are my friend. I like the mix of colours and shapes that form patterns, whereas I’m bored by too many plain colours. This means I love colourful, pattern filled clothes. I like to play a game of ‘let’s see how many colours and patterns I can get on my outfit’ of a morning, to jazz up my day. At least I do when my brain is not malfunctioning so badly that I am overwhelmed by such a decision. Then it’s the same boring clothes every day, all the way.

The prioritising of pattern-sporting-clothing has a secondary benefit of supporting my allergy to ironing. Patterns are much more generous at hiding the fact they have never been acquainted with an iron, than their plain-clothed-contemporaries.

I’ve just realised there is also a third benefit as patterns are effective at disguising any mess I make of myself while getting ready in the morning. Sometimes when I am celebrating surviving breakfast stain free, I somehow manage to spill toothpaste down myself on the post-breakfast, gnasher clean up. Sigh.

I am reminded of a comment from an ex I was meeting one winter’s day, by the coast. When he spotted me, he thought to himself,

“Who’s that grubby looking soap dodger?”, before realising it was me!

I was sporting my beloved pale green duvet coat. While I was snug inside it, I wasn’t noticing that the absence of patterns on the outside was showcasing the presence of filth! As he was more embarrassed by this than I and he owned a tumble dryer, he very kindly de-filthed it for me. Result!

I’m now realising that I also like naturally ‘grubby’ coloured, slightly patterned kitchen floor tiles for their generosity in not exposing another allergy of mine; mopping the floor. (I see a pattern in my allergy’s!) When I had a friend over for dinner this week, they shared that they hadn’t been able to clean their kitchen floor for over a month due to health issues. I replied that I’ve probably mopped mine once in nearly five years, not entirely due to health issues. I’m genuinely confused as to how people find the time to do such jobs on top of all the other parts of adulting. Or do I mean, how do they find the inclination/motivation, as I can’t find either. Either way there’s no risk of anyone ever referring to my floor as, ‘being so clean you could eat your dinner off it’ (not something I’ve ever aspired to). I will add that my plates are though. Honest.

My friend went on to say that a failure to clean her floor, made her feet dirty. To which I offered, ‘that’s what slippers are for’. Perhaps this is why she keeps a pair at mine! (Nb to self, if work picks up, re-employ a cleaner – I was only able to enjoy a few sessions before things went south-er than south).

Hooray for pockets …

Now moving on to pockets. I love a good pocket, by which I mean one that is deep enough to hold useful items, like tissues or lipsalve that I otherwise I spend half my life looking for, without risk of either falling out. For a long time now, I’ve enjoyed the pocket possessing quality of cosy items like cardigans. I’ve been told cardigans are not cool, but I don’t care for cool and I do care for warm, comfortable and practical! Hooray for pockets! And my latest discovery on the pocket front is that some dresses have them! True story! After a friend accompanied me round some fabulous and affordable charity shops, I bought a couple of pocket sporting dresses (extra points for those with patterns too). My new favourite thing!

And we all know that pockets are an essential part of any handbag. Without which I would end up spending the other half of my life looking for my keys/tissues and lipsalve (if no pockets on clothing), while rummaging and ranting in the abyss that is my handbag.

And there you have it; (daytime) party’s, patterns and pockets …  gifts of middle-aging that I love to accept and embrace! As for those I’m not so enthused about, that’s another story …

The culture of complaining

Anyone who has lived in this country for any amount of time will be familiar with our culture of complaining. It is as entrenched as our culture of having lengthy conversations about the weather, often as a conversation starter or entrée that may or may not lead to meatier talk with more substance.

Sometimes we even combine these two cultural norms by complaining to anyone we have contact with, about the weather. We may then extend this to blaming the weather for anything we don’t like, including how we feel! This is not to detract from the very real condition Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) that arises in response to insufficient light for some systems to maintain a good enough mood.

Anyway, I was compelled to write this piece following my time sat in a local GP surgery awaiting an appointment (thank you God for the miracle of getting one – please note that God’s help is available to all who ask  – please also note that this does not instantly translate in to getting what you want when you want it. However, he is good at meeting our needs. Don’t take my word for it, try for yourself).

While waiting for my appointment, I observed the receptionist going about their work. They greeted all with an open, beaming smile and proceeded to inform, explain, acknowledge and assist all who approached them while maintaining a calm, professional, efficient manner. I was impressed. We all know the NHS is straining under the weight of more people trying to access it than they have resources to meet. Which must make it pretty challenging for all those working within such a reality to do what they can while maintaining a positive attitude. With varied results from the over strained system.

It occurred to me that GP receptionists often get stereotyped in unflattering ways, when we can’t get what we need from them. Being ill in any way is stressful enough without having to fight for help, or to find your way through administrative errors over appointment details. Illness is stressful and the NHS is over stretched and stressed. All of this makes for an incredibly challenging context for all, which can be made worse for us patients by a receptionist for whom everything is too much to do, or whose standard response is,

‘The computer says no’.

All of which makes those receptionists that go out of their way to ease an already difficult process, worth their weight in gold.

As I sat thinking about this, I scanned the waiting room for any sign of a visible process for flagging up good service. I spotted a notice board outlining the complaints/problems us patients have experienced along with the improvements implemented by the surgery to address them. But I couldn’t see any evidence of how to offer thanks when things go well.

I’m not against complaining as complaints are critical (no pun intended) to informing what processes need to be addressed and improved as well as preventing known mistakes from re-occurring. We probably all agree with the need to have complaints procedures in place. And I too have written a letter of complaint following a consultant appointment that left me worse at the end than I was at the start. There is a time for all things under the sun … and clouds. But we do need balance. We need to complain, and we need to compliment, for it is both sides of life that make it whole, balanced and most manageable. And personally, if I got heaps of complaints while doing my best in an under resourced service, and few, if any, thanks, I’m not sure how motivated I would feel to keep going. I see that the surgery is currently advertising for new receptionists. (I’m praying for more of the ‘worth their weight in gold’ type – no pressure to the candidates!).

I wondered how hard it would be to place a small box on the reception counter next to a pile of small, simple forms, to complete to give thanks for whatever service you particularly appreciated. And what impact that could have on those working behind the counter as well as those approaching it.

Life will always bring experiences we dislike and complain about, as well as those we like and don’t complain about, or even compliment, as well as everything in between. I wonder what it would take to develop a culture that is as forthcoming about what IS working, as what isn’t.

We all get to choose what kind of participant in life or patient in a surgery we want to be, or to practice becoming! One who just complains or one who compliments too depending on the experience.

As I reflect on all this, I am reminded that we all carry a set of rules/beliefs/shoulds inside of us, learned through culture and revealed through our actions. I realised that I wanted to feedback to the receptionist what I had observed about the way she approached us patients. But I didn’t. And I didn’t because there were people stood by the counter talking and somehow, I felt embarrassed that I would be judged for saying such a thing. As if there is a more subtle culture at work, at least within me if not others, that says English culture doesn’t openly thank or praise people. Similar but different to how so many people don’t tell those they love that they love them, or why, until reading their eulogy. What a crazy arse about face culture we practice at times! But, like all things, including us, we can change, and we can change culture.

In a similar vein, I once read a comment on the local FB page about a heart-warming interaction between residents (the details escape me – I blame perimenopause). But I remember that it warmed my heart! We need more of this I thought. There will always be reasons to complain but there will also always be reasons to be grateful and give thanks. It would seem to me that each one of us would need to make an active choice to praise what we appreciate as much as we complain about what we don’t, if we want to turn the tide and change culture.

This is my opening contribution …

PS when I spoke to a receptionist on the phone a few days later, I offered my feedback and suggestion. I am practicing doing something, even if it’s not what I really wanted to do, rather than nothing.