The year everything stopped making sense
It started with the sleep. Not the dramatic kind — no drenching night sweats right away, just the nagging 3am waking that left her staring at the ceiling for two hours before her alarm went off. Then the foggy mornings. Then the days when she'd walk into a room, stand there, and have absolutely no idea why she'd come.
She was 44. She was fit, healthy, professionally capable, and completely bewildered. She'd managed teams, run projects, juggled work and family and everything else — and suddenly she couldn't remember where she'd left her keys, again, for the third time that week.
Her GP suggested stress. Maybe depression. Would she consider antidepressants? She went home and cried. Not because the suggestion was unkind, but because she knew — in the way women know things about their own bodies — that this was something else entirely.