---
type: "article"
title: "Just like that ...I'm on HRT"
newsletter: "Midlife In Motion"
newsletter_handle: "midlife-in-motion"
newsletter_url: "https://midlife.joycestack.com/"
author: "Joyce Stack (@joycestack)"
published: "2026-09-14T20:41:18.525Z"
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---

# Just like that ...I'm on HRT

![Photo by Addy Spartacus on Unsplash](https://fmxorstnlyoqpqdftivs.supabase.co/storage/v1/object/public/article-images/4a011388-6557-4bae-89b7-a98a32a25720/f5b46fe9-8dec-4abe-bdc7-b5e8c7775331/1789418412712-74kd39pp.jpg)

There are certain things one carries on all hiking trips for the just-in-case situation: whistle, foil blankets, spare laces, torch and sticky blue tape for blisters.

Tonight I found a new use for said tape. It is holding my HRT patch in place across my right arse cheek.

J'arrive!

It is Friday. It's been on since Wednesday. It is already pissing me off.

It has had to cope with one sweaty run and several outfit changes. The barely-hanging-on patch feels like a metaphor for women's neurological and hormonal health: a half-arsed attempt, built for women who were probably never consulted.

The pink box (PINK!!! REALLY!!!) has sat in my bathroom cabinet since January. My disdain growing week by week as they confront me. I can trace this back to my experience at the GP's.

I sat in the plastic chair at the side of the table, not across from her. Black cheap leggings, bad shoes. Her. Not me.

"How can I help? You have 8 mins," she asked, and something in me just went — grief, hormones, whether this would help or make things worse, all of it, out in one breath.

"You're 47," she said, "so it's guaranteed hormones."

She asked a few questions on family health and steered me to the blood pressure machine in the hallway.

That was the whole conversation.

No leaflet on starting HRT or where to go next for advice.

Sitting at home sometime later I pull out the HRT leaflet from the box. It's as long as the Bayeux Tapestry.

Blood clots. Breast cancer. Stroke and heart disease. Migraines. Liver issues.

I feel terrified and decide to leave this decision until I feel I really need it.

Throughout the summer months I find I am crying, rage-filled and dealing with brain fog. This time the rage feels different to my usual spirited Irish self. The moment that felt different was leaving the beach due to people being really annoying, stupid, loud and tending to their yappy mutts. I had to leave as the urge to fuck someone out of it was strong.

For months I've been wading through a cognitive fog. Grief changes you neurologically, so that's to be expected. Add to that midlife hormonal changes and the fact that this year has been like no other, workwise.

Since the beginning of the year I have applied AI for lots of deep analysis work. In truth, it's felt like the most energizing work in some time. In between the five heatwaves and insufferable heat I find myself sitting on the sofa pushing the button until late in the evening. Uncharacteristically like me.

These days I sit, pushing the button, and I'm not even engaging with it. It has a certain addictiveness not unlike infinite swiping on a dating app. This time will be different. Sigh. Motivation is low, optimism is low and I'm feeling low-grade depression.

A trip home to Ireland in August saw me get ill, tearful, stressed out and unable to cope with the myriad of mini dramas that occurred that week. These included my mother's newly erected headstone, a 4.5 hr delay to my flight back to the UK, a flat tire going to the airport, sacking off the flight after 4.5 hrs, forgetting to check in for the new flight home the following day, almost missing it AGAIN and forking out an additional £300 quid.

It is a Wednesday evening and I sit on the living room floor and pop my laptop on my coffee table. I like to sit cross-legged, leaning against my long L-shaped sofa. This helps me feel grounded and it's often where I write these blogs from. It is an evening for researching all things menopause. My ambivalent brain seeking some clarity.

I listened attentively to a neuroscientist, with experience in Alzheimer's, dementia and menopause, on Diary of a CEO. I immediately slapped on my first patch once I finished listening to Dr. Lisa Mosconi articulate the neurological transition that I am now embarking on. Finally, I felt someone spoke to my fears of dementia.

I'm not someone who is fearful of getting older. In fact I relish burying my last fuck on many things. I'm looking forward to pirouetting into this transformation a la Diane Carter in Wonder Woman.

Let the transformation begin.

Post #4/100DaysToOffload

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## Discussion (1 reply)

Numbering shows the reply tree: `2.1` is a reply to `2`. Message text is reproduced verbatim as posted.

### 1. Joyce Stack (@joycestack) - 2026-09-14T20:43:02.487Z

Post #4/100DaysToOffload 

Republished this due to formatting issues. 

Anyway HRT is scary AF. Starting it is a mine field of research and self advocacy