Today’s blog is about truth. The quiet kind. The kind that does not arrive all at once or on your schedule, but slowly, in small moments, usually when you stop pushing for it.

One of those truths turned up this week in the most unexpected way. I have finally cracked my sleep.

After years of trying every tea, spray, routine and ritual known to mankind, I started taking Vitabiotics Osteocare Original before bed, and within a few days something shifted. I am falling asleep quickly. No replaying conversations from years ago. No lying there negotiating with my brain. I am just asleep.

I still wake up around 3ish because menopause clearly runs on a timetable. When that happens I take a small sip of chamomile tea that has been brewing for about five hours, spray my pillow with lavender like my life depends on it, and then I go back to sleep.

Back to sleep.

That alone feels like a miracle. My sleep has genuinely improved over the past few days and, unexpectedly, my joints feel less creaky too. I no longer sound like an old building settling when I stand up in the morning. A quiet win, but a win nonetheless.

Not all truths arrive quietly though.

Another one arrived with force.

Sugar is not my friend.

The other night I overdid it. Chocolate. Confidence. Poor judgement. I woke up in the middle of the night with menopause ripple anxiety starting in my chest and rolling through my body for absolutely no reason at all. Heart racing. Mind wide awake. Body convinced something terrible was happening.

That kind of night gives you a very clear answer. Since then I have been more sensible, because once your body tells you the truth loudly enough, you listen.

And that got me thinking about another kind of truth. The kind that shows up when you ask a question.

Have you ever noticed how that works. You ask something honestly, quietly, without drama. And some answers come back immediately. Clear. Simple. No delay. Other answers take time. Days. Weeks. Sometimes longer. Not because people are busy, but because they are thinking about what they want to say, or how they want to say it.

And then there are questions that never get answered at all.

Not because they were not heard, but because silence is sometimes the answer.

That does not make anyone bad or wrong. It is just another form of truth. One you eventually stop chasing once you realise that waiting does not change it.

Which brings me to yesterday and the donut situation.

Donuts!

Yes, I ate a donut. Yes, it was Chanukah, so I stand by the decision.

My daughter also experienced what can only be described as a donut fever dream. Hundreds of them. Every colour. Every flavour imaginable. And you might wonder why I would take her there when she has been diagnosed with a liver issue!

Here is the truth behind that choice.

For the past few years, my daughter has not had a normal Chanukkah or Christmas. She has had hospital wards, non epileptic seizures, unknown illnesses, and years of being undiagnosed within the NHS. Multiple symptoms. Multiple conditions. Endless waiting. Eventually, years later, she was diagnosed privately for most of her conditions and recently by the NHS for something else. By then, she had missed out on so much normal life.

So that donut display was not about sugar. It was about normality. Colour. Choice. Letting her experience something joyful and ordinary after years of medical everything.

We did buy donuts. My son had a tiny square of his. Mine had chocolate ganache running through the middle and the entire donut.

Why did I choose it. No idea. My body immediately rejected it and filed a formal complaint.

Dinner that evening started with promise. Gorgeous roasted vegetables topped with 30 percent fat grated cheddar, reheated in the air fryer. Comforting. Sensible. Lovely.

Then came the smoked haddock.

I love smoked haddock in theory.

By the time it cooked it had shrivelled to the size of disappointment and still had the skin on, which I absolutely hate. Leaving me with vegetables, cheese and a deep sense of betrayal.

So yes, dinner was a bit of a disaster.

But here is the final truth of the day.

Not every meal has to be perfect. Not every answer arrives when you want it to. Some truths whisper. Some truths shout. Some truths take years.

I slept better. My daughter smiled.

And honestly, that is enough... and if you’re wondering whether anybody gives a crap anyway some days the answer is probably not but on the days you sleep better, your child smiles, and life feels even slightly lighter that is more than enough for me.