29/04/2025
The Woman in the Mirror
Once, she had it all figured out—or so it seemed. A successful corporate job, a home with children coming and going, and a certain kind of comfortable routine. Divorced, after marriage hell then peri-menopausal, and firmly lodged in the middle of life’s second act, she found herself not unhappy… but far from fulfilled.
Every morning, she looked in the mirror and told herself she was fine on her own. Independent. Over it. But deep down, she craved connection—someone to laugh with, to share life with. Things had become dull, stagnant. Her body was changing, softening, thickening. Her energy was fading, and she knew something had to shift. Feels like its getting worse each week and the scale keeps moving in the wrong direction. She feels physically weak and her waistline is growing to the point her stomach gets in the way. Such an uncomfortable feeling truly feels s**t.
She thought about the gym—but dismissed it just as quickly. All she could picture were grunting men lifting weights twice their size, and women in skin-tight leggings, gliding through the space like they owned it. The scene felt alien, performative, and full of judgment. Not for people like her. “That’s just not me,” she’d say… but maybe it should be.
Aging, she realized, wasn't about flaunting what you’ve got in a gym mirror. It was about rebuilding—gaining strength, resilience, confidence in a new way. But where do you start when you have no idea what to do? The thought of hiring a personal trainer left her cold. She’d tried not once but twice. First a 30 something lady, skinny like a ballerina who has no concept of what to do with my bad knees and aching hip and again with a jock head with building muscles and not much else has me bouncing around and so uncomfortable She gave up after one session. When she mentioned menopause to both and got a blank stare back, grimacing and hoping she would drop the importance of the subject. We're not sure who was more uncomfortable. She told the girl how she was having a homonally low day and was met with awkward silence. “It’s all going to go away let go to the rower for 1000 meters,” as if hormones were imaginary and never changed how you thought.
She tried a Pilates class as suggested by the front staff—led by a graceful woman in her mid-50s who weighed barely 45 kilos and floated across the room like a swan. While she encouraged the class with chirpy “Good job!”s, her eyes seemed to say, Why are you even here? The exercises were brutal. One move repeated endlessly. Sore for days. She left feeling worse, not better. Defeated, she never returned.
Now, each week brought the same message: You’re getting weaker. Stiffer. Sadder. Movement felt harder. Sleep was worse. And the less she moved, the more the ghosts of old traumas came back to visit. Walking helped calm her mind, but her weight stayed, her strength didn't return, and her back ached from hours at a desk. Even getting out of the car made her knees and hips scream.
The physio gave her exercises—an app, a printout, a checklist. But motivation was thin, and results were thinner. Every visit costs money. Another referral. Another test. Peri-osteoporosis. A ticking clock of fragility. She was tired—tired of the endless effort with no reward.
Blood pressure rising. Cholesterol creeping. And her old size-14 clothes? Gone. She’d given up on them years ago. Now, her size 16s were her “skinny jeans,” and 18-22s fit comfortably. She wasn’t chasing slimness anymore—just strength. Just independence. She didn’t want to end up in a chair, in a home, dependent on someone to lift her up.
But the trainers she remembered didn’t listen. Box jumps? Treadmill sprints? No way. She’d told them about her knees, her fears. They didn’t hear her. She was scared, overwhelmed, and she couldn't afford another dead-end program. Not now.
And yet… she needed help.
Not from someone barking orders, but someone who saw her. Someone who understood that strength isn't about squats and sweat alone—it’s about reclaiming the parts of you that you thought were gone.
She wasn’t lazy. She was lost. And more than anything, she wanted a path back to herself.
Absolutely—here’s the continuation of your story, shaped into a vivid, emotionally resonant narrative while staying true to the original voice and tone. This version flows directly from where the first left off:
Part Two: The Comeback
She was scrolling again—another restless night, another loop of reels and advice from people half her age and seemingly immune to gravity. But one face kept popping up. A woman named Danielle, from Body Come Back. A personal trainer in her mid-50s—quirky, relatable, and real.
Danielle didn’t scream motivation into a camera or pose in crop tops on Bosu balls. She laughed, shared honestly, gave tips that made sense, and something about her just... felt right. Her posts weren’t filtered perfection—they were doable. Sensible. Human.
She clicked the link to her website and started reading. Danielle’s bio wasn’t full of fluff. It was grounded, experienced. But it was one line that stopped her in her tracks:
“We all had it once. Now let’s get it back.”
That hit her.
She had it once. The energy. The strength. The body she felt good in—not skinny, but alive.
She kept reading:
“We understand that losing weight and gaining muscle can be challenging. Our goal is to help you overcome the hurdles and reach your goals. We consider all areas of health: hormones, stress, sleep, injuries, arthritis—everything that affects your training and nutrition. Then, we create your individualised plan.”
Finally, she thought. Someone who will actually listen.
That was always the problem with the younger trainers—they heard the words but never really heard her. They just wanted to throw her into burpees and box jumps and tell her to tough it out. But Danielle? Danielle spoke her language.
She hesitated—but only for a moment. Then she picked up the phone.
The First Meeting
She arrived early and sat nervously at the edge of a bench in the corner of the gym. Part of her still expected the same old spiel, another disappointment.
Then she saw her—Danielle. Walking in confidently, warmth radiating before she even said a word. She strode right up, smiled, shook her hand firmly, and asked:
“How can I help you?”
Not what are your goals, not how much weight do you want to lose, but:
“Where are your pain points? How’s your sleep? What does a day in your life look like? How do you feel about it all?”
It wasn’t a consult—it was therapy. The best thirty minutes of talking she’d had in years. She told her story—the whole thing. The kids, the career, the marriage that ended, the daily overwhelm, the creeping fear of losing strength and independence. And Danielle didn’t blink. She just listened. Nodded. Asked more. Affirmed her. Celebrated her.
For the first time in ages, she felt heard. She felt seen.
They didn’t just talk about workouts. They talked about what would actually work. What she could do, what she wanted to do, and how to build something she could sustain on her own. Danielle wasn’t selling dependency—she was offering empowerment.
“I’ll teach you so well that you won’t need me,” she said with a smile. “But you’ll want to keep coming back—not because you have to, but because we’ll build something great together.”
It felt real. Gentle. Powerful. And affordable.
She left that session buzzing with hope. This was what personal training should feel like. Not punishing. Not transactional. But transformational. They never mention weight loss or diets, but the clothes feel looser.
Now, weeks in, she’s moving more, sleeping better, and even smiling at herself in the mirror again. She's not chasing her 30s—she’s creating her comeback. Her own version. Stronger. Smarter. Supported. Everything has a new silver lining now and her attitude to trying new things is driving her to try new things and join new social groups. Just 6 weeks ago she is a new woman and getting stronger, more confident everyday.
And the best part?
She’s proud of herself. Genuinely, deeply proud.
Because this time, she’s not just getting fit—she’s taking herself back. Mind, Body and Soul!
