The menopause diaries, part 3: Meno belly - comment

I’m not one of those women who are blessed with a tall, slender frame and a flat stomach. The last time my tummy looked anything close to trim was probably when I was around 14. Since then, it’s been an ongoing battle of the bulge. 

Every additional pound has settled around the middle of my five-foot frame, like the “muffin top” that Julia Roberts complains about in the film Eat Pray Love where her character actually eats carbs. 

Over the years, I’ve grown used to my spare tire, finding ingenious ways to accommodate and hide it without resorting to elasticated waistbands (button extenders and Spanx are life savers). 

Recently, however, my middle has expanded to such an extent, that I’m no longer able to conceal it with body armor. 

Having droned on about it for months to my long-suffering husband, posts magically started to appear on my Facebook feed about something called “menopause belly,” or “meno belly” for short, and ways to get rid of it. 

Before then, I had no idea there was even such a thing – I just thought my unsightly paunch was something that went hand in hand with getting older. 

Trying to combat menopause belly

So far, none of the things I’ve tried – intermittent fasting, cutting out chocolate and alcohol, and generally, depriving myself of all the things I love – have made any real difference. I’m just at the experimental stage, however, and am confident that once I’ve established what works for me, my growing girth will start to shrink.

Meanwhile, I can no longer wear 99% of the clothes in my wardrobe. 

Anything that fastens around the middle is uncomfortable, and jeans? Forget about it!

On days when I feel a bit like my old self, I squeeze myself into a pair, only to find that by the time I get to work, I have to undo not just the button but the zip, too. Anything less leaves me with a horrendous tummy ache. 

These days, I’ve virtually stopped wearing jeans altogether, apart from one pair that was always too big (they were £5 in a sale, so I thought they might come in handy one day), which I can now just about manage to squeeze into – on a good day. 

Other than that, I’ve taken to wearing loose-fitting dresses, which can leave the legs a bit chilly in the winter months. Heavy tights with their thick waistbands are a no-no, so more often than not, I just grin and bear it. (Although waxing in winter is a complete anathema to me, I’ve had to get used to it.)

Other than flowy dresses, gym clothes are an acceptable alternative, owing to their elasticity. Donning these items of clothing has the added bonus of providing encouragement to avail oneself of the country club facilities which otherwise might go to waste. Win-win!

The ultimate in comfort, however, has to be my fluffy white dressing gown. It’s like a warm, gentle hug that fits me, no matter what. While I see others popping out in various pieces of nightwear (mainly to walk dogs), I’m not quite at the stage where I’m comfortable with wearing my dressing gown outdoors. But I have no doubt I’ll get there in the end.  

The writer is 54 years and three months young.