Articles from February 2025

Confused, I repeated the doctor’s words back to her. ‘I have endometriosis?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘And I recommend going straight for IVF, promptly.’

I was too stunned to speak. What had started as a check of my reproductive health after trying for a baby for nearly a year was now more serious.

While I’d expected some complications with conceiving as a result of my 16-year-long battle with anorexia, I never could have predicted this.

Growing up I’d had a stable, happy childhood and no serious body image concerns.

However, at age 20 when I started my PhD, I joined the gym for the first time in my life.

I wasn’t striving for skinny, just aiming to feel ‘toned’, strong and healthy. But very quickly I became obsessed with the calorie counter on the treadmill as it represented all the food I was ‘earning’ – not that I ever did repay myself.

Though I didn’t know it at the time because I was on the pill, I had stopped menstruating around this period due to being underweight.

By the time I turned 21, my obsession with being ‘virtuous’ turned into a full-blown eating disorder.

It felt like I was saving up for a day when I would eat all the food I’d ‘earned’ but that day never came.

In 2007, now 22 and feeling trapped, I sought help from university health services and was officially diagnosed with anorexia.

It made me feel like an imposter, not least because by this point I wasn’t yet drastically underweight.

So, I carried on as I had been. Before long, I was exercising every day and eating in a restrictive, ritualistic way.

None of it was enjoyable, but I felt unable to live any other way. In my mid-twenties I moved cities to start my first job and was quite reclusive, unable to socialise because of my strict gym regimes and fear of eating anything other than my safe foods in the environment of my flat, which I rented alone.

A few years later, however, I requested help again as, by now, my weight was dangerously low.

I knew I looked visibly ill and my family and friends were very concerned. I was also absolutely sick of being trapped in a disordered lifestyle.

I went to a new doctor, who took me off the pill, which I’d been on since I was a teenager, as he suspected my menstrual cycle would have been stopped anyway due to my weight.

Sure enough, even after stopping contraception, my periods were absent.

My eating disorder was obviously doing serious damage to my reproductive system, which scared and saddened me.

Inpatient treatment was suggested but I refused because I just couldn’t see myself living in a hospital.

I therefore began treatment as an outpatient at a NHS eating disorders unit. Despite this, my weight continued to decrease and, just days before my 29th birthday, the mental health crisis team arrived on my doorstep.

I came to realise that gaining weight was my way out of this mental torture, as the brain needs nourishment to think clearly

They told me the eating disorder unit had a bed waiting for me, insisting I needed to go into inpatient treatment. Once again I refused, forcing the crisis team to conduct an assessment, there in my living room, to see if they could section me.

I answered their questions in a way that avoided that fate, but it left me frozen in stasis – I felt I had no fight left.

Gradually I gathered strength and decided to garner more agency over my recovery.

I leaned into self-help, including podcasts, books and blogs, and my love for science was ignited in learning about the mechanisms of this complex illness.

Through this, I came to realise that gaining weight was my way out of this mental torture, as the brain needs nourishment to think clearly.

Slowly, I saw food as a sort of medicine.

I started gaining weight and the mental torture slackened. I stopped all exercise except walking and introduced more food, and more variety, into my daily intake.

Importantly, I started seeing eating as an opportunity to challenge anorexia by realising what my illness wanted me to do, and doing the opposite.

In the midst of these difficult years, I’d met my soulmate and, in February 2020, we got married – my weight just within ‘healthy range’.

Against all odds, when I was almost 36, my periods restarted.

They weren’t regular, which I put down to ongoing recovery, but suddenly, the thing we’d barely dared to dream about  – having children – was now a possibility. I felt proud, hopeful and with a renewed sense of responsibility.

But when we still weren’t pregnant after a year, we were referred to reproductive medicine and received that shocking endometriosis diagnosis.

I’d presumed the reason I wasn’t getting pregnant was that my body needed help ovulating, that I’d be given some tablets to encourage ovulation and that a baby would follow soon after.

Now I was facing IVF and the fact I had endometriosis without knowing it?! I felt blindsided.

On reflection, the fact that the disease had been hidden was understandable. Endometriosis can be silent, but I may have noticed symptoms – perhaps irregular, painful periods – had I been menstruating throughout my adult life.

Specifically, I have something called ovarian endometriosis, large cysts which have damaged my egg quality and quantity, which has significant implications for fertility.

‘Combined with your low egg reserve and age of 37, there’s no point bothering with less invasive forms of treatment because your chances of success are too low,’ the doctor explained kindly.

I was crushed, and daunted.

After seeing me through a life-threatening mental illness, my husband and I had thought our battles were mostly behind us.

We’d come out stronger together so we could get on with being married and starting a family, but now there was another hurdle in our way.

As it later transpired, my endometriosis was all over – spreading to my pelvis and twisting my fallopian tubes – meaning we’ve had to face the fact that, even with IVF, our chances of success are relatively low.

Determined not to give up, we’ve followed the doctor’s advice and started treatment –  our fertility crusade continues.

So far we’ve been through 10 egg retrievals, 9 embryo transfers but zero pregnancies. We are still holding out hope and, fortunately, our relationship seems to go from strength to strength with every setback.

Had I not been ill for almost the first decade of our relationship, we’d probably have started trying for children sooner.

If we had, maybe my endometriosis would have been discovered at an earlier age before my egg reserves were so damaged, so treatment could have started quicker and improved our chances.

During recovery I’d become philosophical about my eating disorder, almost grateful to anorexia for the empathy, compassion and resilience it gave me. I was even starting to accept its part in my life trajectory.

Now though, I will never forgive it for its part in infertility. 

If I could go back to 2006 and drag that young woman off the treadmill, or smash the calorie counter, I would.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

In the world of pro wrestling, when both your shoulders are pinned down flat on the ring and the referee counts to three – otherwise known as a three-count – you’ve lost that match.

I’m a pro wrestler and my shoulders have been pinned down in that way many times.

I’ve often been unable to ‘kick out’ – using my legs to break out of the pin and get my shoulders off the mat – before gingerly walking backstage to shake my opponent’s hand.

I expect it in the ring; but I would have never thought my shoulders would be flat on a hospital bed instead, as I was wheeled into an operating theatre to remove a tumour from my kidney. Diagnosed with renal cell carcinoma – stage 3 kidney cancer – I faced my biggest opponent yet.

It started on a perfectly normal evening.

I was at home playing Call of Duty: Warzone with the boys in lockdown 2020. We were all joking around, waiting for the next game to start. I got up to use the bathroom, and that’s when my world shifted.

Blood. In my urine. A vivid, unmistakable red.

What was happening? My thoughts raced but I convinced myself it wasn’t worth spiralling yet.

That was the beginning of my journey with kidney cancer.

After that initial shock, I went back to my game, trying to shake the unease. ‘Hey, something weird just happened,’ I said casually, as if downplaying it might make it less real.

When I told my friends about the blood, the joking around stopped. Their concern was immediate, but so was their advice: ‘You need to get that checked out.’

But the macho wrestler in me decided to leave it for a few more weeks, ignoring the daily image of blood in my urine. It became increasingly red but I continued to brush it off. Google told me it could be a UTI, so that was the narrative I stuck with.

Around this time, I started noticing other changes too. My appetite vanished. I could barely eat half of what I normally would – I had always had a big appetite from lifting weights.

But I dismissed it, blaming lockdown and not being able to work out how I did due to the gyms being closed. So, I accepted my 7kg muscle loss.

I eventually told my sister. She’s the kind of person who doesn’t mince words. ‘Adil,’ she said firmly, ‘You have to see a doctor.’ I brushed it off at first but her insistence stuck with me, and when I saw blood again a few days later, I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

I finally booked an e-consult with my GP, a month after the initial red flag. The doctor’s voice grew serious as I spoke over the phone and they immediately referred me for tests.

From that moment on, everything moved fast: blood tests, urine samples, ultrasounds, a cystoscopy, CT scans, and finally a biopsy. Each appointment brought a mix of dread and hope. ‘Maybe it’s nothing,’ I’d think. But also ‘What if it’s something?’

The day of my diagnosis is etched into my memory. I asked to be called with my biopsy results instead of traveling 45 minutes to Hampstead’s Royal Free Hospital. I just wanted them to rip the band-aid off.

‘You have kidney cancer,’ said the doctor on the phone.

Time seemed to slow down. I remember staring at the floor, trying to process what that meant.

Cancer. How? Why me?

All I could think about was how drastically my life had just changed, but I needed my mindset to be bulletproof.

The decision to have surgery was made quickly. My tumour was large, and surgery was the best, and only option to remove it before it could grow further. I was terrified but also relieved that something could be done.

Between my diagnosis and the surgery, only a few weeks passed, but those weeks felt endless. The wait was agonising. I spent a lot of time reflecting, praying, and trying to prepare myself mentally for what lay ahead.

The surgery was physically and emotionally gruelling – my abdomen was bandaged up, I was still high from the anaesthesia and sat in an empty ward with no friends and family around me as lockdown restrictions were still active.

The pain was intense, but so was the relief – the tumour was gone. The surgery had been major – they’d removed my entire kidney, so recovery was slow.

There were days of frustration and tears, as I processed what I’d been through and struggled to adjust, but also moments of gratitude. Friends and family rallied around me – their support was a lifeline through the tough days.

When I got the all-clear that I was cancer-free, ‘Alhamdulillah’ was the first thing I said. The Arabic phrase meaning ‘All praise to God’ captured my overwhelming relief and joy.

But the experience left its mark, which is why I decided to share my story and make a documentary – ‘Wrestling with Cancer’. It’s a self-made project, directed by me, with my good friend as the director of photography Saif Babur, and SHXRPSHOOTRS production house.

It went to film festivals worldwide and is aimed at helping others going through similar battles – we talk to other cancer survivors and their journey, raise awareness about cancer, and show that there is hope, even in the darkest moments.

Working on the documentary has been incredibly rewarding, and given me the opportunity to go on national TV to tell my story – it has turned this from a negative into a positive.

I also get DMs from newly diagnosed cancer patients saying that they didn’t think there could be any light at the end of the tunnel, until they found my story.

It’s important I tell people that cancer cannot put you in a box and shackle your life down – instead it gives you the biggest fight of your life and if you are blessed to overcome it, anything is possible.

These days, I’m back to acting and wrestling, a passion I’d put on hold during my treatment.

Getting back in the ring after one year post op was both terrifying and exhilarating. My body felt different, but it also reminded me of my strength and what I’d overcome.

If there’s one thing I want readers to take away from this, it’s this: Listen to your body. Don’t ignore the signs, no matter how small they seem, and contact your GP to get checked.

When faced with challenges, lean on the people around you. Their support can make all the difference.

Cancer changed my life, but it also gave me a new perspective.

My doctor told me that I still have to live with the fact that there’s a one-in-three chance my cancer will come back, but I’m more determined than ever to live fully, to chase my passions, and to make every moment count.

But finding cancer early makes it more treatable, so I won’t be putting off any warning signs in the future.

There’s no way in hell I’m letting cancer pin me with my shoulders down for the three-count. Instead, you best believe I am kicking out.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing izzie.price@metro.co.uk.

I’ll never forget the moment my cardiologist looked at me, shook his head, and said: ‘You were cutting it fine, Mr Howells.’

I was sitting in his office, gripping the arms of the chair a little too tightly, as he explained that one of the main arteries in my heart was dangerously blocked, and could have failed at any moment.

When I signed up for a health assessment, I wasn’t expecting much more than a reassuring nod from a doctor, and to be told to keep doing what I was doing.

I was 73, living a busy life as an artist in Cornwall, and felt pretty healthy all things considered. I walked my dog every day, I’d quit smoking years ago, and hadn’t experienced any major health issues.

But something nagged at me. A little voice in my head said, Just check, it can’t hurt. So, on instinct, I booked the test.

I’d seen Bluecrest’s ads online for these full health MOTs, and since they weren’t offering them through the NHS where I lived at that time, for £189 I thought it was worth the money.

I went to a clinic just around the corner from me, had a few blood tests, a body composition scan, as well as testing things like blood pressure, and heart rhythm. The process was easy, and I was told I’d have my results within a week – so to be honest, I didn’t think much more about it after I left the room.

What happened next changed everything.

The first red flag came in the initial results: an irregularity in my heart.

It wasn’t something I had ever worried about before – I’d never had chest pains, never felt faint. That’s what was so scary about it all.

I took the report to my GP, who immediately referred me to a cardiologist and everything happened quickly after that. A series of tests followed, each one seemed more urgent than the next, and finally, an angiogram confirmed I had a serious blockage in one of my main arteries.

The cardiologist was very clear with me. Without intervention, I was at high risk of a heart attack.

I sat there, stunned. I’d gone into this process expecting a routine check-up and was now facing the reality that my heart was apparently a ticking time bomb.

I underwent an angiogram – where a dye was injected into my arteries to highlight the blockage – and there was no debating the result.

It was clear to see most of the blood vessels filled smoothly with the dye, with an obvious gap where the blockage was. Seeing it for myself really drove home the seriousness of the situation.  

A stent was fitted immediately to restore my blood flow, and though it was uncomfortable and sore for a little while afterwards, it was nothing compared to the likely alternative outcome.

I thought I was in the clear at this point. It was an ordeal, but something I could move past and continue what I thought was a healthy life.

As I got my strength back over the next few weeks, I felt grateful that this had been picked up early and was seemingly in the past. But my health journey didn’t stop there.

A follow-up CT scan a few weeks later revealed new abnormalities in my lungs. After further tests, I was diagnosed with emphysema, a chronic lung condition.

This was news to me, and if I hadn’t had been in the doctors following up on my health MOT results, they would have never taken a closer look at my lungs.

I’d just overcome one issue, to be hit with another felt insurmountable.

I had assumed that my breathlessness was just a normal part of aging, or due to my use of pastels in my artwork. To learn that the damage had already been done from smoking, even though I had given up 25 years ago, felt like a huge blow.

I overhauled my lifestyle: while I had always been active, now, I was focussing more on breathing exercises and ensuring my environment was lung-friendly (goodbye smoky venues, dust and pet hair).

The diagnosis also forced me to reconsider how I worked. I said farewell to the pastels that had helped me to create beautiful (but dust heavy!) pieces, and shifted to acrylic painting – a cleaner alternative.

Artistically speaking, it’s been a challenge as I feel like I’m starting from scratch again. But I also knew it was a necessary shift, and one I’m glad I made as I’m getting better every day.

As for my nutrition, whereas before I’d eat red meat, roast dinners, the lot, now I follow a plant-based wholefood diet.

If you’d have told me 10 years ago that I’d genuinely be enjoying meat-free dinners and wholefood salads I’d have laughed!

But what happened to me is no laughing matter, and I’m determined to take it seriously.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

Gen Z workers who are fed up with the corporate grind are taking micro-retirements for a better work-life balance.

The trend, which has emerged on TikTok, sees workers stepping away from their jobs for extended breaks, despite being far away from the traditional retirement age.

According to videos posted on the app, micro-retiring allows them to focus on themselves, ‘make the most of their youth’ and ‘optimise their mental health’.

‘It’s basically where, throughout your career, you take time off instead of waiting and deferring until you’re older to take all of your retirement,’ TikTok user @anaisfelt explained.

Having been on a micro-retirement for six months after quitting her corporate job, she claims she’s ‘never felt better’ and ‘highly recommends it.’

The creator explained she saved a ‘sizeable chunk’ of money which allowed her to take the break.

The length of time can vary from a few weeks to a year, or even longer, with people using the time to travel, work on personal projects, or recover from burnout. Many plan to return to work feeling more refreshed and motivated afterwards.

In another video, British creator Adama Lorna told her followers: ‘It’s this idea that instead of waiting until you’re 60 or 70 to travel the world and try and indulge in hobbies, you do them when you have your youth, energy and health – you dot them around your life.’

She added that the mini-retirements ‘frees up your mind to think about so many other things’.

However, not everyone is convinced by the trend. Some have dismissed it as nothing more than an extended holiday.

‘You’re literally just going on holiday,’ one person commented under the video. Another added: ‘In other countries, they just take a holiday and have retirement too.’

Others wonder how you would transition back into the workplace after such a long break. ‘How do you possibly go back to work after the break?’ one user wrote. While some questioned how much you would need to fund the career break.

The phrase ‘micro-retirement’ was first described in The 4-Hour Workweek, a self-help and career guidance book published in 2007 by Tim Ferriss.

With the retirement age set to rise from the current age of 66 and becoming further out of reach for Gen Z, many are opting for these short breaks to avoid delaying their personal fulfilment and well-being.

Metro spoke to psychologist and careers expert Dr George Sik at eras to explain why the recent trend is more than simply taking a holiday.

He explains: ‘Micro-retiring is quite different from a holiday or even a standard career break. A holiday is typically a short escape, lasting a couple of weeks, and while it provides rest, it doesn’t allow for the deep reset needed to truly combat burnout or reassess career goals.

‘Many people return from holidays still feeling workplace stress or quickly falling back into the same routine.’

Dr Sik claimed that micro-retirement can be a proactive way to combat burnout by allowing individuals to ‘fully recharge’ – rather than just finding ways to manage stress day-to-day.

He adds: ‘Unlike annual leave, which often isn’t enough to truly disconnect, these intentional breaks provide the space for rest, personal growth, or travel.’

A 2025 report from Mental Health UK found that one in five people need time off work due to burnout, highlighting a growing concern in the UK workforce.

Young workers are also reporting lower levels of job satisfaction, according to a Pew Research Centre survey from last year.

Micro-retiring, Dr Sik explains, can help with career sustainability in the long run.

‘Rather than pushing through exhaustion until a major burnout forces time off, planned breaks can help maintain steady engagement and productivity,’ he says.

From an employer’s perspective, Dr Sik adds: ‘Companies that invest in the well-being of their employees will see benefits in retention and productivity.

‘Today’s workforce, and particularly Gen Z, thrive in environments that support mental health and work-life balance. When employees feel valued and supported, they are more likely to stay with a company and perform at their best.’

Micro-retiring is just one of the many ways they’ve adapted to the challenges of the modern-day workplace.

Some have opted for ‘quiet quitting’ –  which involves employees stepping back from taking on additional responsibilities, leaving work on time, and not volunteering for extra tasks. While some are quitting the traditional 9-5 jobs in favour of side hustles and a better work-life balance.

A recent poll by Santander revealed that three-quarters of Gen Zare not planning to work a nine-to-five job for the rest of their career.

Around 77% of respondents also expressed confidence in their ability to launch and run a business successfully, with 39% saying all they needed to do so was their smartphone.

This shift in mindset has also led many to seek out remote or flexible work, which Dr Sik explains, ‘allows people to continue earning while travelling or taking time off’.

Do you have a story to share?

Get in touch by emailing MetroLifestyleTeam@Metro.co.uk.

Lots of people say that your first time might hurt ‘a bit’.

But when I lost my virginity at 17 it was agony.

It felt like everything inside me was burning and being pulled apart. I remember tensing my whole body, gritting my teeth, wanting it to stop.

And the moment my boyfriend finished, I thought: ‘I never want to do that again.’

I have of course had sex since, but it has always been an ordeal rather than a pleasure. I have always experienced anxiety or dread at the prospect of sex, if it gets to that point of feeling like I can’t make another excuse to a partner.

For years I wondered why I couldn’t enjoy sex in the same way my friends did but it was only in 2019, after turning 35, that I got my answer: I have endometriosis.

My symptoms started with my first period at the age of 13.

Not only was it incredibly heavy – leading me to wear multiple sanitary pads because I was scared of leaking – but I wound up bed bound for days due to severe pain both in my pelvic region, lower back and when using the toilet.

Each month the symptoms were the same and I soon began to dread my period’s arrival.

Knowing this wasn’t normal, I decided to speak to my GP with my mum. At that first appointment I was told I wasn’t special, and that painful periods were a part of life. But I knew something was wrong.

However, no matter how many appointments I booked – sometimes as many as 10 times a year – my concerns were usually dismissed as me being overdramatic, or they’d suggest it must be irritable bowel syndrome (IBS).

Sometimes, I’d have blood tests or be suggested various medications, but nothing ever worked. At no point during those 22 years, did a doctor ever recommend that I see a gynaecologist.

I even had one doctor tell me I was just ‘attention seeking’.

If that was the case then why, when I was 15, did I spend an evening sitting on the toilet, crying in pain, wishing for a hysterectomy?

The whole ordeal made me miserable, so much so that at 16, I was prescribed antidepressants. They didn’t help at all, they just made me feel more isolated – and there was a lot more stigma around mental health then, so I was unable to talk about it.

I always thought my first time would be painful, but when the second, third, and fourth were still as painful, I realised that sex for me was going to be distressing, not enjoyable.

But still, I just wanted to be a normal teenager, who had a ‘normal’ sex life with my boyfriend, despite my first experience.

So, I started faking orgasms. I just wanted to get sex over with as quickly as possible, and then run to the toilet to curl up in a ball, waiting for the pain to pass. I was too embarrassed to talk to my boyfriend about what I was experiencing, in case he saw me as broken, so I would make excuses.

And when I mentioned it to friends in passing, they brushed it off as pain from first-time sex.

As I got older, I began to feel more confident discussing the pain with my partners. But I still didn’t know what was wrong with me, I didn’t have a diagnosis, with the exception of IBS, so it was quite difficult to get them to understand the severity of the symptoms.

And some boyfriends even thought I was still making excuses.

Usually, we had to stop part way through sex, and then, after a while, we just stopped trying altogether. And that’s when, sadly, I learned the hard way that a relationship without sex isn’t much of a relationship at all.

I’ve often felt very lonely, spending most of my adult life single. Dating with a chronic condition is extremely challenging – I have a fear of rejection, and feel anxious thinking about having to share my health challenges with someone for the first time, all over again.

All the while doctors were still struggling to give me any real answers.

Nobody, not even the nurses after seeing me in that much pain during cervical cancer screenings, told me that I was allowed to ask for a longer appointment, without any rushing, or to ask for a smaller speculum to help reduce that pain.

Nor do I believe they ever recorded my more than mild discomfort in my notes.

I’d already spent my teens feeling like no one believed me, and right through my twenties, I never got the sense that had changed. I often felt like I was being gaslit, ignored and disregarded.

Not even when I got pregnant in 2013 at 29, only to heartbreakingly miscarry at 12 weeks, did it raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until six years later, while having an open chat with a supportive colleague at work, that I learned other women have experienced these symptoms too.

‘That sounds like what my wife has’, he said, ‘It’s called endometriosis.’

I sat down with his wife, and we exchanged what we called ‘war stories’. I found that almost all of our symptoms matched up, it was like a weight had been lifted when I finally realised I wasn’t alone.

After that, I immediately arranged to see a gynaecologist privately.

We talked for a grand total of 15 minutes before he told me he was 99% certain it was endometriosis.

Fifteen minutes!

I couldn’t believe it. After spending 22 years with awful symptoms, a 15-minute chat was all it took for someone to work out what was going on. Not long after, I was formally diagnosed. I felt simultaneously elated and infuriated.

Endometriosis is a common menstrual health condition. It impacts one in 10 women and those assigned female at birth and is the second most common gynaecological condition in the UK.

How then, could my symptoms have been missed for all this time? It didn’t make sense.

But then I learned that it takes, on average, 8 years and 10 months from the first GP visit to get a diagnosis; and it’s even higher in Wales, where I live. My case obviously took longer than the national average, but that has to change.

Still, as angry as I was that it took so long to receive the diagnosis, all I wanted to do now was move forward.

In February 2020 I had my first surgery, which confirmed and removed the presence of deep infiltrating endometriosis – it is a rare and severe form of endometriosis that occurs when tissue similar to the lining of the uterus, grows deep into nearby organs. It can affect the bladder, bowel, reproductive system, and other organs.

Sadly, this grew back within six months, and I had two more surgeries the following year to attempt to clear it again.

During the third surgery it was also discovered that I have adenomyosis – a condition like endometriosis, but where tissue grows into the lining of the uterus.

Though pain management and physio provided some relief, the pain was getting so intense that I struggled with daily activities like walking the dog or even walking up the stairs, so eventually I decided to have a total hysterectomy in April 2022. After that, I finally felt that my battle with endometriosis had come to an end.

There have been other battles since – I’ve been in surgical menopause ever since the hysterectomy, which has led to brain fog, arthritis, hot flushes, anxiety and vaginal atrophy (a thinning, drying and inflammation of the vaginal walls, which can occur when you’ve not got enough oestrogen) – but I am gradually improving with HRT.

Annoyingly, surgeons and doctors have all agreed that my endometriosis should have been caught much earlier. If it had, then it wouldn’t have infiltrated so many areas of my body and would have allowed me to make proper choices about preserving my fertility.

I’m also frustrated because I feel like endometriosis has robbed me of what could have been some wonderful and important life experiences, both sexually and in other areas.

There is hope though. As I continue to navigate my life post hysterectomy, I believe I will be able to have a healthy, stable and intimate relationship in the future.

Now all I want to see is more awareness and understanding.

For a start, warnings about painful sex should be taught as part of sex education classes at school. That way young girls will know it’s not normal and be able to speak up as soon as possible.

We also need to encourage doctors and nurses to ask more than the standard ‘are you sexually active or not’ questions.

Ask if sex is painful and to what degree. Yes, it’s a sensitive topic, but the embarrassment of having that conversation would be far less upsetting than the years of agony your patient might be going through.

Most of all, if you are a young woman who is experiencing these symptoms – including excruciatingly painful sex – please speak up about it.

I promise, you are not to blame, you’re not making it up, and you are definitely not alone.

This article was originally published December 27, 2024

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

The UK is home to around 660 different species of spider, and while none of them are poisonous, that doesn’t stop us all being a little bit terrified of the creepy crawlies.

While most of us might run into another room if we spot an eight-legged critter in our homes, one woman is taking more extreme measures.

Estella Kyriacou, 25, is so scared, that she’s installed a tent over her bed as extra protection.

‘Some may call me insane,’ she said. ‘But I think it’s genius.’

The London-based arachnophobe has long had a phobia of spiders, and was horrified when she spotted one in her Clapham flat last year.

She was so distraught, that she even moved into her flatmate’s bedroom for a period of time.

After eventually plucking up the courage to return to her own bedroom, she took drastic measures.

Estella’s first step was to order a mosquito tent on Amazon, but still not satisfied, she has now fixed a tent to her bed for the ultimate protection.

She’s been sleeping under the tent for the past four months – and, she has no plans to change her night-time set up.

Estella, a law student, said: ‘I’ve not seen any spiders since using the tent.

‘But my flatmate, Imogen, and I are too scared of spiders to catch them if they get in the flat.’

Estella does recognise though that when it comes to extreme fear, sometimes it’s best to confront the issue head on.

She added: ‘I don’t really think a psychologist or psychiatrist would be too impressed by it – I know I’m avoiding my fears.

‘But I’m a drama queen – and I’ve been sleeping in it for so long now that it feels normal to me!

‘I know I’m insane – but I’m self aware.’

Arachnophobia is pretty common and there are ways to treat it (though those with the fear might not like the idea).

Exposure therapy is one way to tackle it. In one study, scientists found that people exposed to a series of pictures of spiders for just ten minutes recorded lower fear responses to the creature.

Other options include hypnotherapy, with one therapist claiming he can use hypnosis to cure your fear of spiders altogether.

Do you have a story to share?

Get in touch by emailing MetroLifestyleTeam@Metro.co.uk.

The police probably thought I was dead when they found me that day in April 2018.

Tired of driving around aimlessly all day, I’d pulled over into a layby and laid down for a nap in the car.

The next thing I knew, a policeman was knocking on the window. I heard him tell his colleague to stand back as he reached into his pocket, presumably for something to smash the window with.

I wound it down before he could, but I had no idea what to say.

After all, what do you say when you’ve gone AWOL for a day, your name and photo splashed across local newspapers in a missing person’s appeal?

The policemen asked if I was OK and I nodded, my eyes filling with tears of shame and embarrassment.

They didn’t ask why I’d gone missing – I wouldn’t have been able to explain it anyway – and simply took me home in their police car.

Pulling up outside my house, I felt a mixture of emotions – anger at my husband Mark for reporting me missing (I’d only been missing for the best part of a day), shame at how low I’d sunk, and fear for the future.

I know now that severe personal and professional burnout led to that moment, but you don’t always see it happening at the time.

My path to going missing began a year earlier. I’d been promoted to the manager of a new department at the university where I worked. It was what I had been aiming for, but it meant a lot more responsibility and pressure.

I rose to the challenge initially. I realised I enjoyed making important decisions and feeling like I was in a respected position, so I put my all into it. But when Mark and I decided to get married in December of that year, I soon found myself juggling work with wedding planning.

Add to all that raising two young children, you could say life was already pretty stressful.

Soon we were also getting ready to apply for our eldest’s primary school place and weknew our address would influence where he went. Mark and I wanted him to attend a school near where we both worked, so we realised we would have to move – and quickly.

I’d always considered myself a good multitasker, but suddenly the thought of managing a house move alongside my demanding job, the kids and wedding organisation filled me with dread.

My days consisted of frantically ferrying the boys to and from nursery before and after work, followed by evenings of wedding planning and house hunting. I was mentally exhausted, but even when I finally went to bed, I couldn’t sleep as my to-do list raced constantly through my mind.

After our wedding that December, some of the pressure lifted. Then we found the right house and prepared for the move. However, my nerves were still on edge.

My performance at work started to unravel and I became very defensive with colleagues, feeling like my abilities were constantly being questioned. As a result, a month after we were married, I was signed off work with stress and depression.

I tried to take back control by applying for other jobs and I was offered a new role with a different company. Though it was less money, I’d also have less responsibility – a trade-off I was willing to make to try to preserve my mental health.

Come March, I was relieved to hand in my notice and we moved house at the end of the month. But without giving myself time to recuperate, I started my new job straight after finishing the old one.

After just one day I realised I’d made a huge mistake. I felt completely detached from everything and the next day, rather than going in, I sat outside in the car park.

When I went home I admitted to Mark that I felt overwhelmed with anxiety and guilt and we deicded I should ring my GP in the morning for an emergency mental health appointment.

But when I woke up the next day, on 11 April 2018, I was in no state to call the doctor.

I felt like I was no longer in my body. I was completely disengaged from my life – I didn’t know who my family were and everything felt wrong.

I refused to contact the surgery and Mark was, understandably, furious that I’d gone back on my promise to get the help I needed. But I didn’t care. In fact, I didn’t feel anything. I just wanted to disappear… so I did.

Pulling on my shoes, I grabbed my car keys and walked out of the house leaving my purse and phone behind. The last thing I heard as I shut the door behind me was Mark shouting at me to stay. I ignored him.

I drove aimlessly around my local area all day and I only stopped every now and then to lie down or sob. At one point I even thought about taking my own life – it was a comforting idea – but thinking about my family stopped me.

Around dinner time I was woken up from a nap by the police, who took me home.

I explained to Mark that I had just wanted to escape all the feelings of failure and the weight of expectations for a while. I also admitted to the thoughts of ending it all.

Eventually, after a lot of talk and tears, I agreed to get the real help I needed.

I started counselling and was prescribed medication and I also had a long discussion with Mark about delegating more household responsibilities to him and letting go of control. Truly, every little thing has helped.

I’ve since returned to my love of writing and started a copywriting business. I’ve also learned what my signs of deteriorating mental health were so I know if it begins to happen again.

Of course, I’ll never forget that day – it was my rock bottom. But with working mothers 28% more likely to experience burnout than working fathers, it’s clear this is something we as a society need to get a handle on.

Now I want my fellow working mothers to know it’s OK to get help. I failed to spot the signs before it was too late but you don’t have to.

This article was first published February 8, 2024.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.

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OnlyFans star Lily Phillips, known for sleeping with 101 men in a single day, has announced she’s pregnant.

The sex worker shared her news on Instagram, posting a photo cradling her bump, with the caption: ‘The secret is out, baby Phillips 2025.’

Another image captures two pregnancy tests side-by-side, with the digital test reading ‘1-2 weeks’, suggesting Lily has been keeping her news under wraps for quite some time.

Meanwhile, a black and white video clip shows Lily smiling, along with the caption: ‘It’s official.’

It’s unknown if Lily, 23, is dating, although she told Metro back in October that being in a relationship wasn’t a priority for her.

‘I currently don’t date,’ she said. ‘That’s out of choice, just because I know the dating scene would be hard with me doing this.’

Now though, it seems Lily is turning her attention to motherhood — although her announcement hasn’t completely been met with heartfelt congratulations.

While some followers have wished her the best, a larger number are claiming the reveal is a ‘stunt’ for ‘marketing’ and ‘attention’, with others branding her pregnancy ‘fake news’.

One wrote: ‘This is not real,’ while another added: ‘I’m here for all the gullible comments.’

Last month, Lily was pictured at the AVN Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas, wearing a revealing black bodysuit that showed no signs of a baby bump, which naysayers have cited as ‘proof’ that she isn’t actually expecting.

There’s also the suggestion that the announcement could be a publicity stunt to promote Lily’s recent appearance on the Pillow Talk podcast, where she spoke about her plans to collect men’s semen in a large jar.

Within an hour of Lily’s pregnancy announcement, the podcast posted a collaborative video with the OnlyFans star on Instagram, reusing her announcement clip along with the caption: ‘Congrats Lily who the f**k is the dad?’

It’s a question fans are sure to want answered.

Musician Kenny MacDougall has been among the first to claim to be the father, posting on Instagram with the hashtag #PhillipsMacDougall2025 – but he’s been known to pull publicity stunts before.

Kenny recently claimed to have won a competition to sleep with Lily – and shocked followers when his alleged girlfriend accompanied him to the set. However, the young woman later revealed to Metro that it had all been a stunt to promote some of their own content.

Some commenters are also keen to point out that to fake a pregnancy is undeniably cruel, with @emjanei saying: ‘So many women are desperate to be able to have children and can’t.’

However, to brand the OnlyFans star a liar during her pregnancy could be equally damaging.

How Lily’s journey into motherhood might impact her career is currently unknown – although her plans to have anal sex with 60 men seemed to have stalled.

It was thought that the stunt was in response to rival OnlyFans star Bonnie Blue’s latest feat, where she claimed to have broken the unofficial sex world record by sleeping with 1,057 men in 12 hours. Lily had been making plans to be the first to hold the record, but after being pipped to the post by Bonnie, a feud has since sparked between the two.

However, with no update given on Lily’s latest challenge, which was set to be completed on January 21, questions have been raised as to whether it went ahead or if her pregnancy has put her plan on pause.

Metro has reached out to Lily and her team for comment.

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Get in touch by emailing MetroLifestyleTeam@Metro.co.uk.

‘She was so small, and she was so mighty, and she did that all on her own,’ says TikToker Kaleigh, in between sobs.

‘Was she proud of herself?’ she asks, unable to contain tears.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that Kayleigh was commenting on a great story of tragedy over triumph — and in a way, she was, but not the kind you might expect.

The story currently capturing the hearts of social media users actually centres around a tiny anglerfish, aka ‘possibly the ugliest animal on the planet.’

This tiny fish was filmed by researchers in Tenerife, swimming towards the water’s surface.

What makes this so unusual, is that anglerfish live in the depths of the ocean, thousands of metres below where this one was sighted.

In fact, they even have a special structure on their heads called a ‘lure’ which glows in the dark.

There are 200 species of this type of fish, but the one caught on camera, a black seadevil, has never before been seen so close to the surface. Black seadevils are known to live as deep as 6,500ft under the sea.

There are varying theories for why this little fish was so far away from home. The researchers in the Canary Islands think it could have been swallowed by a predator who brought it to the surface, or perhaps it got trapped in a rising column of warm water.

But, for TikTokers, the fish with a face only a mother could love is a symbol of ‘revelations, change [and] awakening’. Yes, really.

What are people saying about the anglerfish?

The clip has been shared and stitched far and wide, causing rather emotional responses from viewers.

‘I hope she knows a bunch of humans are so proud of her,’ wrote one commenter.

While another described her journey as ‘swim[ing] in light that she didn’t have to make by herself.’

And a third added: ‘I will never trust a person who doesn’t get emotional over this fish. This is now the basis of all my friendships.’

Others were bawling over the tragic fate of the now-famous creature. Local Spanish outlet, Marca, sadly confirmed the fish died, which seemed to make her final swim even more poetic.

‘I saw a comment that said “And for my last day, I think I’ll go see the sun” and I was sobbing!’ read one comment, which received 66k likes.

Others have felt defensive over the fish being labelled ‘ugly’: ‘It’s really upsetting that people keep calling the anglerfish ugly. She was just a girl who wanted to see the sun.’

Not since Nemo have people been so in their feelings about a fish — so what’s going on?

Why are people crying over an anglerfish?

We spoke to Dr. Nivedita Nayak, a psychologist and psychotherapist, who has been following the viral anglerfish video.

She says that, perhaps surprisingly, people are seeing themselves in the little anglerfish.

‘The anglerfish has spent its entire life in the deep, dark ocean, a place of survival and isolation. Now, it is swimming toward something brighter, something unknown, even though it will not survive the journey.

‘That moment feels deeply human. It speaks to endurance, resilience, and the idea of moving toward something greater, no matter the cost. Many people see themselves in that struggle, and it resonates on an emotional level.’

She also shared why this response has been so strong among women in particular.

‘Women often relate to stories of persistence and transformation. The idea of pushing forward even when the future is uncertain, leaving behind a difficult past, or embracing change despite fear mirrors real-life emotional journeys.

‘The way the fish moves toward the light looks like a choice, and that is what makes it feel so meaningful.’

Dr Nayak also pointed out how emotional connection is amplifying this reaction online.

‘When people see others crying over the video, it reinforces their own emotions. The more women relate to it, the stronger the emotional response spreads.

It becomes a shared experience, a moment of collective understanding, which is why a simple video of a fish can feel so deeply moving.’

Meanwhile Dr Norma Scevoli, a chartered counselling ssychologist, tells Metro.co.uk that symbolic imagery can trigger strong emotional reactions, often mirroring our struggles and desires.

‘This video is not just about a fish; it can symbolically represent resilience and the struggle to achieve something meaningful and great, no matter the cost. It is something that many women can identify with, to fight for the light, to be independent, even when it is not clear where the journey will take them. It can be viewed as mirroring personal growth, stepping out of one’s comfort zone and taking control, embracing uncertainty and change, even when it is scary.

‘The fish’s ascent to the surface can be seen as a last statement of rebellion, hope or escape – something that can resonate with those who have ever felt trapped or have longed for more.’

Brb, we’ve ran out of tissues.

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Get in touch by emailing MetroLifestyleTeam@Metro.co.uk.

Flu-ridden, I went to a high street pharmacy chain to stock up on paracetamol, Lemsip and Calpol.

It was January and I had never felt so ill in my life. In fact, we were all sick – my husband, four-year-old, and I.

But when I got to the checkout, I was refused my purchase. The teenager on the till told me that I’d gone over the mandated two painkiller packet allowance.

I’d encountered this rule the previous summer when filling my family’s first aid kit for our two week holiday. So I’d specifically made sure I only had two boxes of painkillers this time – one ibuprofen and one paracetamol, a drink so I could take it immediately, Strepsils and Calpol.

‘Calpol counts as one of the painkillers,’ he told me.

It was either Calpol for my teary four-year-old or paracetamol for my sick husband. I exhaled and tried not to cry. I was hot, tired, and my throat hurt.

‘Sorry, we all agree that Calpol should be allowed,’ he added in solidarity. But there was nothing he could do so I didn’t complain.

It was devastating because it was hard enough just summoning the strength to get out of bed and leave the house. And now I wasn’t allowed to buy what I came in for?

The NHS medical director Professor Sir Stephen Powis has said that this winter flu season is on track to be one of the worst we have ever seen. It’s definitely the worst I’ve ever had.

From the very start of this flu, every day was harder than the last. I went to bed expecting to feel better by the morning, but to my horror, somehow, I woke up each day feeling even worse than the night before.

Downstairs in the kitchen, I could barely hold myself up to pour a mug of tea. I propped my elbow on the kitchen counter and lifted the same kettle I used every morning, only with no strength left in my body, it was a stone heavier. Everything felt impossibly hard.

The whole family was down. The house had fallen to ruin. So I had to venture out to stock up on essentials for the weekend – and that’s when I was refused. 

This best practice guidance was developed by the Government – specifically, the Medicines and Healthcare products Regulatory Agency – to stop ‘stockpiling’.

But by law, the number of pills per over-the-counter pack is 16. That means that a box would last my husband and I one day if we had two pills four times a day.

So it was either go around all the stores collecting them in microdoses, or come back every day to replenish. I put back my husband’s medicine, necked mine with a drink bought in store and carried on to every supermarket and pharmacy I could walk to. 

It’s crazy because they must know that consumers of Calpol are not old enough to go and buy it themselves. They rely on caregivers to purchase it, who often need to buy medicine for the whole family.

What about families with two, or three children? I only have one and it’s hard enough getting the medicine we all need.

As a family, when one child gets sick, everyone does. And if you don’t all catch it at the same time, you slowly go down one by one. You take turns in getting sick, indefinitely, on a loop, all winter.

This winter alone, we’ve had colds, flu, a diarrhea bug, Covid-19, and a chest infection. I’ve personally had tonsillitis twice in the last two months, and one allergic reaction. On top of that, there are school WhatsApp messages about chicken pox, and viral rashes in the class constantly.

So some level of stockpiling is necessary – especially in the winter term and during flu season.

The thing is, I thought I was doing the right thing by not going to the doctors and asking for a prescription. This is because the official advice on the NHS website is, you don’t need to go to the GP for cold and flu.

There’s nothing they will prescribe that you can’t buy over the counter yourself, and it costs the NHS more than it costs you. And as any parent will tell you, they really mean it.

They won’t give anything for a cold, flu or virus. It’s not worth taking a poorly child out of bed for.

So I shouldn’t go to the doctors for a prescription, and I can’t buy it myself either?

The NHS also advises you to stay inside if you have a cold or virus – to stop spreading. I would love to be able to stay in bed and bunker down for a week, but I’m not allowed to ‘stockpile’ medicine – and anything more than two items is deemed unsafe.

I do understand the logic of limiting purchases in an attempt to minimise the chance of ‘accidental or impulsive overdose’.

But I could walk into Tesco and start stockpiling vodka and that would be fine. There are no limits. I could buy 10 litres if I wanted to, with a crate of wine on the side, which I feel would be far more unsafe.

At the end of the day, these rules aren’t in line with any other policies we have, and consumers shouldn’t be babysat when it comes to purchasing everyday, over-the-counter medicines they need.

If the Government isn’t allowing access to these medications via the NHS and requires consumers to buy it from pharmacies and supermarkets themselves, then they need to remove the two box rule.

It’s either that or put it back on prescription and have doctors decide how much we need – not supermarkets or shop assistants.

I don’t want to risk being in this situation again, so I actually have, ironically, started stockpiling for the next bug that takes my whole family out. Albeit, one packet at a time.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.