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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