From Perimenopause to Pregnant

I Pleasured Too Hard

Well… This was not on the vision board.

Not the one for this year, anyway.

Because on Monday morning, I was sitting in a doctor’s office being calmly and professionally informed that I had officially entered the glamorous and mystical phase of life known as perimenopause.

Which, if you haven’t yet had the pleasure, is essentially the hormonal equivalent of someone taking your nervous system, your metabolism, your sleep, your patience, and your sanity… and putting them all in a blender.

The verdict?

“Yes, Emma, we think it’s time to start HRT.”

Brilliant. Fantastic. Wonderful.

A woman of a certain age. Hormones declining. Body doing mysterious and inconvenient things. I nodded, thanked the doctor, and left feeling like I had just been handed my official entry ticket into midlife womanhood!

Graceful. Mature. Hormone-assisted. And then…

Friday.

Just four days later…

I found out I was pregnant.

Now. I would love to tell you that I handled this revelation like a calm, grounded, embodied CEO™.

I did not.

I stared at the pregnancy test like it had personally betrayed me. Because what exactly had happened here? On Monday my ovaries were essentially being declared semi-retired. By Friday they were apparently hosting a comeback tour. And suddenly the phrase “perimenopause” felt… slightly premature.

Let me be clear.

This pregnancy was not the result of meticulous planning, ovulation tracking apps, or sacred fertility rituals under the full moon.

No.

This was the direct result of living my life according to the philosophy I wrote an entire book about.

The one that says: Follow your pleasure.

Which, it turns out, is excellent advice for life, business, creativity and embodiment…

…but occasionally has unexpected side effects.

Because when you spend years teaching women to reconnect with their bodies…

When you tell them to stop living like exhausted robots…

When you start actually practising what you preach…

When you stop forcing and start living from pleasure…

Apparently your body sometimes goes:

“Ah yes. We are thriving now. Let’s make a baby.”

Now before we continue, I want to say something very clearly.

This past year has been… a lot. Health scares. Financial chaos. Life doing those wild, unpredictable plot twists that nobody puts on Instagram.

There have been moments where I have felt like life has been throwing punches faster than I can duck.

And then suddenly… This.

This tiny, unexpected, completely unplanned spark of life. Which, if you think about it, is actually very on-brand for the universe. Because the universe rarely asks for permission. It just shows up like:

“Hi. Here’s the next chapter.”

So yes.

On Monday I was preparing to medicate my hormones. And by Friday my body had apparently decided to manufacture its own.

Honestly, I’m impressed. And slightly annoyed. But mostly impressed.

The funniest part of all of this is how perfectly it reflects the entire message of Unfuckwithable. Because the truth is, life rarely unfolds in neat, controlled timelines.

You can plan.

You can strategise.

You can map out the next ten years with colour-coded spreadsheets.

And life will still show up like:

“Lovely plan. Here’s something else.”

The real power — the real unfuckwithable energy — isn’t in controlling life. It’s in how you meet it.

And right now? I’m meeting it with a mixture of: Shock. Gratitude. Mild terror. And a very strong cup of tea.

So hi, I’m Emma, the Embodied CEO, and welcome to my little world of chaos.

Because the truth is… Life is messy. Bodies are wild. And pleasure?

Pleasure has a funny way of creating things we never saw coming. So here we are.

From perimenopause to pregnant…

in four days flat.

Honestly, if that isn’t proof that life has a sense of humour, I don’t know what is. And if nothing else, this entire situation confirms one very important thing: I may have accidentally followed my own philosophy a little too successfully.

I pleasured too hard.