I Was Two Different Women Every Month. For Nine Years I Assumed I Was the Problem.

Why "I tried one of those, it didn't do anything" is the most repeated sentence in women's health, and the labelling rule that keeps it true. Go get the bottle you gave up on. I'll wait.

By Lauren Whitaker  ·  May 2025   |   Reading time: 8 minutes

Go get it.

The PMS supplement you gave up on. It's in a drawer somewhere, or the back of the bathroom cabinet, or the shelf above the washing machine with the vitamins you also stopped taking. You didn't throw it out, because throwing it out felt like admitting something.

I'll wait.

And if you've never bought one of these, if you've watched other women order them and quietly concluded the whole category is nonsense, stay where you are. You were closer to right than they were. Borrow a friend's, or just read on, because in about four minutes you'll know exactly what your instinct was picking up on.

Got it? Good. Look at the front first.

Hormone Balance. PMS Support. Clinically studied ingredients. Maybe a leaf. Maybe a soft pink label that looked like it was made by someone who understood.

It looks like it should have worked.

Now turn it over.

Find the ingredient panel. The back, not the front. The part nobody designs and nobody expects you to read.

Now try to find out how much of anything is actually in there.

I'll tell you what you're going to see, because I already know. You'll see one of two things.

Either numbers so small they look like typos. Or, more likely, you'll see a phrase where the numbers should be: "Proprietary Blend." One combined weight for eight or nine ingredients, and no breakdown of how that weight is split between them.

Look at it.

That is the reason it didn't work.

Not your consistency. Not your stress. Not your diet, your sleep, your genetics, or the thing you've quietly suspected since you were twenty-six, that other women are handling something you can't.

That.

The Number Nobody Told You

Here is what a proprietary blend is for.

Under US supplement labelling rules, a company can group ingredients together, print one combined weight, and never tell you how that weight is divided. It is completely legal.

There is exactly one commercial reason to use one.

If a formula lists a 500 mg blend, and 480 mg of that is the cheap filler herb while 20 mg is the expensive one you actually bought the bottle for, the blend is the only thing standing between you and that arithmetic.

And where the numbers are printed, they are often nowhere near the amounts the research used.

In 2024, Nutrition Reviews published a systematic review of 31 randomised controlled trials covering 3,254 women. It looked at what actually moves the psychological symptoms of PMS: the mood, the irritability, the anxiety, the part that never shows up on a pain scale. Vitamin B6 was the strongest signal in the entire review, at 50 mg a day or more.

A dietitian's public teardown of one of the biggest-selling "hormone balance" formulas in the country found it running on three proprietary blends and 1.7 mg of B6. That is enough to meet the daily minimum an adult woman needs in order not to be deficient. It is roughly one thirtieth of the amount the trials were built on.

Those are different things. The label is not required to explain the difference to you.

So you took it for three cycles. Or six. However long you gave it before you decided it wasn't working and, somewhere underneath that, decided you weren't working.

Here's the Part That Should Make You Angry

They know.

These aren't small companies making mistakes. They have formulators. They have regulatory consultants. They have people whose entire job is deciding what goes on the front of the bottle and what goes on the back.

They chose the blend.

And then they let you draw the obvious conclusion.

Because here's what actually happened when it didn't work. You didn't decide the product had failed. You decided you had failed. Not consistent enough. Too sensitive. Too stressed. Probably one of those women it just doesn't work on.

That's the part I want you to sit with for a second. The label didn't just take your $40.

It took your explanation.

→ See what a label with nothing hidden on it actually looks like

---

Nine Years. Around $960. And I Never Turned One Over.

My name is Lauren Whitaker. I'm 34. I have a marketing job at a software company, a husband and a six-year-old, and until eighteen months ago I had two personalities on a fourteen-day rotation.

Not a mood. Not a bad day. Two people.

Day 8, I was myself. Warm, quick, patient. The one who remembers your sister's name. The one who says yes to dinner.

Day 24, I was someone I had to apologise for.

That's the part nobody puts in the ads. They show you a woman clutching her lower stomach, and it's true, the cramps were real, and by twenty-nine I was taking six or eight ibuprofen a day for four days straight without thinking twice about it. But if you told me I could keep the cramps and lose the other thing, I'd have taken that deal in a heartbeat.

Because the other thing was that I stopped being able to predict myself.

I cancelled my best friend's birthday dinner. Told her I had a migraine. I did not have a migraine. I had the specific certainty that if I got in the car I would cry at the table in front of nine people, and I did not have a sentence to explain why.

I had a forty-minute argument about the dishwasher. Not a metaphor. The actual dishwasher.

I stood up in a meeting I had prepared for a week and lost the sentence I was in the middle of. Watched it go. Twelve people watching me watch it go.

My PARTNER developed a way of asking "how are you feeling?" that had a second question inside it, and we both knew what the second question was, and neither of us ever said it out loud.

And here's what nobody warns you about. It isn't two bad weeks. It's two bad weeks and two weeks of bracing. I'd have a good Tuesday and catch myself doing the maths. Nine days. You don't get four good weeks and two bad ones. You get two good ones, then two you spend flinching, and then it starts again.

I started planning around it. Trips, deadlines, weddings, my own birthday one year. Checking the app before I answered anyone about anything.

I want to be honest about the arithmetic, because it's the thing that finally got to me. Two weeks a month is twenty-four weeks a year.

I had been writing off almost six months of every year. For nine years.

What I Bought, In Order

The pink one everybody on my feed was taking. $40. Three months, because you're always told to give it three months.

The doctor-formulated one with nine extracts, which I genuinely liked, and stopped buying because at the rate you're supposed to take it I was going through a box every few days.

The one from the health food shop with the ashwagandha.

Magnesium on its own, for about a year.

Seed cycling, which cost me nothing but four months of grinding flax at 7am and feeling like I was doing something.

Cutting caffeine. Cutting sugar. Cutting alcohol. Cutting, mostly.

Somewhere between $900 and a thousand dollars, if I'm generous to myself about the ones I've forgotten.

Every single bottle went in the drawer.

And every single time, the sentence in my head was the same one. Not that didn't work.

"That didn't work on me."

Two words of difference. Nine years of consequences.

The Eleven-Minute Appointment

I did go to a doctor. Of course I went to a doctor.

I brought data. I'd been tracking for four years by then, I had the correlation on a screen, day 21 to day 28, every month, plain as anything.

She was kind. That's the part that makes it hard to be properly angry about.

She offered me the pill. I said I'd rather not, for reasons I didn't fully articulate and still half stand by. She said the other option was an antidepressant. I said I'd think about it.

And then she said the sentence. Not maliciously. Almost warmly, like she was giving me permission to stop worrying:

"Everyone gets a bit moody around their period."

Eleven minutes. I checked, afterwards, in the car.

I want to be careful here, because this is where a lot of women's health writing goes off a cliff and starts blaming individual doctors, and I don't think that's the story. My GP wasn't being lazy. She was working with what she'd been given.

Which turns out to be almost nothing.

So I Stopped Asking and Started Reading

This is the part where, in a better version of this story, an expert takes me aside and explains everything.

That didn't happen. What happened is I got stubborn, and I spent about five months reading things I was not trained to read. I want to tell you the four facts that rearranged how I thought about my own body. All four are public. Every one of them took me under an hour to find. Not one had ever been said to me in a doctor's office.

One. The International Association for Premenstrual Disorders reports that people with PMDD, the severe end of this, spend on average twelve years looking for answers. Many go through five to seven different providers. Over 75% cycle through multiple options before finding even partial relief.

Twelve years is not a run of bad luck. Twelve years is a system behaving normally.

And if you're not at the severe end, and I'm not as far as anyone has ever told me, that number still tells you something about your own appointment. A system that takes twelve years to recognise the extreme version of a problem was never going to move quickly on yours.

Two. PMDD was only added to the World Health Organization's international classification of diseases in 2019.

Not 1975. 2019.

If your doctor qualified before then, there is a reasonable chance she was never taught it as a condition at all.

Three. In the United States, women of childbearing age were largely excluded from early-phase drug trials until 1993. A protective rule, brought in after thalidomide, with a straightforward consequence: decades of medicine was tested on men and then handed to us. Researchers left female animals out too, because the hormonal cycle complicated the data.

The cycle was treated as noise. That's not a metaphor. It was literally the variable they removed to get cleaner results.

Four. And this is the one I had to read three times.

The World Economic Forum and the McKinsey Health Institute published an analysis of research funding against actual disease burden across 64 conditions. Diabetes accounts for about 2% of the women's health gap, and receives 12.5% of the funding across all 64.

The funding per unit of suffering for diabetes is nearly double that of PMS, menopause, maternal haemorrhage, maternal hypertensive disorders, cervical cancer and endometriosis combined.

One condition. Against six of ours. Roughly two to one.

And this isn't an activist's number. The NIH's own Office of Research on Women's Health has publicly said the analysis shows research funding for women isn't aligned with the burden of disease. That's the institution conceding the point about itself.

I sat with that for a while.

Because I had spent nine years constructing a fairly detailed theory of my own inadequacy, and it turned out the honest version was much simpler and had nothing to do with me:

Nobody solved this because nobody was seriously trying.

→ This is what changed when somebody finally did

---

But That Still Left a Question

Here's where I have to be straight with you, because this is the point where most articles like this one would wrap up with something inspirational about self-advocacy, and I'd have closed the tab.

The dosage thing explained why the supplements failed.

It did not explain me.

It didn't explain why the exact same hormonal shift, the one that happens to every woman every month with roughly the same hormones in roughly the same amounts, was a mildly annoying Tuesday one month and cost me a week of my life the next.

And it didn't explain the thing that had been quietly driving me insane for the better part of a decade:

My bloodwork was normal.

Every time. Normal oestrogen. Normal progesterone. Normal thyroid. A doctor sliding a printout across a desk saying "everything looks fine" while I sat there having lost two weeks of the previous month.

If my hormones were normal and my symptoms were not, then one of those two things was lying.

For nine years I assumed it was me.

It wasn't. And the explanation, when I finally found it, wasn't in the hormone research at all.

It Wasn't My Hormones. It Was the Volume.

I found it in a place I wasn't looking, in a paper about period pain.

Your reproductive system isn't a closed loop. It runs on a chain of command with a name, the hypothalamic-pituitary-ovarian axis, and the research describes menstrual pain, PMS and psychological distress as connected through something that sits outside that chain and modulates it.

Your stress axis. The one that runs cortisol.

Read that again, because it took me a few passes.

Your cycle is not being run by your cycle alone. There's a second system with its hand on the dial. Oestrogen, progesterone and cortisol are not three separate stories. They're one loop, and everybody has been selling me products for two thirds of it.

The moment I understood that, nine years of my own contradictory evidence resolved in about four seconds.

Your hormones didn't change that much. The volume did.

The same hormonal shift happens to every woman, every month. That's not the variable. The variable is how loudly your body plays it, and that is being set by a completely different system, one that responds to load, sleep, stress, illness, and everything else you've spent years being told is unrelated.

It's why the identical shift is a mildly irritating Tuesday in March and takes a week off your life in April.

It's why the woman at the next desk shrugs through the thing that flattens you, and neither of you is lying.

And it's why my bloodwork kept coming back normal.

Because a blood test measures the hormones. It doesn't measure the volume. My doctor was reading me an accurate result. She just wasn't reading the part that was wrong.

I don't need her to have been lying anymore. That's the strange relief in this. Both things were true the whole time.

Now Look at What Every Product on the Shelf Is Doing

Here's the thing I couldn't unsee afterwards.

Go and read the ingredient panels across this category, and I've now read most of them, and you'll notice they're all working the same axis. Chasteberry. Vitex. Dong quai. The reproductive hormone chain, over and over.

Chasteberry appears in at least nine of the twelve leading products I compared.

Nine of twelve.

Which means the thing I thought was shopping around, the pink one and then the doctor-formulated one and then the health-food-shop one, wasn't shopping around at all. I bought the same product four times. Sometimes underdosed. Always on one axis.

And that's the sentence I'd have paid a thousand dollars for, nine years earlier:

Nothing I tried failed. Nothing I tried was ever a fair test.

Those are not the same thing, and the difference between them is nine years of thinking there was something wrong with me.

Everyone is trying to change the song.

Nobody was touching the knob.

→ See the formula built for both

---

The Formula That Finally Made Sense to Me

I want to introduce this the way it was introduced to me, which is as a list of ingredients I checked one at a time against the research, not as a miracle.

The Cycle Gummy from Verdawell. A daily botanical gummy. Two gummies, every morning or evening, whether or not it's a bad week, which matters and I'll come back to why.

Nine active ingredients. They call the architecture Dual-Axis™ support, and as far as I can establish it's the only formula in this category built for both signals instead of one.

Here's how it's put together.

Axis one, the reproductive signal

Vitex agnus-castus, 100 mg. Yes, the same chasteberry that's in everything. I'm not going to pretend it's exotic. What I will say is that it's also the best-evidenced botanical in this entire category. A meta-analysis of standardised extracts across three trials and 520 women found women taking it were 2.57 times more likely to experience remission of symptoms than women on placebo. The ante was never the problem. Being underdosed and undisclosed was the problem.

Axis two, the stress signal. This is the part nobody else is doing.

Shatavari extract, 150 mg. An Ayurvedic rasayana whose proposed mechanism is modulation of the stress axis and cortisol regulation.

Cyperus rotundus, 200 mg. The single largest dose in the formula, and an ingredient no other product in the competitive set uses at all.

The bridge, and the physical layer

Vitamin B6, The strongest human evidence in the formula. It's also a required cofactor for serotonin and dopamine production, and it drives magnesium into your cells, which is why it sits between the two axes rather than on either one.

Magnesium citrate, 100 mg. And here I'm going to do something no supplement page does, which is tell you where the number sits against the research. Magnesium on its own has weak evidence for PMS. The signal is in the pairing with B6, and the trial that found it used 200 mg of magnesium with 50 mg of B6. This formula uses 100 mg, in the citrate form, which absorbs considerably better than the oxide most brands use. So it isn't the trial dose. It's a more absorbable form at half the amount, in a gummy you'll actually keep taking, which is worth more than a trial dose in a capsule in a drawer.

Ginger extract,  For the physical layer. Two meta-analyses found oral ginger significantly better than placebo for menstrual pain, and statistically equivalent to NSAIDs in head-to-head trials.

Turmeric extract, . Curcumin, for a healthy inflammatory response.

Vitamin D3, From lichen rather than sheep wool, which is what makes the whole thing vegan and Halal.

Black pepper extract, And this one is the reason I want to make a distinction most people never make.

There is the dose printed on the label. And there is the dose that actually gets into you. Curcumin in particular is famously badly absorbed on its own. Piperine, the active compound in black pepper, substantially increases how much of it makes it into your bloodstream.

Which is the whole argument of this article, one layer down. It isn't enough for a company to print the number. The number has to arrive.

The Part No Supplement Company Does

I asked them a question I didn't expect an answer to. Which of these actually has strong human evidence, and which of these is tradition?

They told me. Then they agreed to print it.

Ingredient	What the human evidence actually shows
Vitamin B6	Strongest in the formula. 31 randomised trials, 3,254 women, benefit at 50 mg a day or more.
Vitex, 100 mg	Moderate and real, on standardised extracts. The literature has known quality problems and I'd rather say so.
Ginger	Moderate, specifically for menstrual pain. As effective as an NSAID in head-to-head trials.
Magnesium citrate, 100 mg	Weak alone. Meaningful paired with B6. Below the 200 mg used in the pairing trial, in a better-absorbed form.
Turmeric	Real anti-inflammatory evidence. Thinner specifically for PMS than for inflammation generally.
Vitamin D3	Weak on its own, and conditional on whether you were low to begin with.
Black pepper	Not active on PMS. It's here to raise absorption of what is, most clearly for curcumin.
Shatavari, 150 mg	No PMS trial exists. Its human clinical evidence is in menopause, lactation and sexual wellness. It's here as a traditional adaptogen for the stress axis.
Cyperus rotundus, 200 mg	No human PMS trial exists either. It's here on two thousand years of traditional use and its pharmacology. Heritage, not proof.

I've never seen a supplement brand volunteer the bottom two rows.

Think about what it costs them. Their most differentiated ingredient, the one nobody else has, the one carrying the largest dose in the whole formula and the entire two-axis story, and they're the ones telling you it has no trial behind it.

That's when I ordered.

Not because the science was perfect. Because it was the first time anyone in this category had told me where the edges were, and I'd spent nine years being sold certainty by people who were hiding a decimal point.

The Two-Thousand-Year-Old Coincidence

One thing about that last ingredient, because it's genuinely the strangest fact I came across.

Cyperus rotundus appears in the Charaka Samhita, the foundational text of Ayurveda, under the name musta, used for menstrual pain.

Independently, in Traditional Chinese Medicine, the same rhizome appears as xiang fu, described as regulating menstruation and relieving pain.

Two medical traditions. No contact between them. Same plant, same problem.

And here's the part that made me laugh out loud. It's a weed. One of the most invasive plants on earth. Western agriculture spends real money every year killing the thing Eastern medicine spent two millennia cultivating for exactly this.

It isn't proof. I've already said that, and the table above says it in print. But after nine years of being told my symptoms were basically a personality trait, there was something clarifying about two civilisations that never met both deciding this was worth treating.

Go and Do the Thing I Did

Get the old bottle again. The one from the start of this article.

Now put it next to this one.

That's the whole argument, really. Not a claim. A column.

One axis against two, and every milligram on both sides of the page printed where you can see it.

A woman reviewing a competitor left this on a review site, and she liked the product she was reviewing:

"Really wish they broke down how much of each supplement was in their 'blend.'"

She still wanted to know. She'd bought it, it had worked well enough for her to recommend it, and she still wanted to know.

You should be able to know.

→ Read the full panel

---

What Actually Happened, Cycle by Cycle

I want to set your expectations honestly, because the way this category handles timing is the single reason I nearly didn't buy.

You know the instruction. Give it two to three cycles. Which means if it doesn't work you find out ninety days and a hundred-odd dollars later. I'd been through that loop twice, and by the third time "be patient" had stopped sounding like advice and started sounding like the shape of a scam.

So here's what I'd tell you to watch, and when. Two of these you can check long before the guarantee is even relevant.

Weeks 1 to 2. Small, boring, and worth noticing.

Nothing about my period. Sleep, mostly, and a slight change in the afternoon flatness I'd stopped registering as a symptom because I assumed it was just how being thirty-four felt.

Don't over-read this part. But do write it down, because you'll want the note later.

Cycle one. Count the ibuprofen.

I'd been taking six to eight a day for four days. Cycle one, I took 2. I know because I wrote it on my phone, and I'd recommend you do the same thing today, before you have any result to be biased about. It's the most honest before-and-after in this whole category and it costs you nothing.

My first period on it wasn't transformed. It was noticeably less. That's a real distinction and I'm not going to inflate it.

Cycle two. The first thing you notice isn't a symptom.

It's the bracing.

This is the honest early signal, and nobody markets it because it isn't a benefit you can print on a jar. My luteal week arrived and I noticed, afterwards rather than during, that I hadn't spent the previous four days quietly dreading it. I hadn't checked the calendar before saying yes to something.

The dread went before the symptoms fully did. And dread is measurable to you. Ask yourself on day 20 whether you're flinching yet. You'll know the answer immediately, and you'll know it long before anything shows up on a symptom chart.

This is the cycle I'd judge on. It's also, not coincidentally, inside the refund window.

Cycle three. The one that isn't dramatic.

Nothing happened.

That sounds like an anticlimax. It was the entire point. A month went past and I didn't plan around it. I booked something in the second half of my cycle without checking the app first, and I only realised what I'd done about a week later.

I didn't get a euphoric moment. I got an absence. If it works for you, I suspect that's what it'll be. You'll notice what didn't happen, and you'll notice it late.

And then there's the test I didn't mean to run.

I ran out. Went nine days without reordering, because things were fine and I'd stopped thinking about it.

The cycle after that, I found out what it had been doing.

There's a well-known pattern in this category of women who stop their supplement convinced the benefit was placebo, then revise that opinion a few months later when the symptoms come back. I'd read about it and been sceptical of it as a marketing story. Then it happened to me.

The proof of this one isn't what happens when you start. It's what happens if you stop.

→ Start counting your own numbers

---

The Questions I Asked Before I Ordered

"Will this interact with my birth control?"

This is the one I'd genuinely insist you take seriously. The formula is botanicals, vitamins and minerals, but Vitex may interact with hormonal contraceptives, and Verdawell say so plainly on their own product page rather than burying it. Talk to your doctor before combining the two. I did.

"I'm trying to conceive. Is this safe?"

Vitex is widely discussed in the context of fertility and cycle regularity, and that means the question deserves a real medical answer rather than a marketing one. If you are actively trying to conceive, undergoing fertility treatment, or taking any fertility medication, get personalised advice first.

"Is the subscription going to be impossible to cancel?"

No. You can pause, skip or cancel from your account dashboard at any time. There's also a straight one-time purchase option if you'd rather not deal with a subscription at all. I'm putting this in because cancellation friction is the most repeated complaint in this entire category and it nearly stopped me ordering.

"Should I only take it during my period?"

No, and this is where I got it wrong with two previous products. Take it every day, through all four phases. The botanicals work by building up. Taking them only during your period is like watering a plant once a month.

"Two gummies. Is that really a real dose?"

Check the panel. Vitex at 100 mg, Cyperus at 200 mg, Shatavari at 150 mg, magnesium citrate at 100 mg, and every other number printed alongside them. That's the only answer that should satisfy you, and it's the only one I'd have accepted.

"I've seen the same ingredients cheaper."

So had I, and I bought them. Then read both panels side by side. The same ingredient list at a third of the price nearly always means a fraction of the dose, and that is precisely the mistake I made four times in nine years. Cheap isn't the problem. Cheap and undisclosed is what costs you three cycles and a hundred dollars to find out.

"Will it give me side effects?"

Fair question rather than a paranoid one. Roughly one in four US women reports mild side effects from supplements generally, so if you're holding a bad memory, you're holding a common one.

"Is it vegan? Any gelatin?"

Vegan and Halal certified. Pectin instead of gelatin, and the D3 comes from lichen rather than sheep wool, which is the detail most "vegan" supplements quietly get wrong. Non-GMO, GMP certified, natural berry flavour.

"Are they going to be waxy, or go stale halfway through the jar?"

I'm asking because it's one of the most repeated complaints against the best-selling gummy in this category, and a supplement you stop taking on day nine because it's unpleasant is not a supplement.

The Guarantee, and What It Actually Covers

Sixty days, money back.

I want to be precise about what that does and doesn't buy you, because vagueness here is how this category has been getting away with it.

Sixty days is two full cycles. Which means the guarantee covers exactly the point I told you to judge on: cycle two, the one where you find out whether the dread moved. You are not being asked to gamble ninety days to find out whether you were right.

It does not cover cycle three, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. The formula keeps compounding past two months and mine got better after the window closed. But you don't need cycle three to decide. You need cycle two, and you have it.

So: count your ibuprofen this month. Ask yourself on day 20 of your second cycle whether you're bracing. If you look at your own two data points and nothing has moved, you take the refund.

That's the deal I wanted from every jar I bought over nine years, and never once got.

---

Two Paths From Here

Path one. You close this tab.

Nothing changes, and nothing dramatic happens either, which is the problem. This doesn't get bad enough to force your hand. Your luteal week arrives in few days and you handle it the way you always have. You plan the next month around it. You say no to something you'd have liked to do, and you give a reason that isn't the reason.

Six months from now you're six cycles further into the same theory about yourself. And that theory keeps collecting evidence, because this doesn't reliably stay where it is. The clinical picture is that it can worsen over time for some women and ease for others, and nobody can tell you in advance which one you are. Mine got worse.

That's twenty-four weeks. Nearly six months of a year you're writing off in advance.

And path one isn't free either. It just bills you in instalments small enough that you've stopped noticing them. The ibuprofen. The forty dollars, and then the next forty dollars. The dinner you didn't go to. The month you took the smaller project because you already knew which week it landed in.

Path two. You read the panel.

Not "you buy." You read the panel. It takes about ninety seconds, and it's the thing I wish someone had made me do in 2015 instead of 2024.

If the milligrams don't convince you, don't order. That's genuinely the argument. I'm not asking you to trust a story, I'm asking you to check a column of numbers against the studies I've cited, which are all public.

If they do convince you, you start tomorrow morning. Two gummies. You write down your ibuprofen count today, before you have any reason to be optimistic. Cycle two you find out whether the dread moved. You have sixty days to change your mind.

It's $39 for a month. That's $1.30 a day, and it drops to about $1.10 on the three-month.

I'm not going to pretend that's nothing. What I'll tell you is what I ended up comparing it against, which wasn't the cheaper jar on the next shelf. It was the nine years I spent buying a worse version of the same wrong idea at forty dollars a go, and the twenty-four weeks a year I was handing over on top of that.

And if it works the way it worked for me, here's what it looks like. Not a transformation. Not a new you.

The same person on day 24 that you are on day 8.

That's it. That's the whole thing I wanted for nine years and couldn't say out loud, because when I tried it came out sounding like I was complaining about cramps.

I wasn't complaining about cramps.

I wanted to stop being two people.

These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease. If you are pregnant, nursing, trying to conceive, taking medication including hormonal contraception, or have a hormone-sensitive condition, speak to your healthcare provider before use.