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I have four non-negotiable M's that I do daily for my mind, body and spirit.

None of them are expensive. Two are free… or can be.

And all can be achieved in under 12 minutes… depending, of course, on how long you take to climax.

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Let's begin with the least sexy of the M's: Metamucil.

Actually, let me reframe that — the more regular and less bloated I am, the happier and more sensual I feel. A few years ago, I started getting savage stomach cramps. After weeks of pain, it peaked one night, and I genuinely thought my appendix was about to burst.

Now, I am a card-carrying hypochondriac, but I would never present myself to emergency at 1am unless I thought something truly dire was happening. Eight hours later — Saturday night in Sydney, a real party — my appendix was declared alive and well, and I was sent off for further tests.

Enter my first colonoscopy. Wow. Just… wow.

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The diagnosis: diverticulitis. Tricky to spell. Hellishly painful. Not sexy. But since then — touch wood — drinking two litres of water a day and taking a daily fibre supplement has helped me feel more regular, less bloated.

And honestly? There is something deeply empowering about knowing what your bowels are up to.

(Always read the label and follow the directions for use.)

My second M is meditation.

I've flirted with meditation for years. Group meditation. Silent meditation. Guided meditation. Even a Transcendental Meditation course — which, turns out, requires two 20-minute sessions a day. I could barely find 20 minutes where I wasn't already overstimulated, overtired, or needed elsewhere, let alone 40.

During a particularly overwhelmed period, a close friend — psychologist by day, emotional support angel by night — gently reminded me that meditation could genuinely help slow my mind and ease my worries. When I started protesting about time (as we all do), she cut me off and said, "10 minutes. Download an app."

That's when I met Jeff.

Jeff Warren, of the Calm app, who does a guided meditation called Daily Trip. Jeff has a Canadian accent that feels like warm honey poured directly onto your nervous system. He's soothing, funny, and somehow manages to say exactly what you need to hear that day — every day.

I now happily 'do' Jeff every morning without fail. I've introduced him to friends, and we all agree he starts to feel like a mate. We love you, Jeff.

Exhibit number three in the M's is magnesium.

During pregnancy — and again in the years that followed — I experienced bouts of restless leg syndrome, which sounds mild but feels like your body is trying to tap-dance against your will at 2am. A naturopath suggested magnesium powder.

Then perimenopause arrived like an uninvited guest who refuses to leave, and magnesium once again came highly recommended.

As a committed nightly bath-taker, I also chose to add magnesium salts to the water.

(Always read the label and follow the directions for use.)

And finally, coming in hot at number four: 'M' for masturbation.

As a Gen-Xer, I grew up at a time when self-love for girls wasn't discussed — or even admitted to. Certainly not in South Wales, where I lived. Teenage boys, meanwhile, would boast loudly about their solo bedroom antics across the biology lab, while the girls sat quietly, pretending we didn't have bodies at all.

In fact, it wasn't until university — a few drinks in with other freshers — when one girl casually admitted she used an electric toothbrush to climax that I realised I wasn't alone.

For a long time, this 'M' didn't feel essential and quietly fell off the to-do list. Somewhere between motherhood, work, and being very tired, self-pleasure slipped politely to the bottom. Then perimenopause arrived, my libido took a hit, and things went even quieter — until testosterone cream entered my HRT mix and, frankly, gave it a bit of mouth-to-mouth.

It's absurd it fell off my To Do List, really, because masturbation is free, efficient, and doesn't require childcare, consent negotiations, or a post-event debrief with friends. There's no performance. No pleasing anyone else. No pretending you're not exhausted. Just you, your body and a healthy dollop of imagination... don't get me started on Heated Rivalry.

Many people find orgasms help them unwind and sleep better. But there's also something quietly radical about choosing your own pleasure — especially in midlife, when so much of your body can feel unfamiliar, unpredictable, or out of your control.

It's not about being racy or rebellious. It's about connection. About familiarity. About saying: this body is still mine, and I still get to enjoy it.

As I mentioned earlier, this M can be free — or you can invest in a vibrator. My toy of choice is the Australian-made LBDO, which I cannot recommend highly enough. Hands down. Pun absolutely intended.

Some days it's five minutes. Some days it's barely a moment — Gone In Sixty Seconds. But the impact lingers for me: calmer nerves, better sleep, and a joyful little glow.

So those are my four non-negotiables. Fibre. Stillness. Supplement. Pleasure.

I've been asked if you can double up on the M's, and all I'll say is that when I heard Olivia Colman's character in The Roses declare, "I masturbate to Deepak Chopra meditations" I laughed a lot. And felt seen.

Feature Image: Instagram/ @cathrinemahoney

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Well by Mamamia. Australian women, welcome to your full-body health check. At Well, our goal is to improve the health of one million Aussie women by delivering the game-changing health info they actually need. This initiative is made possible through the support of our presenting partner, Chemist Warehouse.