Let’s talk about something real. That feeling. The one where you flip off the light at night and feel… nothing. Where the spark that used to ignite so easily now feels like a damp match. You remember desire, but it feels like a memory from another life.
Let’s just get this out of the way: I have spent more money on bottles of hope—little jars of herbs and promises that claim to reignite a woman’s spark—than I have on my first car.
It’s a slightly embarrassing, wildly expensive hobby born out of pure frustration. So, when yet another email landed in my inbox asking the million-dollar question, “Is Provestra a scam?” my first instinct was to roll my eyes so hard I saw my own brain.