I want to be careful here, because I have been burned by before-and-after promises, and I am guessing you have too. This was not overnight. It was closer to a room getting brighter one notch at a time than a switch flipping on.
The sleep shifted first. I started waking without the pounding heart, without lying there at 3am doing the math on how many hours I had left. Not every night. More nights than before. The afternoon wall got lower too, and there was something left of me at 4pm, enough to actually hear my kid talk about their day instead of nodding through it.
Skin was slower, which makes sense, because collagen is slow. Some weeks were better than others. I still had bad days. They were just not every day anymore.
There were smaller things too. I took the stairs one morning and noticed, halfway up, that I had not braced for them. The word came back in a meeting, and I found it, said it, and kept going.
I cannot promise you any of this. Bodies are different, and I only have mine. What research on this kind of light suggests is support, over time, with consistency. Not a cure. Support.
But what it added up to, for me, was not looking younger. It was the woman I used to be, the sharp one, the one who was fun, quietly walking back into the room. If even a couple of those small things came back for you, you would know it was worth fifteen minutes.