I love this blog and you should too. MLP hits it out of the park and into the stratosphere where most of these models’ outfits are from. Enjoy and laugh again.
Monthly Archives: March 2017
In The Gray.
I decided on Christmas eve as I was dousing my hair with chemicals that it would be the last time; I am over coloring my hair every 3 weeks just to have it fade in a week and not match the rest of it for two more.
I can do without the time suck, the expense and the occasional professional tune-up to correct the banding that I created for myself in my efforts to Feel Like A Natural Woman.
Tomorrow will bring me to the end of the third month of my journey.
I posted on Facebook about this and I referred to this situation in a blog post I wrote a few weeks ago in an attempt to bring both of you up to speed on the higher-level events in my life.
There’s a movie called “The Grey.” Remember back in lit class when we would discuss: Man vs. Man, or Man. vs. God, or Man vs. Machine…? Which type of struggle encompasses this film? Yes.
It’s about a group of maybe nine rank and file (i.e., necessary) men from a petroleum company who survive a plane crash somewhere in a tundra. We don’t know where, exactly, but we can guess it’s very cold and very remote. The group of men are a typical motley crew: one is a new father, another is a great guy, one is an ex-con whose vulnerability dressed in hubris would be his downfall, one has a kidney disorder, another is a kind of MacGyver / dog whisperer / shaman / former Seal, one is a recovering alcoholic who’s divorced or in reconciliation with his wife, one is devoted to his family, another is just a standard prick. I think that’s eight. Let’s go with that. Bottom line: they all have their gifts and their flaws. It’s like Lord of the Flies but grown-up style. We start to get to know them on the night before or of the flight back to the “Main 48” as part of their leave from their jobs in that isolated place. The plane crashes somewhere in the Northwest territories of the U.S. and then we begin.
From the beginning, you sense tension and that’s how movies work.
What lives in the tundra and can do quite well thank you? Grey wolves. And then the drama begins, because you KNOW shit’s about to hit the fan, but who’s going to get it first? And how will he die? Will it be an embolism or a knife fight with another survivor? Before you run to Netflix and start to watch it, I must tell you that Liam Neeson is in the film. So now you really have to decide if you can take it.
It doesn’t matter who dies. Or how or if you’re psyched or sad when he finally he got his because he was so sweet or such a jerk to everyone or he lost his glasses or he has a fear of heights or he softened his granitic heart just before.
What matters and what any of this has to do with me is that this is how it feels for me right now as I have decided to grow out my gray hair.
When I was 39 I tried this. Maybe it was the cut, maybe it was because I was still “young” or maybe it was because it just didn’t look “right” in terms of balance, but I threw in the towel and started coloring again.
Then five years later, I started adding highlights. And “warmth” to my colorings and let me tell you: I am not a “warm” tone person. I am more Snow White. So anytime you add “heat” to my hair… it doesn’t work. (I tried to come up with an analogy that had to do with a croissant and it wasn’t working, so I let it go — some battles are not worthy of the energy.)
I joined a Facebook group, “Gray and Proud” which is a fun place for people like me — trying to figure it out, in the process of no more processing, and the people are generally super supportive.
I feel like the wolf is out there… just waiting to wrestle me to the ground and say, in her “all the more to eat you with” voice, “Stop. Just stop with the coloring… you know how frustrated you get when you see the end result and you feel it’s not you. You are going to be 50 in SIX MONTHS; that doesn’t mean you’re half dead, it just means you’re 50 — so stop trying to make your hair look like you’re 30 … I’ve got grays… so what if they’re tipped in black … but I’m a wolf. You know that’s not where you are right now… so be cool, man… or i’ll bite your head off.”
And then I’ll say, “But you’re a wolf. You were made that way.”
And she will turn around, snarl and say, “So were you. Get over yourself.”
And I’ll snarl back, “yeah, ok…” but in a really weak way because she’s a wolf and I am NOT a wolf and she could just… yknow, END IT right there (IT COULD HAPPEN!) and so here I am.
Before I share pics, some things I’ve noticed:
- Less hair is falling out in the shower.
- The bluing shampoo I use (to keep the silver from yellowing and to help keep my chemical low-lights from getting brassy) is sort of harsh… my hair feels NOT soft after I use it; that was a surprise.
- Even on this Facebook group, there are Nellys from Little House on the Prairie. Someone asked about conditioners, and everyone was giving input and then some person said (insert nasal and uppity tone): “You know blah conditioners are just blah wax and your blah hair is not alive, so you’re just blah putting wax on your blah hair follicle blah like you would on a wooden blah floor…” and I stopped myself from typing: “Stop being a JAN BRADY. Let the woman ask about conditioners, you hag.” (That must’ve been one of my PMS days.)
- Combining points 1 and 3: when I posted on this group about less hair falling out, many people commented and agreed and in retrospect commented that they’d noticed it as well and a person much like the person in point 3 said, “Probably not… Hair blah goes through a blah natural shedding blah stages like all cellular blah – can you get me a Tab? processes….” and I couldn’t help myself so I said “I appreciate that. But this is a profound difference, AND I’m seeing baby hairs coming in unlike another time in my life….” she didn’t comment. Maybe the wolf got her.
- People are looking at my hair now. I’m past the stage of “maybe she’s going to get her roots done soon” and have entered the “no, this is intentional, she means to let her hair look like this.” Hmm.
- The amount of gray coming in is going to rock my world when this is all done. I would say that I am about 75% gray from the tips of my ears forward to my face. I still have a nice (getting slimmer) black streak in the front, but shit’s about to get real… So I need my stylist to help lighten more of the artificially darker hair a bit more.
- I spend more time finding a good pink lipstick and putting on mascara. Will it all add up to the amount of time I spent in a chair in a salon? No.
- I am more hair aware. That bugs me a bit because I’m not a terribly vain person. I have always tried to look like I didn’t just roll out of bed, but this experience does make me feel as though I need to walk around with a sign that explains point 5.
- I’ve lost 5 pounds. That has nothing to do with the hair, just thought I’d mention it.
Without further ado, the photos… (that’s really why you’re here):So will the wolf come and get me? I don’t think so. I’ve told my kids they can only say two things about my hair, because I’m really in this to win it … I’m really done with the coloring and I’ve been blessed with dark eyebrows, big green eyes and a fairly happy skin tone and complexion to pull this off for years before I start to worry people.
They can only say, “This is really cool,” or “It’s good you’re doing this for yourself.” The minute they tell me I look old, is the minute the wolf comes out.
Perimenopausal Fun: How to Know When Low-Dose Estrogen is NOT for you
I’ve written a handful of posts dedicated to women’s health and those posts receive the most traffic and comments from internet searches (and likely from Russian bots). This tells me I’m on to something. The one that receives the most traffic is a post dedicated to “PMDD”: pre-menstrual dysphoric disorder.
Wondering about that third word, are you? It means the opposite of “euphoria.” Disorders can’t be cured. So this one has to be addressed and managed. I feel as though I am cured from it, but I know that I am not…
My style is glib at times, but my intensity and interest in this subject is real because being a cisgendered female is hard. I won’t go into my sentiments surrounding the appropriation of my gender by cisgendered males because frankly I don’t have the required bandwidth nor the belief system to fully engage. To me, men feeling as though they are missing out on being a woman and who get to forgo the hips and the breasts expanding, and the periods (missed or on time), and the unwanted advances and leers of horny old men are out to lunch. I’ll trade a week and you can go through it all — you can:
- put on a training bra in the dark or in a locker room,
- deal with feminine hygiene (maybe even in a public bathroom or, say, totally unprepared at your violin lesson for your first time as a WOMAN),
- barter your lunch for three tylenol to abate your cramps and risk suspension or expulsion from school because of it,
- birth one of my kids,
- fight off a drunken asshole’s overtures at a keg party… or
- sit on a couch waiting for your ride home when your date cools off because you won’t sleep with him… or worse.
Go for it.
I also would be willing to bet that most men who want to appropriate my gender wouldn’t have the stones to endure a week of perimenopause.
This is becoming political… my apologies, but I feel I had to say something.
This post is about females and the shit we go through in our middle-life stages.
First: get an app on your smartphone or keep meticulous records. I use “PLog”: https://itunes.apple.com/app/period-log-free-menstrual/id494474881?mt=8
With that said, one year ago, well into the end of my ninth year of perimenopause (which is the purgatory between getting your periods every month or so and all the emotions and physical symptoms that come along) and the time of life when all that shit stops, I was suffering. My moods were all over the place, yet I didn’t really dial in to them… I just sort of noticed them, “that was rude of me to say…” I’d say to myself. Or, “Since when do you do things like that?” I’m still there.
The weird thing about perimenopause to menopause is that it’s not a pause. A pause implies a restart. And your cycles don’t stop like a machine would stop, say if you turn off your car’s engine. Short of an oophorectomy, it’s believed to be a “pause” of your “menses.” Let’s be honest here too: it’s not at all a ‘pause,’ it’s a full-on shut down, so even the nomenclature is screwed up here. I’m guessing a man invented the word:
The answer to this mystery is found in the origin of the word. In 1821 a French physician named de Gardanne first coined the term menopause when he published his book “De la ménopause, ou de l’âge critique des femmes” using the term menopause to describe the phase in a woman’s life.
YES! It was a man! Merci, dude! I don’t speak French, but I’m seeing blah french blah french blah “critique” and “des femmes” which is never a good combination.
For menopause, things shut down like a forest fire which starts out slowly because someone didn’t put out a campfire. Or because of the climate or winds or a cigarette was tossed out a window… Then it smolders a bit and it gets oxygen… and it spreads to dry grasses or pine needles (which are basically small vats of kerosene because there is so much oil in them) and then a few yards in one direction and then an acre and then an entire forest, and then a national park… But that’s fire.
For women, it’s much more subtle, but the experiences can feel similar. Just like some fires are “controlled burns” or a “small forest fire,” the clinical definition of menopause requires that a woman’s periods must stop for a full year.
For me, last year about this time, I was desperate for help. And based on the condition I’m in today, I’m nowhere near that year of cessation.
First: what the fuck is going on?
Borrowing from my immediately previous post, this graphic explains is what’s going on:
I’m 49 now. I started on this circus clown car ride (the middle graph) 10 years ago. Any day can be like that middle graph for me. Sometimes it is an entire day that feels like that.
The changes in hormonal levels as women age cause the following symptoms (lifted word for word from the Mayo Clinic site which is much more reputable than webmd, so take a breath, my comments in red):
Throughout the menopausal transition, some subtle — and some not-so-subtle — changes in your body may take place. You might experience:
Irregular periods. As ovulation becomes more unpredictable, the length of time between periods may be longer or shorter, your flow may be light to heavy, and you may skip some periods. Oh? If you have a persistent (what do you mean, ‘persistent’? like a child, “momcanihaveacookie?momcanihaveacookie?” persistent?) change (vague, object!) of seven days or more in the length of your menstrual cycle, you may be in early perimenopause (early?! ARE YOU %)(!@&_%@ kidding me?! EARLY?!). If you have a space of 60 days or more between periods, you’re likely in late perimenopause. <– not me, not yet. I’m still in this hang time.
Hot flashes and sleep problems. Hot flashes are common during perimenopause (I have been spared the recognizable hot flashes, mostly and so far). The intensity, length and frequency vary. Sleep problems are often due to hot flashes or night sweats (DING! now we’re talking: the intensity of my night sweats for 10 years have rivaled those of my immediate postpartum weeks when the hormones females use to create and sustain life inside the uterus and the rest of her own body, which is effing exhausted from the process, but it’s really only just the beginning), but sometimes sleep becomes unpredictable even without them. <–OMAIGAAAD! I would literally trade all of my Cap’n Crunch for just ONE NIGHT of uninterrupted sleep. I realize the flip phrase, “I’m so tired I could take hostages” is no longer in vogue, but my kids get it.
Mood changes. Mood swings, irritability or increased risk of depression may happen during perimenopause. The cause of these symptoms may (y’think?!) be sleep disruption associated with hot flashes (fuck yes). Mood changes (muuuuahhhahaahaaaaaa boooohooowoohaaaaaaaa… waah… grrr… what? me? grr… your mother sews socks in hell… ) may also be caused by factors not (NOT?!) related to the hormonal changes of perimenopause (um: no, highly doubtful).
Vaginal and bladder problems. (Oh what fun it is to ride…) When estrogen levels diminish, your vaginal tissues may lose lubrication and elasticity, making (you feel as though your privates have been replaced by 03-grade sand paper and generic brand tissues – or so I’ve heard intercourse painful. Low estrogen may also leave you more vulnerable to urinary or vaginal infections (thankfully not there yet: word to the wise, ladies from my doctor: PEE IMMEDIATELY after sex, not in the bed, but y’know, within a few minutes as your urethra needs to flush itself) . Loss of tissue tone may contribute to urinary incontinence. Do those kegels and pelvic floor exercises! Yoga! Find your psoas muscle (no, it’s not a sex muscle).
Decreasing fertility. As ovulation becomes irregular, your ability to conceive decreases. However, as long as you’re having periods, pregnancy is still possible. If you wish to avoid pregnancy, use birth control until you’ve had no periods for 12 months (and even then: watch it. I have friends who’ve welcomed a new member into the family thinking they were good to go).
Changes in sexual function. During perimenopause, sexual arousal and desire may change (and not just a little… ). But if you had satisfactory sexual intimacy before menopause, this will likely continue through perimenopause and beyond. (Stay in communication with your partner. That’s the important part… so smoke signals from the other wing of the house are always a good idea, that way your man will know when it’s safe to approach.)
Loss of bone. With declining estrogen levels, you start to lose bone more quickly than you replace it, increasing your risk of osteoporosis — a disease that causes fragile bones. This is JUST as important and really, a serious issue. Watch the caffeine intake, take moderate walks for resistance exercise, use weights (even low weights) to maintain your bone mass health.
Changing cholesterol levels. Declining estrogen levels may lead to unfavorable changes in your blood cholesterol levels, including an increase in low-density lipoprotein (LDL) cholesterol — the “bad” cholesterol — which contributes to an increased risk of heart disease. My mom’s went through the roof as she aged; mine has always been about 157 so I need to keep an eye on it. That said, Mom ate cheese like you read about (I just read about eating cheese) and indulged in lots of sedentary, unhealthy behaviors and addictions and basically no did not exercise ever / at all / ever / constantly / never. At the same time, high-density lipoprotein (HDL) cholesterol — the “good” cholesterol — decreases in many women as they age, which also increases the risk of heart disease (you can encourage your HDL levels through exercise and diet. My mom died of a massive cardiac arrest — not a heart attack which (broken down by me) is a major incident and spasm of the heart muscles — but the cessation of electricity to flow to her heart causing her heart to no longer function; coming back from a CA, for a woman in her condition [not good at all] would have been a divine miracle).
More from the Mayo Clinic site includes:
When to see a doctor
Some women seek medical attention for their perimenopausal symptoms. But others either tolerate the changes or simply don’t experience symptoms severe enough to need attention. Because symptoms may be subtle and come on gradually (like a thief in the night), you may not realize at first that they’re all connected to the same thing — rising and falling levels of estrogen and progesterone, another key female hormone.
If you have symptoms that interfere with your life or well-being, such as hot flashes, mood swings or changes in sexual function that concern you, see your doctor.
This is where it gets fun for me. Because I went to my doctor. She put me on a low-dose birth control pill, “Lo-Estrin 1/20” because of my complaints:
Wanting to punch people, exhaustion, brain fog, emotional projection, confusion, inability to take a joke, complete viper-like mood swings, appetite disruption, back aches, headaches (which I simply never get), sleep disruption, fantasies of running off to Cabo (still never found a cure for that).
I took the pill. For the first cycle, it’s 21 days of the drug. Within two days, I felt like I was 26 again: super able, focused, interested in sex, I had an appetite for food, I was sleeping like a dog (that’s a good thing because we all know babies don’t sleep) and other stuff. I felt great. As is the case in a standard birth control pack, on the first Sunday of the fourth week, you take a sugar pill (or just skip a week and start back up on Sunday with the new pack) and that starts a period.
I did that.
Halfway through my second cycle on the pill, when I was supposed to be “ovulating” I started to spot. I made a note. It lasted five days. On the first Sunday of the fourth week, I took my sugar pill to begin the standard pill-induced menses.
On Tuesday, I began to have thoughts that can be best described as sympathetic to suicidal ideation. I’m not kidding.
I practice mindfulness (it’s how I’ve avoided becoming an alcoholic or other addict). I have spent years on a therapists’ couch so I understand emotions, and I get how powerful they are. Being a writer I was able to back out of this “sympathetic interest” and write a script, in my head, or a narrative about a woman who resembled me (but was taller, natch, and blonde) and my station in life who woke up and decided she didn’t want to live anymore.
The depths of this transient depression were unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, maybe I can equate it to the loss and ineffable grief I felt after I was dumped by a boyfriend, with whom I thought I would spend the rest of my life, when I was in college. Maybe. It was deeper than the grief I felt after my mother died — but maybe it was just faster and more intense. My grief surrounding my mother’s death lasted months and wavered in intensity. This moment hit me hard and fast. Out of nowhere. One minute I was pouring my coffee and the next minute I thought of suicide.
I knew what was up. I did the math: this is a new deep and ugly feeling. I’m taking this pill, this is supposed to be my period, and I have PMDD but it’s under control…
So I grabbed my dogs and we took a very brisk walk for an hour. Charlie was all about it, but poor Murphy, who was 8 at the time, was frequently looking up at me and saying, “Can we take a break now? Please?” I was so grateful for their company. They kept me present. I have said twice to myself that my dogs are keeping me alive and this was the second of those times. The first time was when Murphy vocally persuaded a man, whose intensity and energy was palpable from 50 yards, to turn and cross the street away from us. Murphy is a golden retriever, he doesn’t bark warnings to humans; it’s not part of his breeding.
Halfway through the walk, I started to feel better. I worked out the scene and projected it on to a false character. I put her through her paces from ideation to the moments of and the grief of her surviving loved ones and the days, weeks, holidays and life’s milestone moments which would undoubtedly follow because LGO: life goes on.
After I worked all that out, I did take a break in my walk and I called my doctor. I told her assistant what was up and she asked me if I needed emergency assistance and I told her I was ok. That I was outside. That I had no weapons or agents of harm with me. That the sun was on my face and my dogs were by my side and I was ok, really. Because I was and I thanked her for her concern, but I was calling to let her know what was going on because it was really scary when it first started. I asked, “Should I take the real pills now instead? Should I continue with the sugar pills?” (I felt like the patients who took L.Dopa in Awakenings; I didn’t want to stop the pill!)
She relayed my message to my physician who said back to the assistant, “Tell her to stop the Lo-Estrin and call us after her periods stop for a year…” That doctor, is Joanne Herrmann, MD, and I don’t think I’ll be crossing her threshold any time soon. I understand it was a game of “Operator” going on, and you can call me weird and codependent, maybe, but if I had a patient who told me what I told her assistant, I’d be calling back that patient myself. She certainly practiced Primum non nocere. I guess.
Later that day, I had lunch with a friend and I told her everything that happened. She listened intently; but I think I scare people because I’m so vivid and in-tune with how I’m doing. That was the last time I saw her.
Since that last pill, I’ve gained a new respect for estrogen and progesterone. I’ve learned that any time I’m feeling shitty and allowing it and noting it is a good thing because it means the process is still happening. It means I’m here.
I had a very high-level understanding of the phrase “mood swings” until that day. The take-away: investigate your options. Lo-Estrin 1/20 might work for you… just be ready for those sugar pill days.
As you go through the menopausal transition, your body’s production of estrogen and progesterone rises and falls. Many of the changes you experience during perimenopause are a result of decreasing estrogen.
Menopause is a normal phase in life. But it may occur earlier in some women than in others. Although not always conclusive, some evidence suggests that certain factors may make it more likely that you start perimenopause at an earlier age, including:
- Smoking. The onset of menopause occurs one to two years earlier in women who smoke than in women who don’t smoke.
- Family history. Women with a family history of early menopause may experience early menopause themselves.
- Cancer treatment. Treatment for cancer with chemotherapy or pelvic radiation therapy has been linked to early menopause.
- Hysterectomy. A hysterectomy that removes your uterus, but not your ovaries, usually doesn’t cause menopause. Although you no longer have periods, your ovaries still produce estrogen. But such surgery may cause menopause to occur earlier than average. Also, if you have one ovary removed, the remaining ovary might stop working sooner than expected.
Irregular periods are a hallmark of perimenopause. Most of the time this is normal and nothing to be concerned about. However, see your doctor if:
- Bleeding is extremely heavy — you’re changing tampons or pads every hour or two for two or more hours
- Bleeding lasts longer than seven days
- Bleeding occurs between periods
- Periods regularly occur less than 21 days apart <– that’s one I will now begin to keep an eye on
Signs such as these may mean there’s a problem with your reproductive system that requires diagnosis and treatment.
So this is all good, and I’m thankful for it. But the bottom line for all of us in this situation is symptoms and how we manage them.
About three years ago, Dr. Herrmann suggested I take something called “Brisdelle” which is a subclinical / super low-dose (7mg) of Prozac. The idea is that it will calm you down enough to sleep at night and abate next-day anxiety which is increased because of night sweats which happens because you’re anxious…? I’m still a little fuzzy on that. So I tried it for four days. It made me feel like I was a narcoleptic game show host. I stopped after a week. Some people have doubted my claim, that the drug needs to be in my system for six weeks before it takes full metabolic effect.
Mmmmmkay. Survey says….?! Znnngngzzzgngn! Where are you from, little lady….? Znnnngngngnnnznzzng.
I take herbal supplements: Estroven AM and Estroven PM; they help. Maybe they’re doing an insanely bang-up job and I have no idea because I’ve been taking them for about a year. Before that I took something called “Herbal Equilibrium” but Dr. Herrmann told me to stop taking it because she doesn’t believe in supplements… well, she believed in that Lo-Estrin 1/20 enough to prescribe it and it made me very sad, so maybe she’s wrong.
But we address problems by understanding what they’re made of. In this situation we need to dial in: WHAT does estrogen do??? Since we all know how we got here, thanks estrogen, we need to know what is going on and what estrogen regulates because it’s super subtle stuff.
A year ago, I did not know that estrogen played a major role in digestion. Did you?
I did not know that estrogen is involved in the sleep process and the release of other hormones which help us get a good rest. Did you?
So I went back to the web, and I blew off Webmd again and went straight the alma mater of one of my besties’: Northwestern University, for help. This page and its title, “How Hormone Depletion Affects You” was exactly what I was looking for. It will have all the information about WHAT estrogen and progesterone mean to you and why this crazy circus clown car is in your life.
Here we are ladies:
That feels about right…? Doesn’t it?
Oddly, I am comforted by that image.
It tells me, “Sigh. Finally. Someone out there understands. I’ll have that Nescafé International Coffee now… Vienna Font Brick Caramel please… yes, I’ll wait… ”
The paragraph accompanying that DaVinci -esque image does a great job of introducing content that I simply can’t improve upon (for many reasons, the foremost of which is because I’m not a doctor), and it will behoove you to read it and learn about what is going on because all I can do is commiserate with you:
Hormones are the messengers in the body that travel through the blood stream to start, stop, speed up or slow down your physical and chemical functions and processes across all body systems. Your ovaries are the source of estrogen and progesterone, the two key hormones that control the reproductive system, including the menstrual cycle and fertility in women. You are born with all the eggs you will ever have. The eggs are in the follicles, which are found in the ovaries. During menopause, the number of ovarian follicles declines and the ovaries become less responsive to the two other hormones involved in reproduction—Luteinizing Hormone (LH) and Follicle-Stimulating Hormone (FSH). As your ovaries age and release fewer hormones, FSH and LH can no longer perform their usual functions to regulate your estrogen, progesterone and testosterone. These inevitable changes in your hormones and natural decline of estrogen levels during menopause can significantly affect your health for years to come. Click on the bars next to diagram to discover how estrogen depletion can affect each part of your body.
We’ve got this, sisters. Keep the conversation going.
New Year’s Intention & Perimenopause
It has been almost seven months since I last posted here.
I can not say I don’t know where the time has gone, because I actually do know where a great deal of the time / bandwidth has gone.
It has gone toward my new year’s intention: practicing non-attachment. Non-attachment to expectations, to people, to projects, to myself. It’s really hard… and it’s like a paradox: who says when you’ve achieved non-attachment? Is it ok to be non-attached to your non-attachment? Does that count? And what is the balance? (I’ve likely already failed.)
It has gone toward me applying my best intentions toward practicing detachment from my eldest son’s college experiences. He is doing well, learning lessons that only life can give. Learning academically of course, and doing quite well, but he is learning things in the way that I wanted for him to learn: that you can’t unring a bell.
It has gone toward a near-obsession with the American political landscape. I believe it was around the time that I last posted here that our official presidential candidates were nominated. I won’t go into details or great depth here as this blog is my refuge from those energies, but I will say that I believe I’m finally coming out of the fog from all those days.
It has gone toward a reinvestment of myself into my yoga teaching. I have almost doubled my adult teaching gigs and dropped two children’s yoga gigs. It was both difficult and easy to make those decisions. A part of me wants to help children and teach / inspire them but I have to let go of the notion that I am going to make a difference for some of them. We are all here on this planet in a season which matches our mission(s). I have realized that my mission here is to not try to appeal to all people and those people needn’t appeal to me. The doubling of my teaching time has had an effect on my body: it’s tired. I have learned that I needn’t demonstrate nearly as often as I used to and while I’m physically relieved from wear and tear, I’m a bit bummed about it because some of my teaching cues come from being actually in the pose with the yogis.
It has gone toward hands-on mothering of two sons rather than three. While my eldest still needs me in a philosophical sense, he doesn’t need me to make him dinner, to wake him, to take him for haircuts or dentist appointments. My younger boys still need me for that and believe it or not: the reduction in demand does take some getting used to and head counting. It’s almost the reversal of “Did I leave the baby in the carseat in the front hall?”
It has gone toward not writing. I sure do miss it.
It has not gone toward my laundry practice.
My husband turned 50, and that was a low-key big deal here. I gave him a nifty band for his Apple Watch and took him out to dinner with our younger two sons, his brother and his wife. Connor later snuck home with his girlfriend to surprise his dad with some favorite gelato and a cozy fun time was had by all.
I turned 49. I unfriended some people on Facebook who no longer contribute to the fullness of my life. One is a relative. I am really ok with this decision. The entrenched victim narrative surrounding this person’s every behavior had corrupted our visit over summer to such an extent that when I made the choice, it was not a Newtonian reaction. In fact, I paused for several weeks. I can say confidently though that the distancing from this and the other persons has resulted in stability, actually. I’m tired of feeling as though my every thought was being monitored. And I was tired of monitoring them… (if we are going to be honest here…). I hope everyone is doing well, but I don’t care enough to ask. Sometimes you just have to close the door, y’know.
I am experiencing shitty perimenopause on a daily basis. This hormonal experience is not for the psychotic… because it already has moments of psychosis and sleep deprivation and knee-jerk reactivity built in. Do you see the middle graph? (Don’t even
fucking look at the first one or the last one until you look at the middle one first.) That second / middle graph has been my life for the last 10 years. I started perimenopause when I was 39 and it was all cute and curiosity at first: “Oh, I wonder how long that badger will live in our yard?” but after five years, it has been nothing short of a fucking mystery and I don’t know how much longer I must endure its caprice and coquettish ways.
Let’s look again at that middle graph which ostensibly covers a six-month period and copy it 20 times and run it linearly (as in a timeline) to cover a 10-year period and then you will have a SNAPSHOT of WHAT MY LIFE HAS BEEN LIKE.
I look at that graph, like it’s yearbook. And I suppose it is to a certain exent…
Those premenopause years: from BIRTH to my 39th year, were all: Let’s go to the beach, then the movie and then dancing and frolic all in light-colored and white clothing, go to camp, learn to swim, play an instrument, have a crush, lose a friend, gain a friend, watch your parents fight … then one day in puberty do those things in those clothes except for XYZ days… and then let’s learn to drive, go on a trip, play some soccer, go for a run, fall in love, dance in the rain… pause….. then let’s have some friends over, and go to a mall, fall out of love, lose a friend again, gain another friend, stare at cute guys, go to college, apply for a job ….buy a car… get a place …. pause….. then let’s take a cooking course, stare at more cute guys … maybe date one… then marry one and then buy a house, have kids …. pause…. another kid (or years go by) ….
Then in my 39th year, this….
I’m flying without radar here and as you can see, from that graph above, that flight plan is fucked up. Would you get on that plane? Go ahead, look at it again… it’s worth the laugh. And that’s what most of this has shown me: that I have to laugh. That’s not to say that I can’t cry (because I do, believe me) but crying over this (that image above) is unnecessary.
I’m not looking for a trophy or a badge or a pat on the back. I’m looking for an end to this stage of my life.
My mother is dead, and she was the only woman (just like her paternal aunt was the only woman in two generations) in her sibling pool, so I don’t have an aunt. And her being gone means there’s no soft-focus “Summer’s Eve” moment for me when I could walk down a misty, dusky beach with her (not that there ever was that kind of vibe to our relationship) and gently query her for finite honesty about her cycles and her reproductive history… that would require things she could not deliver.
The fun part about all this is that in order to be considered a member in the postmenopausal populace:
you must be without a period (that bleeding stage) for at least a year. I have to say, I can’t help but see all those flat lines as… shitty. The very hormones that I’ve grown accustomed to, estrogen and progesterone, are leaving me at the party. No, they are taking the party away and leaving me there to clean up after the party.
But I’m nowhere near that, yet the eggs I’m spitting out are likely capable of creating life that would not be sustainable. I like to think my eggs, if they could be an emoji, would be this one:
Let’s see… what else… I learned that I have two basal cell carcinomas scheduled for removal in a couple months. It’s the glorious results of misspent younger days under the sun with my then bestie whose parents were Puerto Rican and Greek. I am 71% Irish (thanks, big bro for getting the Ancestry.com DNA test). This friend would invite me over to her house and I’d go. I’d wear my royal blue with black piping one-piece LaBlanca swimsuit. We would “lay out” under the Virginia sun, in July, covered in baby oil and USE A SPRAY MISTER TO KEEP US SHINY! and she’d walk away like a Bain de Soliel model and I’d need paramedics to carry me away on a stretcher because I could not move my smooth muscle tissue beneath the exoskeleton I’d created in those four short hours in her backyard.
I joined a new studio to teach yoga (I touched on this earlier) and I’m really enjoying it. The owner feels like someone I’ve known all my life and I’m grateful to help her further her dream of providing a haven in the community to practice yoga, learn pilates, build strength and sometimes, just sit and be.
I directed a 660-boat rowing regatta the first weekend in November. The weather was sublime and glorious. I was in my element of serving people as well as protecting and reestablishing the brand of our rowing club after a couple years of inconsistency. I have offered to do it again for this fall. People think I’m crazy, but they’re right. But I’m really good at it — I am in a zone when I’m managing chaos with a smile on my face. (That was a scary sentence.) I walked almost nine miles that first day. The second day was almost six. I was utterly wiped out. But I was really gratified too because it was such a rewarding experience. I bought myself some expensive Adidas shoes a week later.
The next night I taught yoga and two days later, still riding the regatta wave, we all woke to some really historic news: a woman was NOT elected president of the United States and instead, a man who strategically went after the electoral college (so: with an actual plan to win, not a hope to win) votes, attained more of them than the other people running for office. That was an ASTONISHING DAY for me. The night before, we had my brother and his wife and kids over. My dad too, to watch the election and just sort of huddle as if preparing for an apocalypse. We used the hot tub and had a really lovely night. My brother left around 10:30, glued to his iPhone. I decided at 11 that I was going to bed; I had to teach yoga the next morning. Some of the results weren’t in yet and the west coast had only recently begun to get later tallies. I remember clearly still that my husband came up to me to gently wake me the next morning in the pre-dawn darkness. He said, “It’s unbelievable. Trump won.” I was mildly shocked. I didn’t like Clinton, but I honestly thought she would win. I voted for Johnson.
I taught three yoga classes, as I always do on Wednesdays, and I witnessed a three-generational fog in those classes. In the morning, I teach women my age and they were all … quiet, sort of blown away. In the early afternoon, I teach mostly seniors or people older than I am and they were all subdued. The children I usually teach on the afternoons were simply stoic. Little girls openly cried in front of me, “My mother said a bad man is going to be our president…”
I felt as though I HAD to openly discuss the election because they were so affected and because they are children and are not savvy to the nuances I employed in my earlier classes. One of the little girls, who is usually a game show host in my classes, who likes to co-opt what I teach and preempt me as much as possible asked to stay in “child’s pose” the ENTIRE class. She didn’t even want to play “musical mats” (which can usually get any kiddo out of a funk).
I don’t have an inflated sense of who I am to these people, but in a sense, especially for the first class, this was likely the first social gathering of their day. I didn’t feel compelled to speak to the election, but I also wasn’t ok with ignoring it. I can’t remember what pearls of wisdom I may have imparted other than to suggest what I always do: “Whatever you’re feeling is OK.”
On Christmas Eve, we went to dinner at a restaurant in Georgetown. The buildings are historic and their floors are uneven. I slipped down the steps but managed to stop my fall by grasping one of the spindles on the landing I was escaping. I had just taught a power vinyasa that morning, so I was still “worked” from that but I did hear a snap. I didn’t tear my rotator cuff, but I definitely strained it. I believe the “snap” was from the heel of one of my brand-new Frye Boots smacking the riser as I stopped my fall.
When I returned to the table, after announcing to the numerous wide-eyed diners and the freaked-out expression of the maitre’d rushing to my aid, “I’m good, I’m a yoga instructor!” (I do NOT know why I said that other than to spare myself some embarrassment [it didn’t work] but more likely shame [ditto] and more likely to spare any discomfort on the part of the restaurant staff), I had immediate tingling in my arm, and almost near-immediate numbness. I raised my arm above my head, I did some classy yoga moves with it at the table (with some wincing, so I knew the nerve was OK) and the sensation returned within five minutes. I could move my arm on its own.
That night was the last time I colored my hair. (Nice transition, huh?) I’d been dancing around the concept for awhile, but I’d like to see how I look with my natural hair color and I’d like to spend the rest of my life not sweating my roots coming in. So far, so good. I don’t have the chutzpah that some people have: going cold turkey, so that’s not happening. I am getting a chemically assisted transition or detox. My tactic has been to wear my hair pulled off my face as often as possible because it shows people what’s coming in and what to expect. It also helps me deal with the choice, which if I can say so myself, is pretty damned gutsy. I don’t believe that I need to adhere to an unattainable standard based on artifice. I’ve long struggled with my own “lie” of coloring my hair while being someone who is SO WHOLLY INTERESTED and devoted to alignment and truth.
To spur me on, I joined a Facebook group “Gray and Proud” which is a supportive and empowering collection of humans (mostly women) who know that this choice “to be the way we were born” can be hard. I do not mean to imply that I know the struggles of those who’ve chosen to live a cloistered life because of fear of coming out as their true selves, but I do believe I share a kinship with them. We are all afraid of being judged and sometimes, truth scares people. Sometimes, people like to live their lives and their narratives. I’m cool with that. Sometimes other peoples’ truths upset another person’s narrative. Well, that’s not the other person’s problem.
The previous time I tried to go gray I was 36 (I’ve been coloring since I was 20) and it didn’t look right. I wasn’t feeling quite as confident and as “fuck it” as I have been lately. Don’t get me wrong, “fuck it” does not mean I’m “letting myself go”; “fuck it” means I’m letting you and your standards go.
It means I’m trying to walk my intention for the year. I’ll post pics on my progress, but not yet; there’s really not much to see here.
The dogs are doing great: Charlie, now three, and mellowing a bit is a sweet and loyal boy. He still barks at things that are not there and tries to take down Murphy at every chance he has when Murphy is standing up (which isn’t terribly frequent these days as he’s now nine, AND he’s a dog).
Well, there is always lots more to say, but I’m at almost 2900 words and I’m a little tired. It’s nice to be back. I’ll come back sooner, I promise. Feel free to drop me a line in the comments and let me know how you’re doing.