Click my heels together three times - There’s no place like home

 

There’s no place like home.

There’s no place like home.

There’s no place like home. 

I thought I was over this. I thought I was in a much better place. But I realise now that with menopause, the coping mechanisms I’ve built at home don’t travel with me — not in the same way, not with a neurodivergent brain.

Everything I’d put into place fell apart because I was trying to care for myself and keep up with Rich, and celebrate, and have fun with so many lovely people. And many of the women there were around menopausal age — younger, older, some possibly on HRT — and I’m not. So of course I couldn’t keep up. HRT isn’t a wonder drug, but it helps your body function and heal better. I was trying to run at their pace with a body that’s doing something completely different.

With my sleep being what it is, the time difference hit me hard. My safe space is home, and I didn’t realise just how much that matters. When I’m home, I know exactly what I need. When I’m away, I forget. I try to be who I used to be.

I need minimal things in a case. Minimal makeup. I need to be able to plug myself back into my body, rehydrate, regulate. I need my time zones right. I need timers on my phone — like the one I set for the hot flush medication — telling me: It’s bedtime now. It’s time to get up. So I don’t try to hang out with everyone like before. So I don’t pretend I can do late nights, or early mornings, or “just push through”.

Because I can’t. Not now.

If I go to bed late, my sleep is shocking. And what do I need? Sleep. Hydration. Good friends — in moderation.

I hope this will pass. “This too shall pass,” they say. But it hasn’t yet. And I do wonder if it ever will.

The flight back was terrible. Something happened to my ears — never happened before. I’ve got a terrible cold. And for someone who doesn’t drink, who eats well, who takes care of herself… I shouldn’t be this sick. But without oestrogen, (The water to my garden)  I can’t be as well as I was. (This flower has wilted) And without being home, I can’t take care of myself the way I know how.

So I’m going to teach myself how to travel — properly. With boundaries. With ND menopause logic. I’m brilliant at home. So why can’t I be brilliant away? People would respect that. It’s just me taking care of myself.

I think I got carried away with all the love, all the great people. I met some really like minded souls — men and women whose paths have crossed mine before, but never at this stage of life. It was lovely. And being around people whose partners genuinely care for them… That was beautiful. And painful.

It reminded me that I was always the one who cared for Rich. He didn’t care for me in the same way — not because he was cruel, but because he couldn’t. We laughed, yes, and there was love, but it wasn’t the kind of love that holds you up. It wasn’t the kind of love that knows how to look after you.

And now that the scale has tipped — now that it’s me who needs help — I feel the imbalance more than ever. I’m realising that I’ve spent years being the strong one, the steady one, the one who carried the weight. And now, when I finally need someone to carry even a corner of mine, there’s no space for it.

So my boundaries need to be locked solid. I can carry myself — I’ve done it since childhood, and it’s the thing that has always worked for me. Only you can truly look after yourself. I was doing well with that, but in this environment, my scales tipped again.

Seeing people cared for so deeply made me realise how much I’ve been carrying. It made me sad. Not for a violin moment — but in the honest way a strong woman recognises her own truth.

I did write a poem on the plane — something super cool for me. I played with words and turned them into something. But apart from that, I didn’t feel good about myself. All I could do was protect and care for myself as best I could. And it feels like I did a terrible job.

There will be many small diary entries to follow. But this is the first of the day: A menopausal woman realising there’s no place like home. Realising she can’t care for herself away from home the way she can within it. Realising she is happy to be home.

PS: Being surrounded by people who are loved made me feel sad about who I used to be, and who I am now. It made me realise how much I’ve been failing — more than I thought. Not a pity story. Just the truth of a strong woman speaking honestly.

My ears are silent — which is strange. One usually rings. The other hums. But now: silence. And for someone whose brain is never silent, even my mind feels switched off because I’m so unwell.

If you could hear me, I’d sound like a croaky Ole lady . If you were my ears, silenced you’d could hear the pin drop nothingness. If a smell? I could sense none, my nasal passages are completely blocked. 

And that’s where I am today.

Footnote:

Now waiting for the antibiotics to kick in - body on lock down