Skip to main content

The Menopausal Carousel

 


The Menopausal Carousel

Storm Outside, Storm Inside — and Still Showing Up

It’s raining today. Not “raining” raining — more like that British biblical nonsense where it feels personal. And honestly, the weather is matching my insides. My voice is hoarse from singing at the festival yesterday, my body aches in that “something’s coming” way, and the menopausal yo‑yo is doing its usual trick of pretending I still have a cycle even though I’m not supposed to.

That’s the thing no one tells you: menopause doesn’t just stop the cycle — it scrambles the pattern. And when you’re neurodiverse, pattern is everything. So when the pattern goes, the ground goes.

Yesterday was brilliant — singing to songs I didn’t know, dancing, laughing, being out in the world again. But I got cold. Really cold. And that’s not like me. I can do 40 miles of spinning a week and feel absolutely fine, but eight hours of walking, talking, and festival‑ing has knocked me sideways. That’s the menopausal immune system for you: one minute strong, the next minute susceptible, and you never know which version you’re waking up with.

Today I’m tired, achy, foggy, and trying not to catastrophize. Is it just the cold? Is it the storm brewing inside? Is it the yo‑yo? Probably all of it.

The Outfit That Matches the Mood

I’ve basically had to pull my winter wardrobe back out. In June. In England. Of course.

  • Barrel‑leg M&S jeans — £30 and still one of the best things they’ve ever made.

  • White Primark vest — better fit than the M&S support ones, and I’m loyal to what works.

  • Hunter x Represent wellies — found in the boot of the car , lucky.

  • Jones Road cheek tint on my lips — the quickest fix for a tired woman.

  • Glossier glow — a Midult podcast recommendation, winter glow.

  • The Giving Keys necklace — I’ve had mine for years. I loved the concept then and still do now.

I even put the heating on for ten minutes this morning just to dry yesterday’s shower towel. That’s where we’re at.

The Anchor Metaphor

I’m wearing my anchor earrings today. They mean a lot. Not because I’m always grounded — I’m not. But because I’m an anchor for other people. A steady point in their storm.

Anchors can hold you steady or drag you down, but in my world, anchor means level, solid, here. And even when I wobble, I’m still that for people.

The Bigger Story

This post isn’t really about the outfit. It’s about showing up.

I wasn’t feeling great yesterday, but I went to the festival anyway. I put myself out there. I tried something new. I let myself be part of the world again — even if it was just locally. And I had the best day.

This whole menopausal‑ND chapter has rocked me in ways I didn’t expect. I’m a confident person, but this has shaken the foundations. If it’s rocked me, it’s rocked so many women my age — especially the ones juggling invisible symptoms, invisible dips, invisible storms.

But I’m learning to live with the new rhythm. To spot the patterns even when they shift. To show up even when I’m not sure which version of me is arriving.

Today I’m cold, tired, hoarse, and wrapped in a winter coat in June. But I’m here. And that counts.


Context Art - The giving Key https://www.thegivingkeys.com/collections/the-giving-keys-x-atticus-collection

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Molly, my strong, funny, tenacious, independent, courageous daughter.

  Dear Molly, my strong, funny, tenacious, independent, courageous daughter. So if I got paid for every time someone told me my daughter looks fabulous, I’d be a millionaire. A millionaire for every doctor who ignored you, for every professional who let you slip through the cracks, for every moment when the full information, the full picture, the full respect wasn’t given. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Today is for you, Molly. And for the future generations of our family — because this is genetic, because this is inherited, because someone needs to notice and someone needs to ask the right questions. I have become, by necessity, a hormonal expert. A mother who had to learn what the system refused to teach. And through it all, your husband — your rock — has moved mountains beside you, carrying what others refused to see, loving you through every unseen storm. I wish PMDD looked like your arm falling off. Because if people could see it, they’d care. Docto...
Post a Comment
Read more

Going Shopping in the Menopausal Way

  Going Shopping in the Menopausal Way A menopausal purchase is planetary. The sun must shine. The temperature must be just right. You must be neither dipping nor surging — just perfectly balanced in the hormonal moment. Because unless you buy exactly when the stars align, it will get returned. You’ll love it on the day. But if the scales tip even slightly — by the next morning, it’s on the fence. If you’re lucky, you’ll return it. If not, it’ll sit in your wardrobe for 28 days until the return window closes. Then it’s either sold on Vinted for a quarter of the price or left to haunt you. There’s a lot resting on a menopausal buy. It’s not just a purchase — it’s a mood, a moment, a miracle. I never realised this until I saw how small my wardrobe was. Not because the shops weren’t there — but because I wasn’t there when I got there. You leave the house feeling great. You arrive at the shops and suddenly… not so great. So the purchase is less than mediocre. ...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Baby Whale and the Circle of Sharks

  🌊 The Baby Whale and the Circle of Sharks A children’s story inspired by Maverick George’s real beginning Intro for Molly and Ryan When Baby Whale was born, the ocean shook. The Sea Health Service — the SHS — whispered to his parents that he had the rarest lung trouble they had seen in sixty tides . His mum, the gentle whale Molly, had just brought him into the world. His dad, the brave whale Ryan, stayed outside the coral surgery cave for hours, swimming back and forth, bringing news, bringing hope, bringing love. Baby Whale needed help right away. Not because he was weak — but because he was special , and his tiny blowhole needed extra care to learn how to breathe. That was only the beginning. 🌊 Chapter One: The Circle of Sharks From the moment Baby Whale opened his eyes, the sharks were already circling. Not the big, fierce sharks — not the ones who bite in one terrible snap. These were the small‑bite sharks . The ones who take tiny nibbles, again and again, never enough to ...
2 comments
Read more