Menopause Is Bearable
(But the Old Me Is Gone)
Menopause is bearable. But the old me — the one who ran on oestrogen, adrenaline, masking, and sheer force of will — she’s gone. She will never return. The waves come and go now, and I’ve learned to catch myself when I’m falling. Not always, but enough.
There’s an illustration I keep — Snow White in a glass coffin, drawn in that simple Miffy style. It’s perfect because it shows exactly what I’ve been trying to explain. There’s a glass wall around me. That’s my safety net. It’s delicate. It can crack. It can break. My safe space is small, and I have to maintain it.
I have to remind myself daily that nothing is going to change back. The old wiring isn’t coming online again. What I can do is self care, structure, reminders, printed notes I can physically see and read because of my audio processing issues. I’m building a system so I can retain information, explain what’s happening to people who want to understand, and help others who might be heading toward the same cliff edge.
I’m getting there the long way round, but it feels good.
And here’s the part that hits hardest: If someone had told me at forty five, “You’re going to lose the old version of yourself — make the most of everything you have now,” I would have tried. I would have held onto the good things. I would have done the things I wanted to do before I never felt like myself again.
That’s the huge realisation. Not regret — just truth.
Menopause didn’t break me. It revealed me. It showed the damage that was already done, the trauma that was already wired in, the cracks that were waiting. And now I know: I didn’t fail. My coping mechanisms simply reached their limit. The chemistry left the building, and the architecture underneath finally showed itself.
I’m still here. Different, but here. And I’m learning how to live with the woman I am now.
Comments
Post a Comment