Practice What You Preach

Today I did something small and huge at the same time. I practiced what I preach.

For weeks I’ve been telling myself I’d skate in the car park. Just a simple loop. Just me, my skates, my helmet, my wrist guards, and a bit of courage. But every time I thought about it, I talked myself out of it. I’m menopausal. My confidence has slipped. My brain doesn’t fire the way it used to. And the fear of hurting myself — of having no one to look after me if I did, because I never want to put that on anybody — held me still. Skating is supposed to be for fun, but responsibility, and being responsible for yourself, sits heavy sometimes. That and the huge weight that if I break myself in some way, It will kept me still, when I’m never still.

I’ve been skating around my kitchen, too fearful to go outside. Then a skate lesson, Skating in LA, with Dirty Debora Harry - third generation , Fountain Valley Skating Center since 1976.

So I knew I could. A year later, I still hadn’t left the house.

I kept saying, “I’ll do it when I feel ready.” But ready never came.

Then today something shifted.

I went for a walk first, let my endorphins warm up my edges. And on the drive home I passed the car park — one car in it, empty, quiet, safe. I actually drove past it. Then I heard myself think, “Practice what you preach.” So I turned the car around.

I didn’t let myself think. I didn’t let myself talk myself out of it. I stopped the car, put my skates on, helmet clipped, wrist guards tight. My knees, elbows, back — free game. But my head and my wrists? Protected. Because I’m an artist and I need my hands.

And then I stood up.

Began to skate, the surface shaking my whole body, my young memories coming back. I shook all over. My brain rocked.

The car park was bumpy — honestly, not the best choice — but I did it. I skated. I remembered how much I love it. How my body remembers even when my confidence doesn’t. How joy can sit dormant and still be there the moment you move.

I kept going. Loop after loop.

One more loop and again and again, Shaking, laughing, wobbling, but doing it.

And here’s the truth: I couldn’t have done this before. Not because I wasn’t capable, but because I wasn’t willing to risk hurting myself, if something went wrong. Today I was. Today I trusted myself. (protected what was important and went anyway) Today I practiced what I preach.

And I feel really, really good. A bit done. A bit wobbled. But proud. Happy. Alive.

Today I turned the car around. Today I skated. Today I chose myself, every time I thought to stop one more lap. Telling myself, “It’s okay — I’ll manage even if I fall.” Since perimenopause began, I’ve dusted myself off and picked myself up a thousand times.