The Ramblings of a Menopausal Woman

If you read my last post, then you know I decided to go to Spark Midlife a couple weeks ago in Portland. This one covers what I ended up taking away from that weekend. The things I needed to keep thinking about when I went home. Last time, I broke it down by day and just talked about the fun events.

Each day had its own theme and activities that complemented that theme:

Day One: Happiness (Drag Bingo and the Crazy Wig Bowling)

Day Two: Letting Shit Go (Disco Crowns, Rage Painting, and Baby Goat Party)

Day Three: What Lights You Up (Mrs. Roper Scavenger Hunt)

Day Four: Spark Send Off (1/2 day so everyone could head home)

When talking about how my thinking changed, it’s easier to discuss the weekend as a whole. Think of these posts as a reverse mullet. Party in the front, business in the back. So let’s get to down to business.

When I first signed up, it was because Spark just looked like a lot of fun. The idea of a group of middle aged women running around Portland in their sparkliest attire made me smile and I wanted in on that. When I walked into that room on day one, I wasn’t sure what to expect and I don’t think most of the other women did either. All I knew was that in that room of 40 middle aged women, we all wanted something fun and different. If they were fine with the status quo, then they never would have signed up. It was also possible, as I said to Clay, “I may have joined a cult but everyone seems really nice.”

There really is something interesting about being around a group of women with every backstory imaginable but hearing similar struggles. I could see parts of myself in so many of their stories. We may have been raised in different parts of the country, but there were similarities in the pressures and challenges we faced growing up and now as adults. Add in (peri)menopause, including the lack of consistent medical care, and those similarities increased tenfold.

I noticed how many of them had self sacrificing positions in the workforce. Or how many of them sacrificed their own well-being for the comfort and care of others. Here I was in a room of women who have literally changed the world, and they didn’t see how fucking badass they are. To them, it was just another day at the office.

Over the weekend I ended up with one of those “Well shit.” moments. I had to turn those thoughts towards myself. I spent so much of last year wondering what was wrong with me. I kept thinking I was broken, and would never feel like me again. I felt like a stranger in my own body. I remember crying in my kitchen and telling Clay “I just feel so broken it physically hurts.” So to challenge that notion was one of the best things I could take away from the weekend as a whole. What if I’m not broken, but I had just given myself unrealistic expectations? What if I am holding myself to a standard I couldn’t possibly meet? What if I am also a badass?

But isn’t that kind of the problem? As women we are taught not to sing our own praises or you’re showing off. Be modest, they said. We are taught not to take up space. Don’t be too opinionated or too loud. We are basically taught to apologize for our existence. How many times as women have we been told “Don’t make waves”, “Just humor them”, or “Keep the peace”? Excuse me, but why is someone else’s peace mine to keep? Why am I supposed to devalue my opinion because it doesn’t align with yours?

Realizing that I’m not broken may sound so simple, but to me it hadn’t been. Most of my adult life, I myself worked in self-sacrificing jobs. I usually worked twice as hard so I could stay under the radar and not have to hear criticism about my performance. I was a very good worker bee. I have moved the finish line for my own happiness more times than I could count. One line from Spark that really stuck with me was “Happiness is not a reward for self-sacrifice or exhaustion.” I cannot count the number of times I have pushed myself too far for a happiness that didn’t arrive at the end. I have also chased perfection most of my life. If I don’t do anything wrong, then no one can complain. But this weekend put one of those hard truths in front of me, perfection doesn’t really exist. Even if you did get everything to line up, that perfection would only last a few hours.

When I was a younger a teacher once said to me “You’re a lazy perfectionist. It’s either 100% or not at all.” She wasn’t wrong, and it was probably a good indication of my future ADHD diagnosis. The thing is, as achieving perfection kept falling short, I stopped trying. I got tired of feeling like a failure. I have beat myself up so much over taking this year off, even though I know I need it. I have ingrained my “I’ll just handle it” attitude into my life so much, that I forgot to take care of myself along the way. What if thing I need to handle all along was my own well-being? I have felt bad for not being a productive member of society. I have felt like a burden for needing time to heal. I have found myself apologizing for the time I need for my own mental health because it could inconvenience someone else. How fucked up is that?

Spark just happened to be during a weekend where a ton of events were going on, it could get pretty crowded at times. One day while I was walking around, I noticed something. If a woman bumped into me she would usually say “I’m sorry” or “Sorry.” If it was a man, they would almost always say “Excuse me.” Once I noticed it, I couldn’t stop seeing it. I realized how often women apologize for just being in the same space as someone else. How so many of us place our value lower than our worth. What the fuck are we apologizing for? For existing in the same space as someone else? For causing anyone the slightest inconvenience? I realized I did it too, but now I have been saying “Excuse me.” And you know what? I haven’t gotten in trouble once.

Towards the end of the weekend, we were talking about finding what sparks joy in you. We were asked to remember who we were at 9 and who we were at 19. An exercise to remember what brought you happiness when adult life and responsibilities hadn’t been a factor. I don’t remember much about 9 except the poison ivy I got that year, and we moved to a different part of town.

Nineteen is a different story. That was a big year for me. When I was 19, I had an epiphany at a Smashing Pumpkins concert and decided I needed to move away from North Carolina. Okay fine, there may have been some hallucinogens involved but I was 19 and it was 1993. Anywho, that night I decided I didn’t want to live and die in same town. I picked San Francisco because I knew one person that lived in California and that’s where they were. The next day I asked a couple of friends if they wanted to come with. After that, I sold everything I owned and then three of us packed up everything we had into a 1985 Pontiac Firebird and drove cross country to San Francisco. That’s who I was at 19. Fucking fearless! I ended spending the next 13 years in California, so you could say it worked out well.

But I guess that’s how epiphanies work. You never really know when it will hit you. For me this time, it was realizing the only person I can actually get “in trouble” with is myself. I shouldn’t say “I’m sorry” when I actually mean “Excuse me”. That I need to choose people that choose me. That I can be who I wanted to be when I who I was nineteen, but with a way more comfortable bed. I’m pretty good with getting that part of myself back. Look what I have done so far, and if this is midlife, just imagine what I can do the second time around. I’ll skip the hallucinogens this time though. I just don’t have that kind of time anymore.