Menopo Express

I remember when my friend’s Mom was going through menopause and anytime she acted irrationally, her sister put up her hand in protest and simply said “Menopo!” As a daughter of a woman who had started going through menopause as soon as I left the womb, I could totally relate. Now that I am 44, I can relate on a whole new level. Awesome.

When I went to the doctor a couple months ago with “issues” relating to the fact that I am female, I mentioned recent weight gain, completely unpredictable and erratic periods, night sweats, and (my personal favorite) acne. “Well, are you exercising?” she asked me. “Not really” I admitted. “Well you can’t blame it on perimenopause then.” This was in reference to the weight gain and it was the medical equivalent to Cher’s “Snap out of it!” slap in Moonstruck. I mean, I get it. I also appreciate the candor. We humans like to blame anything but ourselves when it comes to just about everything but the truth is it’s up to us to grab hold of not only our biological needs but also of our biological duties. You have to move in order to not be too chunky. When you’re menopausal, you have to move a little extra because your eggs are shriveling up alongside that youthful glow you once had. I could say it’s not fair but what it really is is science. I am no longer “of mating age” and therefore my body is sitting back for what it hopes to be a gentle ride into elder womanhood. Sorry body, I have other plans for you.

On my best friend text thread, we talk about everything from Wordle, the aesthetic of sneakers with dresses, to hormone replacement therapy. “Soon our menopause discussions will fade into joint replacement ones” Meg said. She is so very right and she will probably be the first to get one or both knees replaced, I’d put my money on that. In that long chain of middle-aged women’s utterances that help keep us all connected, I talked about my whole cycle being out of whack and feeling “a little ragey” lately. Kel chimed in and agreed with the whole ragey feeling but also added that she just has “no patience for a lot of bs these days” that can’t necessarily be blamed on hormones. She had a point. A lot of times we women get accused of being irrational due to our hormones fluctuating when in reality the things that we seem “irrational” about are things that should make us irate. Naked aggression against sovereign nations, the persistence of the patriarchy, and Ted Cruz are three examples of why I feel “ragey”. I could blame all of my rage on crashing estrogen but I don’t think that’s entirely true. Anyone who watched Ted Cruz question Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson would understand.

As the world turns and my hormones tank, I deal with a whole host of ridiculousness in my daily life. That makes for a tick, tick, boom kind of situation. All of my children got in trouble with me this week and all of it was for very good reason. I got home from work one day and the first thing child two said to me was “All that’s left are Cheetos. You need to go shopping.” No hi, no how was your day. Tick. Another day, child one flippantly responded to my suggesting that he get off the XBox for a bit. Tick. Yesterday, child three screamed at me when I delicately asked her to turn off the TV and pick up her room. Boom. “Enough!” I yelled and demanded she no longer scream to communicate. One could say that yelling to stop someone from screaming would be counterproductive but in this case it is not. My yelling worked to wake her up to exactly who is the conductor of the Menopo Express we have here—me. Buckle up!

Please understand that I am a very placid person and, for the most part, float peacefully from day to day. I read and write poetry and stare at trees for fun. Clearly my “ragey” is another woman’s baddish mood. I work hard to embody my life motto of radical acceptance/doing the best I can with what I got. As I age, I have learned that all of that peaceful living without firmly established borders is dangerous. Kindness can easily be confused with permissiveness and some will quickly take advantage of that. Determining where your borders are and how best to display them is more difficult than it seems. When talking to a friend this week, we came to the agreement that borders look more like what we choose not to engage in rather than running around telling people how not to piss you off or cross the line. I could consume news and drama all day long or I could slip into my sunroom and write poetry when I feel the tick tick boomies creeping up. I could allow my children to treat me like a snack dispenser or I could make it crystal clear that I am not and let them get to the very bottom crumbs of the snack drawer. I could just ride this train of hormones that I’m on or try to conduct it. The choices are really quite simple.

I have no idea what conducting the Menopo Express means but will let the medical professionals help me determine that. The female journey is exceptionally unique and I, for one, don’t want to become a cliche for the menopause experience. I want to be aware, in charge, candid, and proud about what it means to be a woman. After all, the rise and fall of all these different hormones nourished and sustained three human lives while I worked. I pumped milk behind a media closet in my classroom during a prep period and somehow managed to lesson plan and correct through Isaac’s autism diagnosis. Women are badasses and receive far too much criticism for being prone to the myriad of changes we experience on a daily, monthly, and yearly basis. It’s time, I believe, to change the narrative. Next time my internal thermostat rises from my toes, who knows what I’ll accomplish. Perhaps a hot flash is really a call to action. Who’s with me?

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