Which I do I?

Overwhelmed.  Yep.  That’s me right now.  So many changes – happening all at once.  Some good, some not so good, some neutral.

Let’s see, perhaps I should list them.  Oh, not for your benefit, but for mine so that I can see a little snapshot of what I am attempting to navigate:

• I am now Half a Century young, and though I thought not possible, it comes with a bunch of brand new variables to navigate
• My youngest daughter (of 3 “kids”) just moved out
• “Empty Nester” is one of my current titles – how did that happen?
• Downsizing the homestead is looming (which means a probable move)
• I now make an audible “harrrumph” every time I get up from the couch or bed
• Menopause has knocked me a sucker punch to the gut, literally, and has left a trail of disaster in its wake
• My pets have all traveled to the “rainbow bridge” and no one else is THAT glad to see me when I walk in the door
• Business is growing and developing (a good thing!), but can consume me as I, too, grow and develop in my knowledge-base of technology
• My body is slowly breaking down in nearly all of my joints.  Beast Mode has to become Be Careful Mode
• Contemplating how to help my parents, if/when the time comes, as they age
• I live life and do things BY MYSELF a lot because my phase of life is quite different from others my age (namely, they still have rugrats running around the house).  So dinner?  It’s me, myself and I.  Gym?  Lone Ranger.  Listening to live music?  Solo.  You get the picture
• Blah, Blah, Blah

SO WHAT, right?

Yeah.  You’re right.  So what.  The list above doesn’t indicate that big-a-deal and there’s nothing on it that is life-shattering.  But here’s the deal — here’s the SO WHAT —

No matter how we look at change and no matter what those changes are, we have to make a choice which determines how we navigate the different current, otherwise we may find ourselves sinking underneath those changing tides!

We have to ask the question,

WHICH I DO I?

After dropping off my daughter to her college dorm and letting my newfound loneliness sink in to a whole new level, 3 words came to mind — amidst an almost sink or swim moment of emotionalism.

Intermission.  Intervention.  Initiation.

Rather than getting myself completely ramped up over this tidal wave of change in my life, I believe I have the unique opportunity to make a choice between these three I’s.

 

Do I ….

1. Take an INTERMISSION:  Do I take a breather and allow myself to relax a little — Do things that promote a break from all the soul crushing responsibilities — Give myself a break — Learn again how to live life with more spontaneity rather than being so tied to a hard and fast schedule — Scaling back a bit and taking a long, deep breath before diving into more projects, more deadlines, more “stuff”
2. Have an INTERVENTION:  Do I intervene on my own behalf so as not to drown?  — Sign up to do something new — Create a social group without waiting to be asked to join one — Invite people to do things even if I am almost certain their schedules won’t allow — Surround myself by my adult kids whenever I can — Plan to have new adventures even if on my own — Commit to learning something new and mastering it — Travel to see friends when they cannot come see me — Learn a new language or take a college course — etc
3. Show some INITIATION:  Put action behind my plans — SHOW UP for myself every day — Spearhead fun events and gathering people together — Jump Start my own self care — Implement a plan of action for things that make me smile — Reach out rather than retreat

So … WHICH I DO I?

For me, personally, I am going to play a little mix and match … scrambling those three I’s a little and taking a bite out of each.  How?

An Intermission Amuse Bouche

For starters and as an appetizer to my Scrambled-I meal, I do, indeed, need a bit of an INTERMISSION.  After 25 years of raising kids, caring for pets, owning a business, being the best daughter, sister, friend, spouse, motivator, caregiver, trainer, leader, example, encourager, teacher, entrepreneur, writer, inspirer, cook, cleaner, “et al” I can be — I need an ever-lovin’ BREAK!!!  I do need an intermission from some of the heavy responsibility.  I need to understand that I don’t need to dive in right away to more and more and more things that require me to be the sole caregiver or the only one in charge.  An intermission from heavy responsibility is in order in the here and now, taking on nothing new.  Time to be kind to me.

A Heaping Helping of Intervention

Have you heard that Journey song, “Be Good to Yourself”?  Ahhhh — here are some of the lyrics:

Runnin’ out of self-control – Gettin’ close to an overload

Up against a ‘no win’ situation.

Shoulder to shoulder push and shove – I’m hanging up my boxing gloves

I’m ready for a long vacation.

Be good to yourself when nobody else will – OH, be good to yourself.

You’re walkin’ on high wire, caught in a crossfire – OH, be good to yourself.

When you can’t give no more.  They want it all but you gotta say NO.

OH, be good to yourself

It’s time for me to swoop on in and save the day — not ALLOW myself to drown in emotionalism, self pity, loneliness, lack of motivation, self sabotage.  Time for baby girl to get up, put up and shut up.  Nobody puts Baby in the corner, not even herself!  I can be my biggest hindrance and sometimes it is necessary for me to intercede on my own behalf and for my own good — become a mediator of sorts between the stuck between a rock and a hard place me and the over-extended, over-worked, over committed me.  There’s a place in the middle where a big spoonful of intervention can occur and I come out unscathed.

Main Course — INITIATION

It’s all fine and dandy to say, “I need to do this or that” , but it’s a whole other ball game to actually put action behind the words.  I love that line by the one and only Yoda that says, “DO. Or DO NOT.  There is no try,” and you know what?  That furry little creature, strange looking, though he be, is right!  I’m either going to DO something.  Or I’m NOT going to DO something.  My attempts at trying don’t accomplish the Doing or the Not Doing.  It truly is ONE or the OTHER.

I’ll be vulnerable with you by telling you how easy it is for me to retreat, to become the tiniest speck possible when the crap hits the fan.  I allow the waves to crash over me sometimes and permit myself to become tousled and tossed in the current of depression, especially when the waves keep coming and the pressure of their breaks feels too heavy.  I’ll also tell you that, though I may at times feel the initial stages of drowning under the pressure — I have yet to allow myself to drown.  Somewhere along the line I GET BACK UP … I INITIATE a change of course, a plan of action.  I put one outstretched arm in front of the other and I begin to swim.

So … Which I do YOU?

Where are you on the spectrum?

Maybe you need a full, 4-course meal of INTERMISSION.  Maybe you’ve been running way too hard for way too long and you need to unplug, detox, become invisible for a while, dismantle.  And if you recognize that INTERMISSION has become your last ditch effort and will be your saving grace, then I believe it’s time to DO or DO NOT.  A little “power down” is better than the alternative, which is a painful, scary, frantic drowning.

Or perhaps it’s the INTERVENTION that would do you most good.  A little kindness to self that keeps you afloat.  INTERVENTIONS can become a safety net, keeping you from falling off the edge.  It could be as easy as learning how to say NO to others and stand up for yourself, your time, your balance of energy.  Maybe it’s more about saying YES to the things in your life that put a great big smile on your face — those things you haven’t made time for because you are just “too busy”.  By the way, “too busy” and “drowning” look a lot alike.

Or possibly your life lacks your own INITIATION.  You talk a lot and have grand ideas about being healthier, losing weight, getting out from underneath the burden of debt, being a better friend, committing to your own fitness, living a more mindful life, learning something new … but you seldom step up to the plate and actually take a swing.  And you wonder why you just can’t kick the negative thoughts of “should have, would have, could have” which leave you feeling less than enthused about life in general.  It’s possible that INITIATING action, taking that first step is the very thing that will keep you from struggling underneath the water’s surface.

An I for an I for an I … mixed and matched … scrambled up … administered one spoon at a time, today, tomorrow, the next day and ongoing – it could be the life vest that keeps you afloat, come hell or high water, through changing tides or on calm seas.

How do I know?  Well, I’m currently there – have been there before and, I assure you, will be there again … standing there on the edge of what feels like a precipice and uttering the same words that popped into my head just the other day —

Which I do I?

To your BEST YOU YET!

~Michele

 

 

 

Diary of a Mad Menopausal Women PART II !!!

Perhaps I was only partly in my right mind when I wrote the Diary of a MMW Part I, because ohhhhh there’s so much more!  So many wonderful nuggets of information that should be, no … NEED TO BE shared.  TMI perhaps?  But of course.  Because let me tell you … everything about this stage of life (especially when it comes screeching out of the sky like a hot, burning comet despite the fact that you are way too young and certainly not the least bit ready to handle its weapons of mass destruction on your life) is too much.  But alas, once again, I digress.

Let me first say Thank You.  —I’m attempting the sandwich effect (did someone say “SANDWICH”?  Maybe I need a sandwich?  Do I?  No.  Truly.  I doubt I’ll need to eat food ever again because my body reacts by osmosis if I merely sniff food).  But yeah…back to the sandwich effect:  To “Sandwich” means to say something nice or complimentary (does it count if it’s completely facetious?  I don’t know) at the beginning and at the end of a conversation thereby softening the blow of the negative stuff in the middle.  So here goes …

Thank you, Menopause.  You are so kind as to slap me with only 8 symptoms when I realize now that there could be many, many more.  Like a hoarder you’ve collected an oh so yummy assortment of trinkets to clutter my existence, but to my surprise (and utter “delight” — now I’m just lying but hoping you’ll take the bait) you limited yourself to an even 8.  Thank you, oh Queen of Misery.  You are so gracious.

–End of the first slice of bread in my sandwich effect.  Now for the stuff in the middle–

Sweet Symptom #1:  Hot Flashes

I’m pretty sure my blood is molten lava, boiling inside my veins.  I can feel it about to erupt.  It starts down in my feet and begins its volcanic ascent up my body.  Fiery hot liquid.  I am standing in the middle of a sea of people … smack dab in the center of an aisle with no escape on either side.  Church goers in front of me.  Behind me.  Flanking to my right and to my left.  Singing heart-felt songs that I, too, love to sing — on any given Sunday.  I frantically fan myself.  No.  No no no no.  NO!  The flames hover between my angelic wing bones (scapula, to be exact) and sweat droplets form.  I have to stop fanning myself and begin to unstick my shirt from my skin.  I’m so hot. I need to undress here and now.  Please.  There’s gonna be a fire in here when my body instantaneously combusts.  Fair warning folks.  It’s either my nakedness or this place is gonna turn to ash in a split second.  Take your pick because at this point I could care less.

Fanning.  Unsticking.  Sweating.

Just as I am about to free myself from my clothing, without an iota of concern that I’m in a public place surrounded by a slew of people (who cares, right?  I don’t know most of these people anyway.  They may be just fine with public nudity.  Who’s to say?) the fiery hot flames wrap themselves around my body almost like a hug.  Never trust an embrace from your enemy.  It’s a deception equal to the Judas Kiss.  The arms of fire wrap themselves around my torso on the front side of my body, claw their way up my neck and onto my face.  I am ready to explode.  I am certain that my lava blood will burst forth out of the top of my head and I and everyone within reach will be completely engulfed in flames …. utterly annihilated.

Fanning.  Unsticking.  Sweating…profusely.  Angry.  Uncomfortable.  Miserable.

And just like that, the Demon escapes out of the pores on the top of my head.  I hear an evil laugh…sinister and cruel.  I am left standing (barely) and now need to take a shower, although, from the looks of me it would appear I just stepped out of the shower … drenched and with steam rising from my skin.

Endearing Symptom #2:  Headaches

To say there’s an icepick in my brain is not at all acknowledging the super-hero qualities of Hormone Headache (H2 for short).  She’s an evil villain with a strong arm and an iron grip.  She laughs in the face of other headache minions because they are easily manipulated and controlled by heavy (and sometimes not so heavy) doses of medication.  H2 does not flinch.  Medication doesn’t stand a chance.  There’s nothing on the face of this Earth or within the Cosmos that can take her down.  She has a sledgehammer effect that lasts for days on end.  There’s no relief from her constant vice-grip.  Her muscles bulge.  Her veins swell and all the while she is smiling her evil smile of victory.  H2 is indestructible, and she knows it.  Menopause, I have no words for your gift.  In fact, I am speechless because I can barely lift my head to acknowledge you.

Fantastic Symptom #3:  Rage

As I mentioned in Diary of a MMW Part I, “rage” may be too kind a word to describe the murderous tendencies that erupt from within my being.  I only slightly kid when I say, “You must die”.  Of course, I could be talking to another living, breathing human being or to an inanimate object without a soul.  Either way the rage is real.

A few more examples

There’s Road Rage:  So you think it’s cool to drive your mini van in the far left lane, peddle to the floor at a top speed of 45 mph?  To be quite frank, can I just say that it’s problematic to me that you are driving a mini van in the first place?  But to actually drive LIKE a mini van driver as well?  Can you NOT break the mold at all and drive that thing like a race car … for ONCE in your life?  Can you NOT live a little?  Seriously.  My blood is boiling even as I type.  Get your big, fat mini van with all its stickers of moms, dads, children, pets and soccer balls, out of my way.  Move it or lose it sister because I don’t have time for this.  Take your mini van and all your sports equipment and head on over there to the right lane where the SLOW PEOPLE go because if I’m honest, I’m about to drive you into the ditch.

And let’s not forget Crowd Rage:  You will never find me shopping on Black Friday.  Never.  Ever.  I am truly saving myself a potential cat fight and possibly a night in the slammer.  I can barely handle grocery shopping in Costco … all those carts and hoards of people, and screaming children, wandering husbands, so many hands reaching for the same item.  “Excuse me.  Pardon me.”  That’s what I SHOULD say (rather than what I actually DO say, between clenched teeth).  But what I want to scream is “GET THE HECK OUT OF MY WAY AND PAY ATTENTION, WHY DON’T YOU? ”  I mean, really, why do people turn off their brains in crowds?  Do I always have to move aside because you have no idea where you are going and you’d plow right into me if I didn’t move?  Please don’t rub up against me.  You may cause a hot flash to break loose and then IT’S ON!  I can’t be responsible for what might occur, right here, right now.  Crowds make me feel like I have the creepy crawlies all over me.  It’s pandemonium.  Chaos.  And at any second I may very well go crazy on all of you, like a bat out of hell.

How about Circumstantial Rage:  Did you move that pile of stuff I had … you know, the pile that had been here on the kitchen table for about a month now?  It had become a decoration of sorts.  Did you move it?  Did you touch it?  I am going to blow a gasket.  Where are my glasses?  They were JUST HERE a minute ago.  I will tear this entire house apart, top to bottom … RIGHT NOW.  I cannot for the life of me get this cereal bag opened.  Why do they make these bags so stinking hard to open?  I could come up with a better design than this!  FINE!!!!  I’ll slice open this thing with a knife and let all the cereal fall to the floor.  At least I’ll be the winner and not this poor excuse for an “easy open” container.  Where are the keys?  The car is warming up outside and now I can’t find the keys.  Wait.  Oh yeah.  They are in the ignition in the car (that is warming up).  OK.  Tornado rage averted, this once.  Did you just look at me, during my fit of rage, with mockery in your eyes?  Did you dare just look at me that way?  Because you may want to start running … and I mean fast … Your eyes are about to be clawed out.

Delightful Symptom #4:  Insomnia

It’s an enigma, sleeplessness is.  I am usually completely exhausted and am ready and willing to fall asleep.  I look forward to the darkness…the soft pillow…the whir of the fan…the weight of the covers on top of me.  I anticipate dreaming, entering a world of my brain’s creation.  Closing my eyes.  Resting my bones.

Yet sleep eludes me … completely.  It whole-heartedly scorns me.  One sheep.  Two sheep.  Five Hundred Thousand sheep … those fluffy white barnyard animals mock me, tiptoeing in front of me just underneath the breath of the ceiling fan.  The whirring fan creates a rhythmic dance, keeping time with the second hand of the clock … the sheep throw a party.  I become a very wide awake, creepy spectator with the words of Lionel Ritchie’s “All Night Long” on my lips.

And then … it’s morning.  Was it ever night?  I can’t remember.  I am now a full-fledged zombie, angry at the world around me.  Pissed at those sheep.

Attractive Symptom #5:  Body Padding

The search is on.  My body is desperate to find any trace of estrogen left.  Nada.  Nothing.  Zip.  Zero.  Empty.  Perfect.  Just perfect.  I hear the internal megaphone making the announcement:

 “OK.  Turn her into a middle aged Grandma even though she’s only in her 40’s.  This is gonna be fun to watch! Produce some extra padding between her tits and her hoo-ha.  Give it that rippled, cottage cheese effect.  Nice.  Very nice.  Don’t go overboard, just yet.  Just enough to annoy her.  Let’s watch her do a little extra cardio for good measure and see how much more she will attempt to sweat it out in the gym.  We’ll fool her to believe she has any control, but truly Lady M is in charge and what She says goes.  So …. bring on that stubborn body fat.”

But fight it, I will.  Lady M may be in charge, but I remind you that Lady M also gave me some RAGE.  So I will pull a full monty on this body padding scheme and switch up every aspect of my life if necessary.  I will not go down easily.  BRING IT ON, Lady M.  I’m and Angry Menopausal Woman.  You may have met your match!

Dreamy Symptom #6:  Night Sweats

My bed has become a furnace.  The covers suffocate me.  I’m trapped under here!  Panic!!  Get me out!  Beads of sweat form in strange places on my body.  They rise to the surface of my skin and like an army, each bead begins to march alongside the others … forming a solid pool of liquid.  I flail … arms and legs completely hung up in the covers, twisted in knots.  Get me out!  I’m boiling.  The liquid army, after forming a solid front, arm in arm, begins to run, traveling as a single liquid unit down my body.  I continue to flail and my efforts are equivalent to a full week’s worth of cardio activity as I desperately try to loosen myself from the pretzel twist of the covers, cinching down my arms and legs.  The furnace of my bed hits its top temperature and I am positive I will become a heap of ash.  My last ditch effort of removing the covers rewards me.  I continue to flail as the cool air rushes over me and snuffs out the flames of the fiery furnace and ceases the momentum of the liquid army.  I count my breaths … 30 seconds perhaps.  And now …. the ice cold tundra hits me hard.  Back under the covers to await the next sweat-sesh.  Laundry is gonna be a bitch.

Excellent Symptom #7:  Mood Swings

Me: I am so happy!  Life and all its people are beautiful.  Such a delight!

Also Me:  I hate my life and these people are on my very last nerve.  Why can’t I live out my miserable existence on some lonely island somewhere … left to die.

Me:  I absolutely love my job.  I’ve been able to accomplish so much.  I am blessed.

Also Me:  I want to burn this business to the ground.  I’m so tired.  If I have to face one more client today and be “happy and upbeat”, I may just slit my own throat.

Me:  Laughter is the best medicine!

Also Me:  I can’t stop crying.  The World is a dark, bleak place.  Sadness is the only truth.

Me:  I love being a parent.  I should have had 10 children so that I could tend to them and care for all their needs and love them to pieces every moment of my life.

Also Me:  Mommy is going into an Extended Time Out.  Fend for yourselves.  I’ll be here under the covers for a few weeks. 

Me:  The World is my oyster.  I can do ANYTHING!  I am Super Woman.

Also Me:  I’m such a failure … at EVERYTHING.  I think I’ll sit here in this dark corner, eat a carton of ice-cream (only to suffer from my lactose intolerance later) and give in to the fact that my only super power is Mastery of Melancholy.

Me:  I’m so excited!

Also Me:  Shut up you over-zealous, pie-in-the-sky-thinking, hyperbole-speaking twit.

Marvelous Symptom #8:  Deep, Dark Despair

When I was younger, I use to sit on the floor beside my grandmother as she watched one of her favorite TV shows called Hee Haw.  If you are a “youngan” you may not have a clue here … you were watching shows like Friends or Keeping up with the Kardashians (as in last year).  Hee Haw was filled with hayseed hillbillies chewing on pieces of hay, sitting on haystacks, dressed in overalls and calico patterned (albeit very low cut) dresses.  It was a backwoods comedy show.

One of the skits had the same tune attached to it each time.  The words to the tune went as follows:

 “Gloom, despair and agony on me.  Deep dark depression.  Incessant misery.  If it weren’t for bad luck I’d have no luck at all.  Gloom, despair and agony on me.”

These are the words, the motto, the end-all of menopausal symptoms. Lady M holds nothing back with this one.  Does she hold anything back from the other symptoms?  Truly, she does not.  And I hate her for it … though her steadfastness is somewhat admirable, even at my expense.

Despair rises up, wearing a dark-as-night cloak and hood, with a face indistinct and a body made of what seems to be hollow darkness … an oil-black air that encompasses the cloak.  It overcomes me yet there is nothing tangible for me to ward off … only the dripping, inky air … cold air.  Ice cold.  Despair speaks to me in hushed tones and I often wonder if the thoughts are actually my own.  The words fall on me from out of nowhere, like a heavy, blinding snow.  They beat me down with their grim messages:

“You are a no good piece of garbage.  Why do you even try?”

“Life is just one disaster after another.  There’s nothing good under the sun.”

“Just give up.  It would be easier than the failure you’ll experience in trying.”

“No one out there really cares for you.”

“Stay under those blankets.  You can’t help yourself feel better anyway.”

“Joy?  There is no such thing!”

“It’s just a matter of time before everything comes crumbling down on you.”

“You can’t fight for yourself or for your happiness.  All is lost.”

“Become a hermit.  Besides, who would want to be around your foul-ness.”

“You can’t beat Lady M.  She’s got you … hook, line and sinker.   This is your new normal, so suck it up buttercup.”

And there I lie … underneath of pile of UNTRUTHS that I’m convinced are real and true.  Despair laughs.  It’s a sickening laugh.  An evil laugh.  He believes he is the Victor.  And some days, he is.

And now for the second slice of bread in my sandwich effect (again I have to ask…do I need a sandwich?  Am I hungry?  Do I even like sandwiches?)  Alas, I digress once again.  OK.  I’m going to need your help here … especially if you have a sarcastic bone in your body to offer as a condiment on our sandwich.  Let’s all give a round of applause and possibly a standing ovation to the Center of our Universe … LADY M!

Lady M I do humbly thank you for giving me reason to contemplate life.  Thank you for waking me to the times in my life when I truly had it good, but didn’t know it.  Because of your current influence on my life, I will never again complain about any of the trivial things that were a mere annoyance to me before you came along.  Those things never changed my life like you have, oh Dear Queen of Misery.  I’d give anything to weigh only 5 pounds heavier than what I’m use to weighing.  I’m ashamed that I complained about those silly five pounds … back before you reeked havoc on my life.  And quite frankly, I absolutely love the heat, so bring on those hot flashes and night sweats (I know you will anyway).  I also realize that my rage is just an outflow of my inner passion.  Thank you for revealing this to me.  And truly, my attitude DID NEED some adjusting because perhaps insomnia is a blessing.  More hours to my day.  I can sleep when I die, right?  Lady M, you are so kind.  The headaches remind me that I’m actually alive and still living above ground.  Perfect.  And the Despair, well, you in your great wisdom knew that I would need an evil adversary to fight on a daily basis in order to unveil the warrior that I am to the World at large.  Indeed, I am forever in your debt.

Lady M, you have given me so much.  How can I ever repay you?  Gifts without my asking for them or deserving them.  You’ve bestowed upon me some doozies … and have given freely without restraint.  I bend down on one knee (wait … hold on a second while I slowly, very slowly make my way down to the floor) in humility of your Greatness, Goodness, Kindness and Graciousness.

I now bid thee farewell as I down 4 Advil, tuck my hand held fan into my purse as I look for my keys.  I hope to not run anyone off the road today as I go to the store to purchase some Sominex, a body weight scale, extra tissues for when I have my breakdown later and a dual-edged sword to show Despair who’s boss today and remind the people in my house that I do have the upper hand, even when I’m a little on the crazy side.

~Yours Truly

Mad Menopausal Woman

 

50 Things I’ve Learned in my Half Century of Life

Half a Century!  Well, when you put it that way it seems SOOOOOOO, ummm, O*L*D.  Ahhh, but some time ago I refused to use 2 words simultaneously — “OLD” and “AGE”, so let’s re-phrase, shall we?  How about this:

Half a Century = 50 years YOUNG = Seasoned = Wise = Experienced = Slightly Tired = Occasionally Rickety = Finally Uninterested in what others think about me = Intolerant of Bullsh*t = Fabulously Free to BE!

So here goes … and these are in no particular order – simply free-flowing thought …

I’ve learned that –

1. The sun on my skin rejuvenates me and fills me with happiness.
2. Add warm air to that sun and there’s no holding back the full-face smiles.
3. Life cannot be scripted with expectations of how things “should” go.
4. Writing is my ultimate form of expression.
5. Attention and flattery come cheap, and I’m “with it” enough to see through it.
6. Anyone can say they are my friend.  Only a few truly are.
7. The ocean, in all its beauty, mystery and awe is where I am most “home”.
8. True devotion costs a lot.
9. Passion cannot be learned or forced.  It is innate.
10. People CAN change.  It’s just a matter of whether they really, truly want to.
11. Healthy FEAR keeps me from danger.  Unhealthy FEAR keeps me from living.
12. Music, especially lyrics, connects with me on a very deep level.  Know my music.  Know me.
13. Exercise channels all the toxins, the pent up frustrations, anger, the confusion, the pain and allows a very specific release.  I always, always, always feel better afterwards.
14. I don’t NEED to walk to the beat of anyone’s drum but my own.
15. Aging is a privilege.  The alternative is  … well, 6 feet below ground.
16. There’s no perfect parent, much less me.  But somehow my 3 grown children have become decent human beings and an asset to society.  Maybe I should pat myself on the back a little.
17. Life NEVER turns out how you thought (Note #3 on this list).
18. Forgiveness is less about the other person’s wellbeing and more about my own.
19. Showing mercy, grace and compassion is my ultimate kindness to those around me.
20. I can try to be all things to all people … until I can’t.
21. Giving my ALL to being disciplined is hard, hard work and requires learning how to say NO to myself and to others on the daily.
22. Having an identity outside of “house and home” is vital.
23. People don’t always have to agree with or understand the things that make me tick.  And I shouldn’t shine any dimmer just because they don’t “get me”.
24. To learn how to make sacrifices is the key to discipline.
25. I find freedom in a schedule because I know what to expect and when to expect it.  I know when I have to be ON and when I can turn OFF for a spell.
26. Rest and recovery are imperative for longevity.
27. I get thirsty when I drink more water, not the other way around.
28. Life goes on, especially for others … no matter what I may be going through.
29. Quitting on myself is absolutely, positively NOT an option.
30. No matter what, someone is always watching and therefore my actions or non-actions are always an example to someone.
31. There are some things that only my girlfriends know about me – and they usually come with dark chocolate when it’s time to talk.
32. It’s ok to be a total badass in the gym and turn around and demonstrate feminine finesse on the dance floor.
33. Short hair doesn’t mean “un-feminine”.  And what an antiquated, small-minded view.  The definition of “un-feminine” is male body parts and I don’t have those, so …
34. So many people have opinions of things or places or situations they’ve never experienced.  I need not worry what they think.
35. My business is about the relationships I build with every person with whom I come in contact.  Once my business starts to move away from that and becomes something else, I may as well close my doors.
36. I don’t know everything.  Nor do I pretend to.  But I’ll research to find an answer!
37. Difficulty in life is no respecter of persons, even if you dot your “i’s” and cross your “t’s”.
38. People make time for the people and the things they truly want to.
39. My excuses do not give me a pass to quit.
40. Get to really know someone before formulating a wrong opinion of them.
41. Being ethical in my business, even to my own demise, is a top priority.
42. Change doesn’t always have to be scary and embracing it may make the passage easier to navigate.
43. What they say is true, not you, me or anyone can out-exercise poor eating/drinking habits.
44. Whimsy, fun, laughter should ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS be a part of life.
45. And if they make you laugh, like split your sides, tears down your face laugh — they are worth keeping.
46. Hiding behind being busy doesn’t make whatever I’m hiding go away.
47. Show up.  Every day.
48. It does me no favors to play small, to dim my light, or not stand firm for what I believe.
49. My faith in the God who loves me is integral to who I am now or ever hope to be.
50. No matter what, I’ve learned to GET BACK UP, to keep fighting, striving.  Knock me down — I won’t stay down by choice.  If I can’t get up right away, in my mind I’m standing tall nonetheless.

 

 

 

 

Diary of a Mad, Menopausal Woman

Just yesterday I was “normal”, whatever that means.  But truly, I was.  I am sure of it, I think.  I mean … it feels like it was just yesterday, right?  C’mon foggy brain, you can do this.  You can remember.  Perhaps “normal” is or was or should be overrated anyway.  Does it even matter?  YES!  YES it does matter.  Hence this diary.  Stay on task foggy brain.  Seriously.  You can do this.

Let’s throw out a few definitions before we begin.

Diary:  the telling of a tale.  To admit to something, come to a realization, to be enlightened enough or have that “something” be important enough to write it down for the entire universe to see. (OK … melodramatic and yes, quite daunting)

Mad:  as in angry, yes, but also crazy, freaked out, disturbed, maniacal, borderline psycho and quite often a complete nutcase swinging from the vines of emotionalism

Menopausal:  the bane of aging, the bewitching of body, mind and spirit, the unfair continuum of the curse of menses that follows us to our graves (and perhaps drags us there kicking and screaming in our maddened state of existence)

Woman:  Simply put … NOT man.  Doubtful a man could even handle any of the above.

As I was saying, just yesterday I was normal.  And then, I was not.  Just like that.  I blinked, snapped my fingers, turned my head and “Normal” snuck out the door.  That’s ok.  I am not one who strives to be like everyone else anyway.  So, in an attempt to embrace my un-normalness, I reach for that proverbial superhero cape (it’s a deep, sensuous red in my mind), sling it around my shoulders, bend over slightly due to the new found pain in my hip (bone loss perhaps?) and don that sucker like nobody’s business.  I stand there in my closet with my hands on my hips … deep in my own super hero imagination.  Why did I come in here?  There was something specific I came looking for.  It wasn’t clothing or shoes, I’m pretty sure.  I drop my arms from their best ever Wonder Woman place on my hips (Ouch! That right hip still hurts).   To preserve brain power, I walk out of the closet none the wiser as to why I entered it in the first place.  Foggy Brain = 1.  Normal Me = 0.  I lose again.

The numbers on the clock at night burn a hole in my head.  I watch them like a creepy peeping Tom … eyes wide open and a weird look on my face.  Interesting, those digital numbers.  Do you know which numbers on a digital clock have the same amount of lighted lines as the number itself?  I raise my hand as if I am a 1st grader …. “Oh Oh, I know the answer.  Pick me!  Pick me!”  The number 4 and the number 5.  Aha!  All that creepy staring is good for something!

 I watch the clock as the 2, as in A.M., turns into a 3.  Only a couple hours left to attempt sleep.  I give up trying.  My zombie self rises as if it is coming up out of the depths of the Earth.  Another all-nighter, which also means another wrecked day of walking around in a daze.  Thank you, Menopause.  This means so much.

Are there calories in the air?  If I sniff something delectable will I gain weight?  I’m a trainer, a fitness trainer.  I’ve worked hard to maintain a lean, muscular physique.  Not to worry … I still have it despite the capital M in menopause.  If you know me personally, don’t roll your eyes when you read this, but my body is changing.  No, it’s not drastic (yet) but I can tell, and quite frankly that’s all that matters.  Primary areas of concern that have been affected by the capital M:  abdominal, hips, thighs, butt.  Instead of being the separate, wonderful entities that they are (ahem, or rather, WERE), they have begun to appear amalgamated into more of an amorphous single unit.  It’s like they each lifted their Power Rangers rings, fist bumped them together while screaming, “Power Rangers Unite!”  Each area that has been affected by the capital M has brought along a suitcase for the journey … filled with those 2 sexy figure killers that start with the letter C.  Cellulite and Crepey skin.  Again, Lady M, job well done.  This sucker punch is the loveliest of it’s kind.  I applaud you.

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Some of the running dialogue in my head … and “M”s sneering responses … making a mockery of what has become of me (at her own manipulative hand.  I hate her!)

Me: They were here just a minute ago … my reading glasses!  M: They are on your head.

Me: My keys.  Not in my purse.  Not on the counter.  I’m late!  M: Haha!  They are in the ignition.

Me: Sure, I can meet you for coffee!  M: No. You have a job, remember?  

Me: Let me put my shoes on real quickly.  M: Be careful.  You now fall over standing on one foot.

Me: I can’t wait to go running.  M: Do you hear that clicking sound?  Is it your knees, spine, hips or all of the above?  And … make sure there’s a restroom always close by!

Me:  How old am I?  Oh, I’m 45.  M:  No you’re not.  You’re 47.  Don’t be so flighty.

Me: There was a point to this story.  M:  Yes, and you’ve forgotten it like you do many things.

Me: I love you but I want to murder you.  M: Mood swings, have we?

Me: The food on my plate looks blurry.  M: Reading glasses.  They are on top of your head.

Me: Please just leave me alone!!!!  M:  I thought you said you were lonely. 

Me:  I want ______ (fill in the blank).  No I don’t.  Yes I do.  M:  If made it so that you have no idea what you want anymore.

Me:  I’m just so tired.  M: You just woke up.  I love we get to spend all night hanging out!

Me:  Give me my coffee and no one gets hurt!  M: You are very serious and could end up on the news this evening.  Not to worry, I’m responsible but I’ll let you take the fall.

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It’s blazing hot in here.  I remember watching my grandmother pick up anything that she could use as a makeshift fan, wave that fan around her face and say, in her sweet, Southern twang, “Ewwwww, Lordy, Lordy.  I’m havin’ me a tropical heat waaa-aave!”   Remember the sexy red super hero cape I slung around my shoulders?  Well, it disguises itself.  It’s actually the Villain, not the Super Hero.  It takes the form of boiling heat that creeps up my back, waving its hot fiery edges up my spine.  Once it gets to about shoulder height, the cape of fire wraps itself around the front of my body, hovers there long enough to make me miserable and then swooshes up my face, leaving sweat all over my brow and escaping like a thief in the night out of my skull.  I’m sure that my eyes have turned to flaming hot laser beams and if I opened my mouth, dragon flames would exit from within and scorch anyone or anything in sight.  M …. go on with your bad, hot self, because of course, we know you will, especially after we’ve put on make up to cover up the strange skin tone we now have and are giving a presentation in front of a room full of people.  Lady M …. or shall I call you “Your Hotness” this is not remotely funny, but always ill-timed and has mean girl tendencies.  I have a mind to strangle you once and for all, but it just makes me too hot to think about following through.

I’m freezing!  I need a blanket.  A thick, heavy blanket.  Yes.  I realize it is the dead of summer.  But you aren’t me, so shut your trap and bring me that blanket before I murder you.  And be sure to keep one eye open while you are sleeping too, because you are just under my skin all day, every day and I just can’t take you anymore.  You would think that any of the excess adipose tissue (look it up, people.  I’m not explaining it to you) that the capital M has brought into my life would help insulate me.  No indeed.  It’s not going to work in my favor at all …. ever.  So I remain cold.  Like, old lady cold.  Like, grandma wrapped up in a sleeping bag (okay, there’s a name for those blankets, but for the life of me I can’t think of it), wearing thick wool socks PLUS slippers and a cute little hat she knitted herself, sitting in her cloth chair that is sitting in front of a floor heater cold.  FREEZING!  But all I have to do is wait a few minutes and the sexy, red Villain Cape will appear and burn me to smithereens.

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Do I have to get out of bed?  Yes, yes, I know I have to wash the sheets because there’s a sweat ring that may become permanent if left unattended.  But I really don’t think I have it in me today to even greet the world, much less these people who happen to live in the same house as I.  Who are these people anyway?  Not even coffee has the power in its “drip, drip” melody or its sweet, nutty scent to drag me up out of the abyss, pull me into the shower and the whole rigmarole it takes to be presentable to the world and to these people.  I’ve decided I’m not adulting today, or mommying, or wifeying, or trainering, or friending, or Mimi-ing.  (oh yeah … I forgot to tell you that I am, indeed, a grandmother).  The world seems like a dim, dreary, black hole place today.  I just want to stay under the covers, that is, until the sexy red Villain Cape attacks me again, and again, and again.

I don’t know why.  Stop asking me!  No, I’m not all right.  OK, maybe I am just fine but I’m pretty sure the world is coming to an end.  The sadness is overcoming me.  Tears.  Tears.  Tears.  I couldn’t get the top off of the jar of peanut butter today.  Tears.  The World is coming to an end!  I think I can see the imprint of my belly button in this tank top.  Tears.  The World is coming to an end!  We ran out of Puffs tissues; the drinking glass slipped out of my hand and broke into a million, zillion, kabillion pieces; I exercised 3 days this week instead of 5; I get hot flashes while I’m trying to enjoy a bath; this TV commercial about dogs in shelters is just way too much for me to handle … will no one rescue them?  Tears.  Tears.  Tears.  The World is coming to an end!   Menopause, I have to admit, your flare for the dramatic is somewhat admirable.  Always in character, you are.

You must die.  There’s nothing more to be said or done.  (Dear Reader, do not get your panties in a bundle with the vulnerability I risk to tell you how I FEEL when you know good and well that often times you feel the exact same way).  I know that murder is frowned upon, but desperate times make for desperate measures.  Menopause has decreed that in most cases, murder is acceptable.  Perhaps you are the idiot driver who nearly pushed me off the side of the road.  You must die.  Or maybe you are the young, dumb 20-something waltzing around in the gym (like you even know what you are doing or could ever take me in an arm wrestling match).  You must die.  Oh, you are the teeny tiny clasp on my favorite bracelet and you decide to break causing the millions of beads in my favorite bracelet to scatter themselves across the globe, never to be found again?  Yes, you too must die.  Family members?  Well, I’d have to think long and hard about your demise at my own bare hands.  I may allow you to live, though my rage is piping hot in this very moment, so I’d steer clear if I were you.  The squeaky door hinge that for the life of me sounds louder and louder and more annoying by the second.  I will single-handedly break down that door, rip it from its noisy hinge and murder it on site.  You must die.  And I alone shall be the last woMAN standing!

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Here’s a bit of advice …. you may want to tread lightly around the Mad Menopausal Woman.  I would if I were you.  She loves you yet loathes you all at the same time.  Her life is upside down and she knows full well how cray cray she is (gentle hint here to NOT remind her!).  She’ll get it figured out, at least, I know I will, because I’m a fighter like that.  Eventually I’ll take control of all the things I CAN control and I will learn to accept the things I cannot.  Oh, I’m not there yet on the “accepting” part.  (Note the previous “You must die” paragraph above).  There’s still too much fight in me (and rage, and angst, and deep seeded anger, and sadness, and exhaustion, and sleepless nights, and moments of lucidity surrounded by moments of NON lucidity, and confusion mixed with clear headed confidence, hopelessness mixed with resolve for experiencing brighter days ahead).  Let’s just say it’s all a work in progress.  Best to ride the waves alongside me, but mind you, I’d keep a little distance.  Please be patient and kind even though I am NOT always such.  Don’t badger me and MOST IMPORTANTLY, Do Not, by any means laugh at me or make a mockery of how I feel.  (Note again the “You must die” paragraph above).  Love me through the good, the bad and the ugly until we make it safely to the other side.

So until further notice, I will disrespectfully remain yours truly …

~Mad, Menopausal Woman