“Midlife is not a crisis. Midlife is an unraveling.” Brené Brown
My midlife - with all of its hormonal upheaval and transitional bullshit - has been a research project, an exercise in sleuthing, all in the service of solving the problem of me. Figuring myself out, if possible.
I had other plans. I was going to write (not about midlife), and read (about anything other than midlife), bask in the glow of a big, grown family and find my tribe of like minds. In the before times, I imagined that post-fifty would be full of calm confidence, good clothes, and classic cocktails. (I also didn’t expect to spend so much time and energy on a global pandemic and the rescue of democracy, but life is full of surprises.)
Here is what happened instead:
Acupuncture, chiropractic, massage. The GP is a major character, with gynecologists, an allergist and an endocrinologist in supporting roles. I’ve tried Chinese herbs, elimination diets, so many supplements, no supplements. Walking, yoga, meditation (sort of).
I forgot how to sleep and learned how to panic. Introduced myself to the vagus nerve and the psoas muscle, cortisol and progesterone. Tried not to try.
I went 30 days wheat-free and weeks with no coffee (where’s my prize). Frequent teetotaling. Low sugar, high protein, no carbs, no dairy, more dairy, this herb and that spice. Essential oils, misters, dehumidifiers. I bought a pillow cover for the dust mites and drank golden milk until I wanted to die. I’ve tried it all and abandoned most.
How far did I go? Once, I pressed dried white beans into pressure points on my wrists and taped them there with white medical tape, on the advice of an acupuncturist. Picture it: Me walking around the world with big white bandages on each wrist. It may have helped, but I got a new acupuncturist.
I’m spectacularly tired of myself.
I have notes from the worst years, pages and pages of yellow legal paper, tipped at the top edge and looking like they’ve come down from the wars. Dates and short descriptions of the day’s report. Aside from references to various supplements and practitioners, they have a raving teen journal quality. Lots of WTFs and OMGs, lots of exclamation points. If you searched the text, you’d find much repetition of the words dizzy, miserable, and why. A record of my perimenopause, waiting perhaps for a ritual fire.
The decade plus of surfing the midlife wave has been a tiresome search for solutions, comfort, or just a break. I’ve read so many books about hormones, nutrition, the thyroid, the “change of life”, etc. It was so tedious and confusing, I finally abandoned the literature to write my own complaint and find my tribe. The guides are helpful - of course caffeine and alcohol are going to wreck you. Of course you should exercise and eat lots of veggies. Of course you should sleep (if you can). But oh my god the endless prescriptive nattering has, at times, only made things worse.
Give me one actionable thing I can do right now.
What tiny steps will lead me out of the swamp of the unsupported American midlife? Don’t tell me to juice one bunch of celery every day for 90 days (or 30 if you’d like to start more gently). That’s what a book prescribed and there’s not a world in which I drink the juice of 30 celery bunches a month. Madness. Maybe I’ll try a little celery juice - maybe. ONE WHOLE BUNCH A DAY? Not happening. My favorite acupuncturist told me, “You wouldn’t believe the people I see with plenty of money in their pockets who are malnourished because of the wack diets they follow.” One whole bunch of celery juice. “Throw that book away,” she said.
Here are the things that have helped me:
Walking. Every day. It has saved my sanity.
Yoga. I get lazy and kind of mad about it, but it helps.
Vitamin D. I was very low, early in my search for relief. Supplementing and tracking has helped.
B12. A few years ago my doc tested and said, “Omg you’re so low!” I got shots for awhile and now I supplement.
Less alcohol. I hate it like damn (can’t have nice things!), but even a glass of wine is sometimes too much. I take long breaks and when I partake, it’s just a little glass.
Acupuncture. This has helped SO MUCH, with so many things. Highly recommend.
Massage. Treat yourself to a monthly massage, if you can manage it. It’s balm for everything that ails you.
Writing! This has been a lifeline. It’s given me an outlet for my complaints and has fostered connection with women who nod knowingly. To feel less alone in this unmapped landscape is a priceless gift.
Reading. Some of the midlife/meno books I picked up really did help. The best, most nourishing, stuff I’ve read is other women relating their own experiences. Knowing that we’re all a little bonkers (even though some are very good at camouflage and some just lie) is ballast in the storm. A few good choices:
The Madwoman in the Volvo: My Year of Raging Hormones by Sandra Tsing Loh
Out of the Woods: A Memoir of Wayfinding by Lynn Darling
What Comes Next and How to Like It by Abigail Thomas
It’s a process and there’s been progress. I am calmer and more confident. The family is glowing and I’ve had some fun. But what a detour! Sometimes it seems that the years from my mid-forties to this very day (at 58) have been hijacked. I don’t know if all that noise was evolution or just a tale told by an idiot. The endocrinologist says I’m experiencing the “last whispers” of menopause. The “aftershocks,” he amended. Dude doesn’t have a clue.
After it all, though, I remain curious about (if exasperated by) myself. I’d like to think that I’m improving by the hour, as Heather Havrilesky said in her great Oldster interview, with one of the funniest quotes about aging:
“I love the idea of dressing like an unhinged Russian ice skater for the rest of my life, or just really going off the rails and buying Elton John platform boots and a gigantic blue fake fur coat and looking like Grover on meth. I want to be wearing ball gowns to cocktail parties soon, like “Oh, there’s that woman who wears the ball gowns.” Heather Havrilesky
So yeah, still seeking my unhinged sartorial statement, finding fun in spite of no wine, looking forward because back sucks and ain’t no going there anyway. Now to relearn sleep and tame the anxious beast - a tall order in a world gone mad.
Things to share:
On the advice of
(the author of these must-have books and this Substack), I’m reading The Big Thing by Phyllis Korkki. It has the most personal attack subtitle ever: How to Complete Your Creative Project Even If You’re a Lazy, Self-Doubting Procrastinator Like Me. I’m getting a lot out of it and would recommend it to anyone who sees themselves in that subtitle.I’ve made spanakopita and spinach pies for years, but this version is a very happy discovery. Delicious and much less fussy than my other efforts. Smitten Kitchen saves us again.
Don’t forget to VOTE! Like the sunrise depends on it, like the fire is spreading and your voice is a firehose. It’s all hands on deck, let’s do this.
Twitter is a shitshow, but still good for something. This is Michelangelo’s grocery list, how cool is that?
Happy Extra Hour weekend!
Lisa
I find my perimenopausal journey is this long process of being comfortable with being uncomfortable most of the time. Sounds so zen, doesn't it? I begin to sweat like I am in a sauna for no reason at 5 am, and I have to say over and over until it passes, this is your life now, it will pass. The part I dislike, as someone who has had generalized anxiety most of her life, is when I am having emotional reactions to thoughts, situations, etc. and I have to stop and think, is this my hormones trying to regulate or is this my usual battle? Sometimes, the two merge, and I end up in a spiral that ends in "nope, not able to do ...today." My oldest son is neurodivergent, and he will need me for a long time to help him establish some level of independence for himself. Much of my anxiety is tied into the future, especially as a single Mom. My younger son has his own needs as well, and I have explained to him there are days when Mom needs, "a bit of space and time to care for myself," so that I don't take it out on anyone when feeling overwhelmed. He understands this more and more, as I have also explained to him what is happening to me. He has seen what I'm like when I don't stop and care for myself versus when I do - he prefers a Mom who has had some time to self regulate. I am thinking of going back to acupuncture, I did it several years ago for a muscular injury and my anxiety and I stopped due to financial reasons. It made a huge difference - especially when you find a great practitioner.
I walk, yoga, cold water swim in the Baltic most days (I live in Sweden) & yep, have cut way back on the wine ... which I love ( but is definitely over me).
Massage - yes, but not enough. Now acupuncture. I know next to nothing about. Has it really helped the anxiety?