From our earliest adolescent years, we grow accustomed to ebb and flow. Our hormonal cycles and the subtle shifts in mood and perception that accompany them create the background rhythm of our lives, and no matter how we feel about our cycles, their monthly pulse is both a promise of life and a thread of connection to humanity.

The cessation of our cycles is the very definition of menopause, yet for most of us, it isn’t the main thing. The Change brings so many other changes, the last period seems almost like an afterthought. For many of us at first it’s just a huge relief, because the last few years of menstruation often come with really challenging physical symptoms.

And because maybe you didn’t love your period, and because these last years have been tough and you’re not sorry to see it go, you may be really surprised when a sense of loss and grief opens up in you.

We’re quiet about this swell of grief. We don’t share it with others, not even with other women our age. It feels a little embarrassing. We think we’re probably the only one feeling this way. Best to brush the feelings aside and get on with life.

But what could be more natural than grieving something that was a reliable pulse in our lives for the last thirty or forty years? And let’s face it, fertility is magical. Whether or not we used our fertility to bear children, somewhere deep in the back of our mammalian brains, we knew we had a superpower. We knew we had the latent ability to create life. And now, somewhere in the back of our mammalian brains, we know that power is gone.

And it’s OK to grieve.

I was so relieved when my periods finally abated last year – I say “abated” because the last two years were so hard, so painful and heavy and exhausting. I was so happy not to be bleeding anymore. When I first felt little twinges of sadness, I just found them inexplicable and annoying. I’m happy to be at the age and stage I am. What the heck?

Then there was a day. I was home, watching daytime TV. I had quite a few such days at this time, I was still recovering from the severe anemia the last year had left me with. Anyway, I was on the couch, exploring the great wasteland of daytime televison. And an adorable baby commercial came on. Just your standard adorable baby commercial. For wipes, or a really safe car, or something. And there was the adorable baby, and the preternaturally fresh young mama. Another ridiculous commercial.

And something started writhing in my belly, and rising up in my throat, and before I knew it, I was crying. I mean really crying. Big, deep, gut wrenching sobs. I will never do that again. I am not able to do that anymore.

Now mind you, I am and always have been very happy with the size of my family. I gave it a lot of thought and was very conscious of and happy with my decision to have one child. That was right for me. I have no unfulfilled baby craving.

And still, that moment of huge, gut-wrenching loss.

Of course, it subsided. And I’m fine. I still get little twinges occasionally, and now I try to sit with them. I try to honour myself and respect the natural sense of loss that arises. That’s all I can do.

I’m so excited about this stage of life. I understand that my physical fertility is over, but my emotional, creative, and psychological fertility, my human potential to create, is actually on the cusp of a rebirth, and that is beautiful and exciting. But I also know that to embrace this new stage fully, I must honour what has come before. I must honour the real losses, and allow the grief to arise and wash away.

All of life is an ebbing and flowing of loss and renewal. Menopause is an opportunity to become a master of the turning tide, a master of the waves of grief and of the in-rushing fresh potential. If only we do not hide from ourselves, we can master this, we can own this transition, and we can enter the next phase joyful and washed clean.

xo
Love
Bronwyn