Perimenopause cracked me open in ways I never expected. I walked into my first nude art class and found freedom in the human form so much so that when my daughter turned twenty-one, I brought her with me. The model was a man. I even started an Instagram page devoted to the male nude, and later won a juried show in Seattle where my work hung for thousands to see.
I turned to yoga and redefined what my body could do…splits, backbends, inversions I never dreamed of in my twenties. I taught classes, too, inspiring older women to stop making excuses and start surprising themselves.
When my daughter lay dying in a hospital bed with an autoimmune disease, I stood by her, unflinching. I fought for her life with every ounce of me. All while my hormones were making me crazy
After years of emotional starvation, I asked for a divorce. My husband had betrayed our vows with emotional neglect, and I found myself thinking, if he can betray us and walk away, why can’t I seek what I need? I had an emotional affair not lust, but a hunger finally named. It was messy and human and a part of what pushed me to stop pretending.
I changed my health with a whole-food, plant-based diet and hiked wild stretches of the Appalachian Trail, getting fitter than I’d ever been. I cut people from my life who poisoned it, without guilt, without shame. I learned I’d rather be alone with my integrity than surrounded by people who suck my self-respect dry.
Perimenopause didn’t feel like an ending. It was a portal brutal, honest, and liberating. I’m still walking through it, post menopause and I’m wildly curious to see what comes next.
