(Peri)Menopause in the City #1

Talkin’ About The Bod

As mentioned last week, I’ve adjusted my pace for the summer and taken a step back to make progress and move forward. In the meantime, I’m rerunning last year’s Perimenopause in the City series. There’s a good chance you haven’t read it yet.

I used to turn heads when I walked into a room.

But that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore. Well, maybe if I’m ‘dressed up’ and have taken the appropriate amount of time ‘getting ready,’ paying meticulous attention to my hair, makeup, and outfit.

But not every day, not on a morning coffee run when I’m in sweatpants and no makeup. Not when I stop at the grocery store after a workout. Not when I’m just going about my day without worrying about putting much extra effort into it. 

No one is giving me their seat on the subway or fawning over me to let me go ahead of them in that grocery store line.

My looks and my youth no longer give me a free pass in this world. It’s shitty they ever did, of course. But that’s a topic (a very important one) for another day. 

People are calling me ‘ma’am’ at the checkout counter more often than not. My God, who taught them to do this? Surely, ‘ma’am’ should be reserved for someone my mother or grandmother’s age—and shouldn’t be used at my youthful 53, which feels almost 30-ish. 

Does this make me shallow?

I feel like this makes me shallow. I’ve never considered myself to be a shallow person, but now I’m not so sure. Feelings and beliefs about myself that I didn’t know existed are coming out at every corner. 

Yay! Triggers! She said unenthusiastically. 

Thanks, ‘ma’am.’

I don’t hate the idea of getting older, but I do hate the idea of being dismissed and of being ma’amed. I hate being looked at like maybe I don’t know how to use my phone fully because sometimes I don’t know how to use my phone fully, and this fact—when it comes up —when I have to ask one of my kids how to ‘make the tech work’—it’s enough to take me out. 

And I realize, shit, I’m becoming my parents.

I’m in my 50s, for God’s sake, and shouldn’t I be well on my way to becoming a wiser, more distinguished woman? Shouldn’t I receive the ‘ma’am’ as a compliment? Well, I don’t. I’m just not there yet. 

As recently as five years ago, I went to the gym religiously to weight train. Because I’m not a crier, it was the only real way for me to release emotion in my body, plus it helped me stay in my favorite pair of jeans.

Now, it seems that going to the gym entails more rehab and less actual gym time. The main focus has shifted to doing bandwork that helps keep my arms from falling out of their sockets. I also work on balance and stability. 

I’ve also tried some aerial yoga, have you tried it? Super relaxing…

“We want to keep you from falling,” says my trainer. “Or, if you do fall, we want to make sure you don’t get hurt.” “Or if you get hurt, we want to ensure it’s not that bad.” He seems almost proud of himself for writing this prescription. 

Am I signed up for the geriatrics gym? Uh - No. So, why are we doing this? 

It feels wimpy. 

“These are great,” he assures me, speaking of the bands. (I can tell he wants to use the word ‘ma’am.’) “It’s how the astronauts train while in space.” I consider accidentally dropping a 20-pound dumbbell on his foot at the next opportunity - if he’ll even let me have a 20-pound dumbbell. 

“Huh?” I stare at him blankly. 

“The astronauts,” he says again. 

“So if it’s good enough for the astronauts, it’s good enough for me?” I ask. I laugh a little because I don’t want him to think I’m bitter. 

“Exactly,” he says, and I move ahead with the Y’s, T’s, and A’s. I’ve done 10 million of these over the past few years without end. Will this ever end? Will I ever get back to doing the fun gym work—the work that makes me feel alive? Or is this just it for the rest of my existence?

The jeans got tossed out two years ago in the ‘only take what you regularly use’ purge for our move to New York. I placed them in the giveaway pile with a sigh and a loss of hope. “If I get back down to that size,(that shape?) I’ll want new jeans anyway,” I justified. But I’m still not happy about it. 

I mention all of this because maybe you don’t know that menopause sends your body on an absolute fucking roller coaster. It causes your body to change, and mine is changing in more ways than I could have imagined. For one, it’s softer and rounder. And the way I build muscle is just, I don’t know, different. Things are not the same. There’s fat in weird areas that wasn’t there before, and also hair growing in weird areas where it never did before.

The whole thing is just bizarre.

To grapple with this reality, I have turned to medical professionals and coaches. I have a hormone doctor, a shoulder doctor, a neck doctor, a kidney stone doctor, and I’m sure there are a few more.

I also have a gym coach, a health coach, and a life coach—plus, I am a coach, so I have a coach for coaches. I’m fully doctored, fully coached. 

“Your body needs more fat to metabolize hormones,” says my health coach. What hormones? I wonder. She explains that having a higher fat percentage as you age is healthy. Tell that to my jeans. 

I’m beginning to wonder if I need an acceptance coach to accept that maybe this is my reality from now on. 

Dealing with an aging body isn’t something I’ve ever thought much about. I guess I thought I’d age with simplistic dignity and grace, accepting things as they came, relishing in every line and wrinkle.

Instead, I’m surprised by my reluctance to age at every turn. It’s not so much that I’m consumed by a number or even how I look exactly, but more about what I think I might be losing. Does that make sense? 

Sure, I’m growing in wisdom, compassion, and grace, but I’m also losing my youth a little each day. I didn’t understand how much value I placed on how I looked, how society saw me, or how I saw myself if I didn’t look a certain way. That one has been a real eye-opener. 

It’s not that I won’t shake this—I know I will—but I realize now that it will be a process, which I wasn’t expecting. A process is also an opportunity, of course. A chance to discover what beliefs I’ve been harboring about my value and worth all these years. Beliefs I wasn’t even aware were lurking there. Beliefs that aren’t serving me well and probably never did. 

So, while I might not be turning heads or killing it at the gym all that much anymore, I think it’s probably a fair trade for getting to know Sara a little better.

So, that’s what’s happening with me right now. 

What are you learning about yourself through menopause?

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I appreciate each of you so much.

LYLAS -

S

🎧In case you missed it, here’s the latest podcast episode: