The Menopause Gods Have Spoken

I have wrinkles around my eyes. Crêpey sort of squidgy wrinkles. And also near my mouth. I think those are called laugh line and baby, I laugh A LOT!

My face is changing. Hell, my entire body has changed drastically over the past two years. I was coasting through my 30’s and roared into my 40’s thinking “this is a breeze.” I was slipping through the fingers of the menopause Gods (I’m sure there is more than one) before they finally realized they were missing me. “Where is her irregular cycle?” the Gods wondered. “How about some wrinkles? And throw in really really sore knees too.” said one.

The meanest menopause God of them all said “Maybe she should lose some hair.”

I have to face the facts that among other things, I am a pre-menopausal woman and that means changes physically. The one thing I have not had is a hot flash. My friend Tami has started having them. She wakes up drenched in the middle of the night and shakes awake her husband to ask if he’s hot. He never is of course. That’s the ease of being a man; you never need to ask for directions and you’ll never have a hot flash.


But everything else is out of whack. It snuck up on me and that’s what bothers me more than anything. For example, it used to be that I could walk pain-free. I know..I know…a lot of people have very serious reasons for being in pain. I would like to say that my arthritic knees are a very serious reason for pain. And I have the pain. Not all the time though. Some weeks I feel like I could dance up and down the stairs while carrying my laundry basket or a small car. And then the next week inexplicably, I’m hobbling up and down the stairs wishing I had a cane. Well, actually, I do have a cane. I never use it. That’s pure vanity and I make no apologies. I’m going to New York City in two days and my travelling partner, GGF, suggested I bring the cane. I think he was serious too, but as I told him, it would totally ruin my look.

Maybe that’s one way in which I am not that mature yet. I still talk about my look. In high school, my look was everything. It’s how I projected myself to the world; it’s who I was. In high school, I morphed from a kilt wearing, monogrammed sweater coveting prepster, to an early-80’s Molly Ringwald with hair that was much longer on one side than the other, while I wore neon green anklets with herringbone checked flats that I adored. In high school, I tie dyed my peach silk taffeta prom skirt and chopping it above the knees. I have no memory of actually wearing this concoction, but my mother would have been appalled and for that reason alone I’m quite sure I must’ve worn it at least once. Probably to a family event of some sort where there would have been grandparent shock to augment the parental shock.

The thing is, this dynamic doesn’t really change as you get older. Instead of impressing my high school friends with a kicky sense of style and rebellion, now it’s my co-workers. Or a possible boyfriend, and let’s face it, boyfriend material is basically just looking for cleavage no matter the age. Men don’t care that you are wearing a $1,000 Marina Rinaldi jacket that fits you like it was cut on you and that only cost $41 massively on sale at the Saks outlet. Is there cleavage? No? Not interested.

Actually, I should clarify. GGF cares about the Marina Rinaldi jacket, but he’s a rare BFF who also serves as stylist and interior decorator, along with therapist, gay mother, gay husband and a whole host of other roles. We leave for NYC on Thursday morning and Sunday he came over and sat in the chair in my boudoir while we paraded through my clothing choices for the trip. How many boyfriends or husbands would do that?

Speaking of NYC, I will be posting about it and taking lots of pictures! I can’t wait to see the fashions and style on the streets. I can’t wait to hit the galleries, theatres and restaurants..oh my!

Anyhew, I think who we really want to impress are other women, I’d like to say I’m a better person than that, but I have to face facts. I had drinks with some former co-workers last night and one of them is the cutest little blond. She could make a tar paper suit look like a stunning piece of haute couture. She was wearing slim jeans, ballet flats, a cute white top with longer cardigan. She was gamine and adorable. Aside from the fact that I’m twice her size (seriously…you could fit two of her into my body, which is creepy but true) just sitting next to her brought up all of my insecurities. I ran through my esteem checklist in my mind. My hair looks really good tonight - check. I’m wearing Prada glasses and Cole-Haan shoes. Check, check. (Frankly, the Prada glasses should be worth five checks alone.) But none of it added up last night in the presence of someone I deemed as just really pulling it all. And effortlessly at that. I am ashamed to admit that I felt more than a little dumpy and unattractive sitting next to her. And that, my friends, is not a place I want to go. I try to be more self-aware than that. I’m ok just the way I am. I accept who I am and what my body is. I love what I wear and I feel good in my clothes. When I walked out the door yesterday morning, I was feeling pretty sassy. Why did I give up the power of that when sitting next to a woman I deemed as appearing “better?”

My question is, do we all do this? Do you do this? Do you think Courtney Cox ever feels inferior sitting next to Jennifer Aniston? Or vice versa? Is Sandra Bullock ever on the red carpet and suddenly she sees Jennifer Lopez and immediately hates her own dress? Or hair? Or everything?

I hope..I pray…that this happens because it says that at the core, we are all just mere mortals engaged in a battle with our self-images and that knowing this alone can make it better. It takes away some of the power when we can sit back and say “you know what? Right now I’m feeling a little vulnerable. Why is that? What can I do to bring myself back to how fabulous I really am?” We know that some days are easier than others but let’s just try to be kind to ourselves, even if others are not. Let’s treat ourselves with dignity and respect and love every inch of us. And besides, it helps to remember that there are only like, five super models in the entire world, and millions of men. The odds are totally stacked in my favor.