Hormonal confessions

by tamarjacobson

Quote of the day:

I guess I have to admit that marking-time types of rituals like those we perform during holidays, birthdays etc., ground us, and give some kind of order during the mundane, and especially in the storm and turbulence of our chaotic lives. Thought by Tamarika while in the shower.

(Warning note: am not sure how much of this post will resonate with my male readers … apologies in advance …)

I cannot help but think about hormones. When I recently visited the doctor for an annual check-up he was bewildered about me. He said that I was "way out there on the curve" because by age 57 I really should be done having a period. I laughed and told him how glad I was to be finally "way out there on the curve" for something.

I may be "way out there on the curve" but, in fact, the situation is naturally accompanied by many fluctuating hormonal moments. Of course I cry at the drop of a hat. But haven’t I always done that? Yes indeed, at times my emotions seem to sit right on the edge of my brain. I have come to the conclusion that hormones give me the courage to make a stand for myself. You see, most of these feelings were there anyway. But when those hormones bounce around they raise the issues for me, front and center, and I become a fierce and assertive, courageous woman and oh my goodness, hear me roar! So now I have given up resistance. Instead, I welcome those moments, and am learning to channel them for positive growth and emotional development.

Lately I am thinking there might be some connections between hormone fluctuations and decision making. For example, do I think about giving up blogging during those times? What about exercise and eating? Are those affected? The mind and body are as connected as can be. I love this age! Am getting to know myself intimately. Every pore, each vibration of the brain, beat of my heart, inhale and exhale. I wonder how I walked about in the dark for so long when I was young thinking that all was compartmentalized, disconnected one from the other. It is the integration of all the parts and pieces that make me whole, vibrant, and stirring, trembling with life.

Suddenly, I am reminded of Germaine Greer‘s conclusion from The Change, a piece that years ago I laminated and pinned up on my wall:

While the anaphobes draw frightful caricatures of the untreated menopausal woman, and the hormone replacers rend their garments and bemoan the tragedy of the cessation of ovulation, women themselves remain silent. Let younger people anxiously inquire, let researchers tie themselves in knots with definitions that refuse to stick, the middle-aged woman is about her own business, which is none of theirs. Let the Masters in Menopause congregate in luxury hotels all over the world to deliver and to hearken to papers on the latest astonishing discoveries about the decline of grip strength in menopause or the number of stromal cells in the fifty-year-old ovary, the woman herself is too busy to listen. She is climbing her own mountain, in search of her own horizon, after years of being absorbed in the struggles of others. The way is hard, and she stumbles many times, but for once no one is scrambling after her, begging her to turn back. The air grows thin, and she may often feel dizzy. Sometimes the weariness spreads from her aching bones to her heart and brain, but she knows that when she has scrambled up this last sheer obstacle, she will see how to handle the rest of her long life. Some will climb swiftly, others will tack back and forth on the lower slopes, but few will give up. The truth is that fewer women come to grief at this obstacle than at any other time in their tempestuous lives, though it may baffle those who have unthinkingly exploited them all their lives before, but it is important not to explain, not to apologize. The climacteric marks the end of apologizing. The chrysalis of conditioning has once for all to break and the female woman finally to emerge.