Farewell

Five years ago she left me almost as rudely as she'd come in to my life decades earlier. There had been signs - she had gone all passive aggressive for about a year - most of the time just a mere spot here and there for days and days (almost like she was seeking attention) and then every so often a wild angry foul smelling thick torrent to force me awake. And then one day, just nothing. Next month, nothing. Next month, nothing. Still, nothing.
When she first arrived my mother gave me vast amounts of sympathy and hushed advice, magazine adverts assured me that I could jump out of planes with her, the message was that she was to be kept as a secret and a dirty, inconvenient one at that.
But she told me to express myself and rest. For years I resisted her advice and walked society's path of shame and deep resentment. But as my power grew and I became a women through pregnancy, childbirth and life's twists and turns my respect for her did grow a little - I learnt to rest when she said rest, I learnt to shout when she said shout, I learnt to cry when she said cry but still my core stayed resentful and in denial.
Now she's gone for good, I so wish I had celebrated her and listened more closely. It felt like she'd be with me forever, I thought menopause was something that happened to other people and only when you were truly old - 60 plus at least. My ignorance came from ignoring her, never sitting with her, exploring her, talking about her or finding out about her. I truly had no real idea that it would all be over one day.
There's no going back now but I still find it strange that she's not around telling me how to be, giving me rhythm and showing me how incredible my body is. So I wish I'd found a way, when she was around, to make peace with my essence and embrace and celebrate her in a way that was so deeply deserved.

Tania is a mother of two, grandmother of one and lives in Brighton. She runs Menoheaven retreats for women in peri-menopause and menopause.