Advice from "Big Sis" by Kat Magendie

The farthest thing from a young woman’s mind is that time far off into the future when she will be considered “Middle Aged And Menopausal.” Who has time to think about that when your toddler is crying and your eight-year-old just threw up all the pizza, cake, and, I’m not kidding—sushi (sushi?)—he had at a birthday party where the parents spent more to please Bobby or Suzy than what you spend on two-weeks of groceries? Or your boss has asked you to work late and on the weekend—again. Or you’ve over-extended your obligations to (fill in obligation blank here)—again.


Listen: how you treat yourself and how you ask to be treated by those around you will forever affect the person you will become. Who are you?—I mean, the real you, the Woman You, the one you must face in the mirror from now until, well, until you can no longer look into a mirror? For one day in your future you will look into that mirror and see the woman you have become from the experiences you have now. As your big sister, I want to tell you to care for yourself. To think in terms of gratitude, and health, and well-being—one decision at a time—in what you eat, drink, and how you perceive the world and react to it (or how you expect it to react to you).

Consider the benefits you will receive right away, yes, but also think about two years from now, five, ten, twenty—your body and mind will become healthier and stronger so that you will have more energy for your busy life, and further, when you reach My Age, you will have fared better with such a healthy base. You will be well-prepared for the Next Stage, even if that next stage is to be as good a grandmother as you are a mother. Your future you will thank you. Trust your big sister—she knows.

Finally, when is the last time you patted yourself on the back for a life well-done? Have you been perfect? I bet not. Has every day been a gloriously sunshine-filled day of joy and happiness? Probably not. Have you lost your temper, been in a foul mood, screamed at your kids/husband/co-worker/the person in line at the grocery who has fifteen items instead of ten in the ten-item line? Maybe. But if you did not do these things on occasion, I’d wonder what you were trying to prove. We’re all human, and we all need to give ourselves a little break now and then to consider just how hard it is to Be Humanly Human. You have permission to love yourself, to have gratitude for your days, to love yourself enough to care what happens to you now and then later and for the rest of your life.

Raring to Go by Nannette Croce

Yesterday should have been a bad day. It was my day to do bookkeeping for my husband’s consulting business and the computer decided not to talk to the printer, or the other way around––whatever they were both in need of major counseling, which I left to my husband, the computer whisperer. For my part, having nothing to show for five hours of work I decided to take advantage of a break in the clouds and make a dent in the huge pile of mulch, that, every year, sets off a string of rainy days the minute it hits the driveway.

Shovel, shovel, shovel. Roll wheelbarrow. Dump mulch. Rake, rake. Then back to start all over again. It was tiring work. I can’t quite say I enjoyed it. What I did enjoy was having the energy to do it.

I don’t like quitting a job until it’s done or I’ve reached a reasonable stopping point, but when I hit 50 my energy level suddenly crashed. Sleep issues caused by menopause and stresses left me lethargic. Studies indicate, and I verified, sleep deprivation leads to carb cravings. Never one to snack before that, every hour on the hour now found me munching on hard pretzels, crackers or potato chips. The extra pounds made me more lethargic. A job that would have taken me hours, now took days. Was this the beginning of the rest of my life?

Apparently not. It’s over now. I manage to sleep a good eight hours most nights, and when the sleep came, the cravings left along with the extra pounds.

I’m exhausted from my day’s work, but I managed to mulch along the entire front of the house before quitting. A job well done and I’m thrilled I had the energy to do it.

Love Handles by Nannette Croce

Love handles. The little inner-tube of flesh that appeared at my waist on my 50th birthday. I don’t love them;I hate them.

Almost all the pounds I gained in the next few years left with the hot flashes. My body returned to its normal shape, though one size larger, and with those dang handles.

I can’t exercise them away. I can’t diet them away. Anything that fits well enough not to slip from my waist squeezes the little roll of soft flesh out over the top. As someone who has eaten right and exercised all my life, with menopause behind me, I could return to knitted tops and slim-cut jeans, but for that spare tire, that emergency fat, that bagel of flesh around my middle. How often I pine for the sleek profile I maintained well into my forties.

Then I think of that woman I see at the supermarket. You know the one, with the teased up cotton candy hair, the skin tight jeans, the mules she can barely balance on and the wrinkled 75-year-old face she tries to disguise with bronze pancake makeup.

Maybe, like my graying hair, those little handles are nature’s way of telling me it’s time to change my look. Time to opt for dignified over youthful; time to opt for handsome over sexy; time to accept my aging body with grace rather than fight a losing battle and end up looking ridiculous.

Time to learn to love those handles.

That Word...by Kat Magendie

“I have scarcely touched the sky and I am made of it.” ~ Antonio Porchia

At first, I didn't want anyone to know it happened. I'd dreaded...ominous piano music…that word. That word had connotations, misconceptions, and email-sent jokes about women losing their femininity, their sexual aura, their beauty, their soft all turned to hard, their smooth all turned wrinkley. The idea behind that word is the reason I feared…drum roll please…Menopause. As I headed into my forties, I nervously listened to the stories, the jokes, the derisive comments. I didn’t want to turn into some wrinkled hag who screamed at everyone and turned my back on my husband night after night after cold-sweated night. In my late forties, I realized I was reaching menopause earlier than I expected—wasn’t I supposed to be going through “The Change” in my late fifties? No. No. No. Yes.

Last year, on my fiftieth birthday, I stood among friends with cake and laughter and celebration of my Milestone Birthday. Full into my menopause, and well, I didn’t care. For, instead of menopause turning me into a snarling razor-toothed fiery breathing slit-tongued a-sexual beast, I became the woman I was Meant to Be—clichéd as that sounds. The women I’d admired, who spoke their mind, eyes blazing truths, back straight, power in their step, confident, strong—that is me. I am that woman. Somehow, the hormonal swing swung in my favor. I am no longer a slave to my emotions. And even better, I am no longer a slave to approval seeking. I feel wonderful—inside and out. Better than I have in years, maybe ever. Hot Damn.

To those of you nearing menopause, or to those of you who have years to come before your Change!, I say to you: Embrace it. Learn. Live. Explore and Discover. Yes, there will be hot flashes, yes, there will be body changes; but, I gladly trade these for the newfound dignity and strength and confidence that have ripped through me like fire through ice, melting away inhibitions, fear, and timidity for what is to come next. And, just as wonderful, I don’t look backward as often—it’s all about taking the next step and the next, not over examining, but appreciating--having Gratitude. I feel my power now more than I have at any time in my life—mind-power, sexual-power, intellectual-power…soaring music here…POW(oman)ER!