Backwards is the New Forwards

I just realized that some of my issues are related to being a tween, a forty-something tween with all the angst that goes with it.  Covid aside, I’m not really into the young mom stuff of mom’s nights out or wine o’clock or whatever, and yet I’m also not ready to join a stitching club or hang up my butterfly headband or whatever it is women do when they become officially old, whatever age that is.

And it’s hormonal.  I’m just gonna say it.  I complained to Mike this evening that if men went through this stuff the way women do they’d be giving out hormone patches at drive-thrus.  It’d be like, “And would you like a side of fries and progesterone with that?”

Yes.  Yes I would!  

It’s not like this is some obscure, arcane situation.  I’m a forty-something  woman who feels moodier and more sluggish than I’d like to even though I eat right, exercise, try to get good sleep, and all that self-care stuff.  There are a lot of drugs and advice designed to prevent how I feel.

And, there’s acceptance.  Like I remember that fourteen-year-old girl who wanted to burn down everything.  Who didn’t care about much except her friends and her hair.  Maybe as a tween I’d feel better going back to that.  Friends, family, hair.  Back then it felt pretty normal.  Now, having lived a big life with a lot of action and activity, zeroing in on those things feels ... like failure? Like going backwards? But maybe backwards is the new forwards.  Maybe I have no idea what’s in store for me in the future.  Maybe like that fourteen-year-old who had so much more ahead than she could have imagined I could just drop into where I’m at now and enjoy the ride, rather than trying to change it.  This too shall pass.  I’m gonna keep going.