Menopause and Freedom From Femininity

A few friends who’ve read my earlier posts here have mentioned Darcey Steinke’s recent book, Flash Count Diary. It’s just out, as of July 2019 when I’m writing this, and I’m a little more than half-way through it. Steinke has mostly written fiction in the past (and I’m looking forward to checking that out) but with this book she explores the menopause transition with a combination of memoir and reportage. It’s a great read – satisfyingly intimate, as any memoir about menopause should be – and enriched by reporting. Steinke mines the limited research that’s been done on menopause and finds the scientists and scholars who are asking the question: why do women experience difficult menopause symptoms like hot flashes, insomnia and depression? 

She also looks far and wide to explore what lies on the other side of menopause (it is a transition after all, not a destination). In this way, the book offers a lot of hope and a new perspective.

Many women she interviewed, she shares, report that after menopause (or during perimenopause) they feel existentially lighter, freer to be themselves and less distracted by what other people think about them. This extends to both behavioral choices (Should I head out to the cafe to write my novel or wait and see whether anyone needs me to make them something to eat?) and physical appearance (Yep, there’s my tummy, hanging out over my shorts.). At the heart of Steinke’s discussion is a fascinating point: During the menopause transition, the whole notion of gender is in flux. Our femininity is mitigated by dropping estrogen levels, which can lead to lower libido, less supple skin, weight gain and so many other changes. What makes us “pretty” fades. But the good news is that, if we’re wise, we don’t really give a shit. We’re too busy writing that novel or (fill in the blank).

Part of being younger, for many women, is frankly being saddled by sexuality and its many pleasures and hassles. For women who are no longer looking for a partner, the frantic obsession with ass size, waist size and general attractiveness goes out the window. I can say this is true for me. I love clothes and for the most part I love my body, so it’s not as if I don’t care what I look like. But my care is more akin to an artist’s interest in what she can do with the medium and less like a saleswoman dressing the product up for maximum appeal.

This is a complicated shift. I’ve been happily partnered for more than 30 years. I’m not trying to find new partners or a mate and I’ve never been overly concerned about meeting expectations with my appearance. Since I was young I’ve liked an androgynous look (think Annie Hall with baggy men’s jacket, shirt and tie) but I realize now that I actually have been worrying about looking “right,” if not to attract men then to feel that I fit in and am following the fules.

My body is very different now than it was even three years ago. I’ve had a double mastectomy (more on that later) and I’ve gained weight around the middle. I’m less of an hourglass and more of a pear and I’d like to be able to say that I don’t care when pants don’t fit, but I do. I like my pants and I don’t want to have to replace them.

Me unaware that my picture was being taken. 

But most of all I don’t want to think about it.I don’t want to get onto that hamster wheel of trying to lose weight so I can look like I used to only to find that I can’t keep it off. Or really, I don’t want to stop eating bread. I did manage to lose 20 pounds a few years back on a cleanse that eliminated every possible food that I love, only to gain it all back and more. That’s not for me. 

It turns out that the medication I take as part of my cancer treatment (Tamoxifen) makes losing weight nearly impossible and my doctor says that if I can just keep my weight stablethen I’m doing well. So, for now, I’m eating what I want (she typed, taking a big bite of scone) and keeping up the exercise. 

And by the way: I’m in the café now, about to work on my novel, while my daughter makes her own breakfast at home.  

Next post: Did treating my anxiety with hormones contribute to my cancer?