“The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide you’re not going to stay where you are.” ~J.P. Morgan
I stand up abruptly from my spot on the couch—always on the left side to comfortably reach for my teacup. Hot tears start to gather in the corners of my eyes. Rather than let my husband and adult daughter see them fall, I collect my sneakers, phone, and baseball cap and escape through the front door just in time. Chest-heaving sobs follow me out the door. I fight shame, panic, and despair for each breath. Nature will help. I turn toward the beach.
It’s been a mile, and I can’t believe I’m still crying. I’m almost to the beach, where I can sit down and process what is an overreaction to my daughter’s concern about my health, but I am not home-free yet. I recognize the voice ahead. I don’t know many people in town, but I’ve just started taking a yoga class, and that’s the teacher. I brush both hands over my face to clear the tears and make friendly chit-chat while my feet continue toward the beach.
I cross the bridge that passes over the train tracks and descend the steep staircase that leads to the rocky beach. There aren’t many people here, but I walk far enough up the coast to sit on a large piece of driftwood that’s out of earshot. I’m a trained yoga teacher. I know I need to find slow, even breaths. That will help slow my heart rate.
My daughter called me out for eating the rest of the ice cream that we’d had for dessert earlier in the week. She was upset because she wanted a nice snack after a run, but also because I’m slightly overweight, and she’s worried that I’m going to become like her bed-bound residents at the nursing home where she’s working as a certified nursing assistant for the summer.
With my gaze on the horizon where the water meets the island across the Puget Sound, and my breath starting to slow, I acknowledge the reasonableness of my daughter’s fear, my perimenopausal overreaction to the whole missing cookies and cream thing, and my deep-rooted fear about my future. In the United States, women live 6-8% longer than men on average, but 20-25% of their lives are lived in poor health.
In the United States, women live 6-8% longer than men on average, but 20-25% of their lives are lived in poor health.
I don’t want to live in poor health, and let’s be honest, I don’t want to give up ice cream either.
When faced with a big project or problem that doesn’t have clear steps, I ask myself what needs to be done next. What’s the first step? With the peaceful lapping of the waves on the rocks, I take a deep breath and decide to make an appointment with a perimenopause specialist to determine whether hormone replacement therapy is right for me to help remedy many of my current quality-of-life symptoms and invest in my future health.
And then? Then, I need a way to open my heart to welcome the unfurling of this season of life—an empty nest, perimenopause, and my husband’s military retirement.
Then, I need a way to open my heart to welcome the unfurling of this season of life—an empty nest, perimenopause, and my husband’s military retirement.
So, welcome to The Unfurling, a new home for my writing that invites community. This lifestyle newsletter is rooted in opening up to life’s significant changes with arms and hearts wide open, reaching like the young ferns unfurling in my beloved Pacific Northwest. It’s a bit of creative nonfiction mixed with things that bring awareness, hope, and delight.
I hope you’ll join me on this lifestyle journey of rooting and reaching to find vibrancy in midlife and beyond.
In wellness,
Kimberly