The big M

Menopause. There, I said it. The word itself feels like it should be whispered in some secret club, like a VIP password that only women over 40 are allowed to know. All my friends are either going through it, about to go through it, or have already emerged on the other side like wise owls who survived hot-flash hell.

And now, it’s my turn.

So here’s the deal: brain fog, hot flashes, mood swings, midnight sweats, and the occasional “why did I just walk into this room again?” moment — all of that is apparently my new routine. It’s like my body’s gone from iOS 16 to Windows 95 overnight.

But the question lurking in the shadows:

Should I be worried? Will this make me less of a woman?

 society has long sold us the story that womanhood = periods + babies + hormones doing the salsa in our bloodstream. But what happens when your ovaries say, “You know what, we’ve clocked out, no overtime, no extensions, thanks very much”?

I like to think of it this way: if every month my eggs were sending postcards on their journey (“Dear uterus, wish you were here, hope the lining is cozy”), then my last egg deserves a dramatic farewell.

Maybe something like:

“Well, that’s it, folks. The end of the road. I gave it my best shot. Some of us made zygotes, some of us didn’t, but hey — what a ride! P.S. Send wine.”

But here’s the catch!!! I won’t even know which egg is my last. There’s no dramatic curtain call, no golden buzzer moment. Just one day you look back and realize, “Oh, that was it. The period finale. A series that ended without even a cliffhanger.”

And that’s kind of poetic, isn’t it?

Because here’s the thing: menopause doesn’t make me “less of a woman.” If anything, it makes me free, more seasoned, more me. No more calendars marked in red. No more emergency napkin hunts in public restrooms. No more “oops” pregnancy scares in your  40s. Just me, my hormones slowly chilling out, and the occasional dramatic hot flash to remind me that I’m still alive and kicking.

So, to the Big M bring it on.

If womanhood were a Netflix series, this isn’t the end; it’s just the new season. With better plot twists, less blood, and way more wine.