Rageful

My husband and I are at THAT mid-life stage. There is a lot of emotional turmoil in many of our friends’ relationships, the cusp of divorces or other challenging consequences, and we ourselves are certainly far from immune to feeling the spiritual demands of these years. 

One of the messages my husband keeps bringing home from his friends is how they feel they have coped with their wives as they have journeyed through the menopause and a recurrent theme is that they were ‘crazy and rageful’. 

Now I am sceptical about this description for so many reasons but I also understand that many men just don’t understand the process, cycles and energy of women. We can be an enigma to them and there is dual responsibility here, the women can help men unravel their waves and cycles (though to be fair, many women are also disconnected from our ancient wisdom and wild power via modern societies demands so aren’t always able to explain or fully understand their own patterns) and the men can be willing to try and learn about this wisdom too, rather than simply dismissing it as crazy or unpredictable. 

I am not an expert but I certainly know that a few days before my menses there is only a fine veil between my patience and frustration. The rest of the month I can walk through fields of graciousness, but annoy me close to my bleed and it’s just a tiny ditch away from anger. It is not irrational, there is always a valid trigger, it’s just that the comparison of how I communicate and resolve that annoyance is a chasm away from the rest of the time. So I understand that men can receive that as too different to process. 

Now brining this to the menopause, I myself have begun to have disrupted cycles. This month I am already ten days over my usual date and that window of short fuse is stretching into a full conservatory. I suddenly realise how this is being received by the masculine, that odd day of ‘crazy’ that can be quickly forgotten or forgiven each month is stretching and elongating. That ditch is being jumped back and forth on too many occasions and when will it end? What if I don’t bleed for months? Will I still feel this premenstrual angst for the entire time? 

And it has purpose. Just like it did for every regular cycle I have had for the last thirty something years. Would I describe myself as rageful? Nope. But I’m certainly less gracious right now. I’m less willing to put up with my notion of bullshit, I’m less patient, I need authenticity, directness and clean communication. Is that wrong? Could that be positive? I believe so. 

Not knowing when this will end, I can’t just check out, read books, take baths and try all my previous ploys to navigate those one or two days of lore. I have to learn to adapt and adjust but I’m also not going to be labelled as negatively rageful when I know the root of my energy is power. I will learn to channel it and honour it as I step into this new era of my life. I am moving into a time where I have the greatest energetic potential, so it’s no wonder that the transformation is fiery. Call it rageful if you must but I will reclaim that word and alchemise it into gold.  

First published on social media on 15th April 2023

The Good, The Bad & The Ugly

I wrote recently about my kids bickering (A Ruthless Mirror) and how I know that I need to model some more consistent kindness & patience myself before I can really ask much more of them. 

I sincerely believe that our children are reflections of those closest to them and if their behaviour is errant in anyway, more often than not, the adjustments can be made by owning our own shadows and influences. 

But it can feel rather hard and exhausting to feel that weight of responsibility when facing challenging childhood dynamics. Unless of course there is a counter balance. 

This balance would be the ability to see and own the reflection of their gold; their kindnesses, their humour, their generosity and love. 

And I caught myself the other day being unable to hold that gold. I realised the message I told myself was that all their gold belonged solely to them, they were born that way and it was in spite of me rather than with-the-help-of-me that they expressed their brilliance. Yet I would happily flagellate myself when their shadows and darkness expressed themselves too fiercely. 

So to balance my own self-criticism I am going to allow myself a little bit of accountability for all their deliciousness too. I cannot, nor do I wish to, claim it all, for I have witnessed how much they have brought with them in their own souls; but sometimes there are moments when they reflect back to me the positive influences I have had. So now I will absorb these moments, wrap them in love and tuck them into my heart to help me harmonise our little unit. 

I will remember that all is welcome, the good, the bad and the ugly; I will remember to keep on shining my own light to rebalance my darkness. 

And I will be proud of me just as much as I am achingly proud of them. 

Heartbroken

A little over a year ago, my mother and I were in therapy together.

I voiced the words I feared the most.

‘I don’t feel like you love me, I feel you tolerate me.’

To which, my mother nodded and added ‘that’s because you are so difficult’.

And my heart broke

It broke so hard and so deeply that I felt swallowed by my grief.  My head accepted this status, my head has compassion for the wounds of my family, but my heart….. my heart hurt beyond anything I could have imagined.

I have carried this pain gnawing at me day after day, knowing that I needed to find a way through, to accept, to surrender, to move on and past and up and over and and and and….

And I couldn’t. Because I knew I needed mother love. I knew and know that Mother Love is the most powerful and healing and soulful of loves and how was I to face the rest of my life being so undeserving of that.

I couldn’t see my way out of the darkness.

This last weekend, I left my family for four days, to explore the depths and murkiness of this pain. I stepped into a weekend of holding, healing and transformation so that I could emerge again into a space of love.  And I was terrified that I wouldn’t, that no one would be able to help me.

Whilst the moments and details of these weekends are confidential, I can reveal a vignette of what I received.

I was held by a woman, loved by a woman, nurtured by a woman who channelled the power of the Divine Mother from the heavens to me. I know that I shall never forget the face of this Goddess who offered her healing to me, who showed me what it was to be wholly and unconditionally loved. It has changed me profoundly.

I experienced Kintsugi.

Kintsugi is the Japanese art & philosophy of mending pottery with the fissures of brokenness healed with gold. The pottery becomes more beautiful and of greater value from this process.

And that is what happened to my heart. My heart will always carry the cracks of its break but, just two days ago, those sharp & painful edges were filled with gold.

~~~~~~

With love and gratitude to all the Facilitators, Staff & Women from The Celebration of Women, The Goddess Workshop, Celebration of Being.