I am a woman of a certain age. The number of years is irrelevant. It is the season of life. Yes, THAT season of life.
I am smack dab in the middle of it and all my grand illusions have been shattered. I though this would be a breeze as I entered into these years ready to embrace the changes coming my way. I thought my attitude and perspective would make this a less harrowing experience. I was wrong.
Lacking enough words for clear definition, I can only say that it feels like an alien invasion of my body and mind. I don’t know myself any more. This body that I have known so well is foreign to me now. The things that I do and say make sense in the moment but on later reflection I wonder what is truth, what is my truth.
It is not enough to hang on for dear life while this rages around me like a hurricane. It is not enough to wait out the storm. I want to be more proactive than that. However, most days it feels like the barest of survival.
Anger is a constant companion. Thanks to Jennifer Boire’s book, The Tao of Turning Fifty, I am calling her my inner bitch goddess. As I think she is here to stay for a while, I am trying to learn to live with her without her destroying me or my family. Not an easy task.
I had coffee with Kimber today and we talked about anger, menopause, life in general. I told her that I was going to come home and paint the inner bitch. Little did I know what this would mean for me today. This week, I have put her in the corner and ordered her to stay put. Some would ask if I have this type of control then why does the anger ever show up. I can only tell you that the control is limited and her presence is always here.
When I released her today, she came with full force. Thankfully, I had the house to myself and I was able to let it all out. Raw emotion poured out of me as I pounded the canvas with paint. It was not pretty.
btw, that is not blood … just quinacridone burnt orange paint.
As quickly as she had detonated, the energy was gone.
Here is where it gets tough.
I couldn’t let that painting stand. I couldn’t let that part of me be seen. Though I wanted desperately to paint the truth of anger, the truth of this inner bitch goddess, my mind was screaming to myself and everyone,
“YOU CAN”T HANDLE THE TRUTH.”
I covered it over.
I began to paint what is acceptable. 
I have no more words for this. I am heartbroken that I feel the need to hide this part of me however I am trying to walk gently with myself and embrace this process, even this covering over of the dark side.
Powerful and meaningful…you walk the road of many and have the courage to speak it..Hold your head high as indeed you are in the faze of transformation that culminates in victory of self…Freedom does not come without struggle…the journey to true crone is filled with all life can be….for Wise Womyn are created…
Cynthia, as I read this I want to be sitting on the floor at your feet and listening to you share this intimacy and truth with the me that has yet to get to that season of life. I want to look at you with big eyes, that you might know I *see* you – all of it, and do not cower from this sharing or the beauty of your essence and change (in its softness and ferocity). I want to honor you with the quiet, that you might *know* I am truly listening to the words that are not spoken, allowing your flame to be very much alive and worthy of the fuel of a life transforming. I want to be the whisper in your ear when you finished the first part of your painting that says – YES YES this frekkin’ ROCKS! And then reminds you that every inclination, to share or withhold, to veil or reveal, is pure and to be honored. The intimacy you feel with this vulnerable place in you might require exactly what you’ve honored it with here – admission, attention, acknowledgment, time. You see, this feels like the sharing in a women’s circle… and it is this sharing, this truth, that we women need to hear at all stages and phases and seasons. It is part of the raw miracle of the life-cycle of a woman. I honor you in this witnessing and season. A-ho.
There is a book called My Name Is Asher Lev in which the boy is an artist and his mom wants him to just paint pretty things, but he is aware, that the things around him are not always pretty. I found him so brave. And I see you in that same light.
PS I still think you’re beautiful. PSS Have you heard of the book Kissing the Hag?
yikes…hormones are intense…it’s amazing how those changes can alter the mindscape…I’m a bit in trepidation of that phase myself…I am in the late 30′s, the “things are getting wonky phase” but found a natural doctor who does bio identical hormone therapy…he gave me some progesterone and I feel like myself again…a whole different experience during that time…I appreciate your raw honesty and am sending you blessings that everything you need to pass through this comes your way…I have an intuitive hunch you’re the kind of person who will be hatched by this rather than defeated…
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1: I never would have guessed you were of a ‘certain age’. Your photos don’t reveal that at all. And 2: never time, don’t paint over. If you don’t like it at least keep it but put it away for when you are open to having it out for the world to see.