Listen as you read (I listened as I wrote):
“You might think you’re alone when you’re falling apart, but the world has a way of mending your heart.”
Hi, it’s me.
Many years ago when my kids were still in elementary and middle school, I owned and ran a small home-based business writing and producing animated videos that explained products, services, and Big Ideas. Projects would typically run six to eight weeks long. Whenever I started a new project in August and mapped out the production schedule, alarm bells of panic would go off in my head as I realized the project would start in summer but end after the kids went back to school in early September.
Where had the time gone?!
In my career now as a grant writer, I feel this same August pressure. The funding cycle for most private foundations is slow compared to individual donor fundraising, which usually sees returns shortly after an email is sent. With typical decision windows of three or four months after the application deadline, proposals I send in August may be my last opportunity to receive funds in the current fiscal year.
When we recently discussed the late summer push as a team, however, my August Panic felt a bit more existential. Much like the pressure I feel at the end of summer and the end of grant season, I am feeling the weight of being in the August of my life.
As I approach my 54th birthday in September, I’m struggling with osteoarthritis pain and the unpleasantness of perimenopause symptoms like depression, brain fog, and big mood swings.
In my rational brain, I realize that 54 is not old. But while in the middle of these physical, mental, and hormonal challenges, I feel old. I feel like my life is winding down and I’m running out of options. I feel like I’m in the last days of making decisions that will benefit me in this life.1
“I haven’t felt like myself for a long time,” I lamented to a friend last week over margaritas and taquitos. “And I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever feel like myself again.”
Compounding this existential panic is knowing that my mom started experiencing mini strokes and symptoms of dementia quite young—in her mid-to-late 60s—and by her mid-70s she was physically disabled and non-verbal following a bigger stroke. Genetically, it’s possible I only have a good 10-15 years of quality living left in me.
But I’m reminded of the year Bryan was diagnosed with colon cancer. It was February, and just as we were learning about his schedule for surgery and chemo, all of the Seattle area music venues released their summer outdoor concert schedules. As Bryan bought tickets for shows in June, July, and August of that year, I panicked about whether he’d be healthy or even alive in six months.
“Babe, I’m just going to keep living my life,” he said in response to my worry.
And that is my current struggle. How do I keep living my life while under the fog of not-myself-ness, physical pain, and the hamster wheel of full time employment?
No, seriously… how do I do that?!
If you’re older than me, can you tell me if the hormonal stuff gets better? Once I’m in full menopause, will things eventually stabilize into a new normal?
If you’re around my age, are you experiencing something similar? What are you doing to care for your mental and physical health?
I’d love to hear from you in the comments, or you can reply to this email.
Sorry for being a bummer today—you get five gold stars for reading to the end!
⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️
Until next time,
Jen
Post script
A few hours after writing the above essay on Sunday, I came across this one on Substack about what the author, now 67, would do differently if she were 50 again. Her main points are:
Heart: detox from unhealthy relationships
Mind: shut down the inner critic
Body: build muscle
Soul: stop backburnering what I want
At the end she gives a pep talk, and it worked on me. She didn’t write about anything I didn’t already know, I just needed to hear it again:
If you’re 50 right now, here’s what I want you to know:
You haven’t peaked. This isn’t a midlife crisis either. It’s an opportunity to take a breath and start the process of asking yourself, “What if…?”
Whatever it is, do it. And I know for sure that when you honor your whole self, mind, body, heart and soul, things change. Dramatically even.
So clear the emotional clutter. Train your brain. Build your body. Feed your soul.
It helps that her writing voice sounds a lot like me.
I also re-read my own words regarding the encouragement of a paddle boarding woman on Green Lake from a few weeks ago. How quickly we forget our own hype-talk! Committing to myself (again) that I will endeavor to stay strong in the middle, even though the middle really sucks at the moment.
Even if this is the August of my life (which some might argue it is not, and that’s fair), the days are still long and full of light; there is still so much warmth and adventure to be had. I’ve not hit scarcity territory yet, and I’m still laughing.
What’s happening in my garden this week
Speaking of August, I started some seeds for another round of carrots, beets, and various greens that I hope to harvest before our first frost in mid November. I’m keeping busy in the kitchen, making and freezing garden pesto, zucchini fritters, and trying my hand at home made tzatziki sauce.
Don’t worry, I’m doing All The Things you’re supposed to do when feeling this shitty—therapy, medical appointments, etc.
Menopause (peri and full on) IS a blink, and the prize at the end is huge! My mother, who lived 102 years, said her 80s were her favorite decade. I'm 73, and—national s***show aside—this is my favorite. So much personal freedom, the body aches don't even matter. It feels like the first time I've been able to live in the moment.
Love this and also, go Bryan. He’s so right on! You probably know this. Hang in there. Forgetting is the worse. I have the same thoughts here and there of how many good years left but my hubby in his early 50s feels it a lot more. 50
Is a couple of years off and he’s like, “just wait…” I want to feel this good and hopeful forever. I hope it doesn’t go away.