Menopause is mucky. Periods so weird they would scare a lady swamp monster. Breasts that feel like water balloons ready to pop. Sleep? In a bed all night long? Impossible!
The emotional stuff is even more mucky. Muck . Muck. Muck.
When I walk on the marsh boardwalk at Bald Head Island, I get really close to the muck. The muddy swampy squishy kind of muck. I like to lean down and study it.
Then I look up again and see the expanse of marsh in front of me. What beautiful grasses rise from the muck!
I’m not as lovely as the marsh, and I’m certainly not that fresh and green, but from the muck of menopause grows me.
And from the muck of menopause grows you. Wiser. Tougher. Braver. Smarter. And even though my kids (or yours) might not agree, we’re cooler too in our own way, despite any hot flashes.
When my daughter Laura was in first grade, she loved a book in which the barnyard critters proclaim, “O lovely mud!”
I won’t go so far as to say, “O lovely menopausal muck,” but I take heart when I think about the green swaying grasses of the marsh.