Tag Archives: hormones

Orgasms are Overrated

Yeah, I said it. As I slide inexorably into menopause, I’ve had to re-set my expectations when it comes to being sexual. And, to be honest, I’ve come to this place kicking and screaming, (which, since I’m being honest, in the old days, would have been a part of the “nasty-dance” itself sometimes. Hahahahahahaha! Kidding!)

I like sex. I like the big O. I like my body. I like other people’s bodies. All of my life, I’ve had a vigorous, healthy appetite and when I was young, I never lacked for willing partners. Yep, I was a busy girl and unabashedly so. Young and intensely physical, I really liked connecting on a body level and being athletic. Sex was always a great means of experiencing my physicality and connection with others.

BUT, it’s all a strange terrain now, my lovelies. Previously highly O-gasmic and ready to go whenever and wherever, I’m now stuck in a foreign land where I speak not one word of the local language; I’m Iost in unfamiliar twists and turns, dead-end alleys, and set-backs. I’m now in a realm where the slightest little thing (the cat jumping on the bed, thoughts in my head, a sneeze) will derail my O-train. **Sigh** This sucks (and not in a good way). LOL!

Yeah. I one of those women now. Oh. God. I’m not ready to be beat-to-poop by my endocrine system. I’m not ready for this. I’m so not ready to be old. What the frack?!

Because I’m such a highly results-driven personality and a perfectionist, I recently (and disturbingly) caught myself calculating whether it’s “worth it” to get all worked up and have no “closing ceremony,” so to speak. I’ve been assessing whether it’s worth jumping up and down on the street, waving flags, screaming, and shaking my tushy if nothing is going to “finish the parade”, as it were. This has been quite frustrating and honestly, it’s recently made me want to give up on being intimate. It started to feel like a bother.

But, then it hit me. I get to change my attitude. Instead of resisting this turn of events, I can hugsimply accept where my body is right now, accept that this is the reality at the moment, accept the change. I might not be able to address all of the stuff going on with my adrenals, but I can adjust my thinking. I can accept that it’s about the journey that my body and I are taking together right now. Bottom line, I’m being given an opportunity to stay present and make a greater emotional connection with my body and my partner. And, the really cool thing is that I’m finding a softness, a meditation of sorts, a way to be fully present in the moment and to accept life inside of a body that needs different things from me right now. I can use my and my husband’s “happy little episodes” to connect with him on a deeper (No pun! Don’t even go there!) level.

So, instead of being resentful and irritated, I shifted my perception and expectation of being intimate and changed the story that I’m telling. This is about honoring another way of being and enjoying the resulting intimacy. And, it’s been great fun. Hell, it’s fun to simply giggle and say “I wonder if I’ll get one this time?! Let’s go for it, big-boy!”

Now that I’ve taken all of the pressure off of “sticking the landing”, I’ve gone beyond seeking the O and onto the rest of the letters in the alphabet. They are very nice letters; I’m having a blast getting to know them and when I get the gift of a “big-happy-finish”, I find I’m screaming quite a few of those other letters. 🙂

What about you? Has your endocrine system been slapping you around? Do you have any tips for dealing with the change? You wanna yak about your experiences? Talk to me. 🙂

Brushing My Mustache

I knew that this day was coming. I knew that, one fine day I would casually glance in the mirror and see it. There. Above my lip, a misplaced eyebrow. A sign of “the change”.  Well, today is that day, my friends.

Maybe it was the sunlight streaming in through the small bathroom window that glinted, just-so, off of the nicely rowed, baby-black-hairs creating their conversation across my lip. Maybe it was a shadow there that caught my eye. Whatever it was, I now have a mustache. I have now crossed that invisible line from fertile nymph into wrinkled crone in an instant.

And, I’m cracking up about it. Why? Because my ego cannot stand the thought of sporting this soup strainer out in the real world; my ego cannot stand the thought that other people will see it while simultaneously knowing that I’m going to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about it (except to accept it).

Lizzy_&_Her_FurdinandSo, this is my plan: I’ll brush my mustache and cackle like a hag in my house. I will wear this mom-stache with pride, even bravado. I will stroke my stache thoughtfully while I think at my desk. I will name it (I name everything). I’m thinking “Furdinand” (get it? FURdinand?) Hahahahaha! I will wear this stache because my body made it and she must know that I need it.

So, for all of my sister-crones out there who think that a chickstache is not useful and to be controlled or removed, let me assure you, there are some real positives:

It’s natural. These things happen. As we age, our hormones lessen and change. Men lose hair and women gain it. But, this is perfect and right. We crones get to take out our revenge on the male of the species for their endless objectification, the near-constant and often unwelcome attention, the male bravado, the ego. We get to sport better hair than them and prove that we are still very much capable of doing what they can no longer do. (You all know that this is tongue-in-cheek, yes?)

It gives you a cloak of invisibility. As I have gone completely grey now and become much more hairy, fewer people look at me. And men? Almost never. What a relief! I no longer have to impress the people with whom I interact. I no longer have to seduce them with my wit, my humor, my sexiness. I get to rest now. The woman-stache is a huge signpost that indicates the beginning of the crone’s journey. We women can now stop looking outward and go inward, travel through the layers of the self on a much deeper level instead of concentrating on others and giving away much (or all) of our energy. The mustache frees us from the attention of others and affords us the time and space to go inside our souls.

It’s liberating. I no longer have total control over my appearance and no amount of essential oils or other healthy skin care products can hide the fact that I am middle-aged, liver-spotted, and hormone imbalanced; there is nothing that I can do about this but walk through the self, accepting all the way. I am liberated by this mustache because I can be even more authentic now. I can be more real. I can show the world what inner beauty looks like. I can let my soul do the talking. What sweet relief.

So, my new motto is: If it’s there, it’s there for a reason! And, if we women can’t grow it on our heads, let’s grow it on our faces! Let’s wear our crone signposts with pride. Let’s leave all of our hair out there and see how it triggers us, but more importantly, let’s celebrate every little hair for helping us do the work that we invited in this lifetime. I, for one, am going to celebrate this hair-lip of mine and laugh all the way to the grave. Now…where did I leave my comb?