menopause

I never noticed before that menopause is such an accurate name. Because you really do feel like you are on a MEN - O - PAUSE. It could be the political climate or just hormones but in general I feel that all men suck. There are of course exceptions. Almost all of the men in my life I do adore. But I feel most interactions with men (especially older white men) just suck and end in me wanting to kick them in the nuts.

 Girrrrrrl Power! Me and Margo.

But I digress...
I just had a lot of lab work done and amongst other things (that I'll write about when I know more) I discovered that I am post-menopausal. At the very very tail end of menopause. Meaning my ovaries still sometimes kick some estrogen my way (lucky me) but in general I'm an official crone.

Welcome to the crone club Antoinette.
I told my son that I guess it means I can hex people now?

It's interesting because since my birthday almost three months ago now, I've been very much feeling myself transitioning into another space. Going through a liminal phase if you will. These labs confirm what I was feeling. Myself permanently saying goodbye to the motherhood phase of life and hello to being a crone.

 Back in the pool and loving it.

I find it so interesting and powerful that my sisters and I are very much the archetype for the Goddess in her triple form. The maiden, mother and crone. Look out when we get together.

I strongly feel my crone-ness is something to celebrate. Back when I first started menstruating a million years ago my mother took me and a friend out to dinner. Now I think we need to repeat the festivities.

Many women feel the sting of lost youth profoundly. I will never miss it. Being older and wiser comes with many gifts. I've had an eventful life and I don't mind if my face and body show it. Yes, I'll still color my hair from time to time. But that's more for art than it is chasing youth. I don't care how old I look in any way. It saddens me that so many women do.

I feel my new phase of life opening up to me and I welcome it gladly, thrilled that I've lived this long to reach such a milestone. 

Living my best life after a much needed trip to the bookstore.

I intuitively started buying myself flowers every Tuesday when I take my son to Trader Joe's. I think in a way I knew that I was worth celebrating. And why wait for a man to do something for you when you can do it yourself? MEN-O-PAUSE.

We've Got This

"In sickness and in health..."
My husband and I didn't include any traditional wedding vows in our ceremony 31 years ago. Luckily we both love each other enough to stick it out no matter what comes our way. Myopathy, brain tumor, TB, Diabetes, Liver Disease, Diverticulitis, COVID, a Regime in the US. I could keep going but you get the picture. 

 

My guy eats peanut butter as much as these squirrels love peanuts.

My man has been having some health scares lately. He's been pretty borderline diabetic for the last eight years. But this past year it was severe enough that he had to start medication for it and seriously avoid alcohol and carbs. He wasn't a big drinker before anyway, so we thought it wasn't too serious.

Then recently his liver enzyme blood work came back very high. He had an ultrasound that led to a diagnosis of fatty liver. We were both confused. He hadn't been drinking, he cut out almost all carbs and only ate white meat. What's going on? His doctor then ordered a different kind of scan and lab repeat. The scan showed that he has "severe fibrosis" in his liver. Which is one step down from cirrhosis.  

Everyone's body is different. He's also under a lot of stress and pressure with his work. And who isn't stressed out right now in America? I'm thinking that like me, he just had a strong reaction to something. Likely a combination of diet and environment. Fortunately also like me he is a "take action" kind of person, not a "wallower."  

Everything we are planning on doing to help his liver and diabetes is also good for me and my body. So it's really a win-win as long as we're serious and stick to the eating plan.

We both found this list helpful. 

He's now cut out all dairy and sugar. Going easy on fruits and heavy on veg. 

To help us out I subscribed us to a new meal delivery system. It delivers fresh made, organic, Vegan meals to our house weekly. Since I have a problem with portion control and getting enough protein in my diet I'm hoping this will be helpful.

So far I've tried out:

• Hungry Root- It had too much prep required and too much packaging.
• Misfit Market- Expensive, but I liked it. Especially their jalapeno hummus. 
• Thistle- My first delivery is Wednesday. It's also expensive, but all the shopping, meal planning and assembly is done for me. That will be helpful as my energy levels aren't great at night.

I'm also re-joining the gym this week so my energy at night will likely be even worse for a little bit. Having ready made healthy meals that fit both our needs will be a real luxury.  

Me living my best life in 2024

My mom and I are committed to going to the gym three days a week together. I'll start in the pool and slowly (hopefully) work my way up to Yoga class again. I got a lot out of both when we were regularly going.

Meanwhile my husband has been walking a lot more. He loves this mid 70's spring weather ((gag)) and the sunshine is good for his mental health. I'm less of a sunshine warm weather lover, so the indoor pool will be perfect for me.

My weight is currently at a good place and even though I'm just recovering from bronchitis and pink eye, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm hoping we can reverse my husband's liver condition. No way can he go before me!
 

(NOTE: I got nothing for linking to those food delivery companies. All my own opinion. No kickbacks.) 

Why Should I Care?

 

My necklace is a heart with "myself" in it.
A birthday gift from my man.

I love it. 

 

My mitochondrial disease affects me in many ways. The biggest is muscle pain, fatigue and lung issues. My neurologist seems to think that my immune problems and neuropathy are un-related to my mito. Go figure. The neuropathy could be from the TB treatment. Isoniazid for 9 months. Or it could just be from some kind of bonus auto-immune chaos. 

 

My point is when my mito disease hits other areas that are less important, like my skin. Why should I care?

 

I thought my "vagina neck" as I fondly call it, was just from aging. My husband would tease me that it bothered me. My mom didn't think it was from aging at all. When she saw this picture of me she expressed some concern and challenged my saying it was just from age...

 

 

Do you see it?
Total vag neck.

 

I'm also getting a little jowlie. So I did some investigating. It turns out she was right. Mitochondrial disease affects the collagen and elasticity of the neck, so sagging like that is part of the package. 

Muscle Weakness & Anatomy: The neck muscles, specifically the platysma muscles, can weaken and separate, causing prominent vertical bands. The position of the hyoid bone can also determine how much skin sags.

Muscle Weakness (Myopathy): Many mitochondrial diseases cause mitochondrial myopathy, leading to muscle weakness and atrophy (shrinking) in the neck and throat area. As the platysma muscle weakens, it loses its ability to hold neck skin taut, contributing to a sagging appearance.

Decreased Collagen & Elastin: Mitochondria provide the energy (ATP) needed for fibroblasts to produce collagen and elastin. Mitochondrial dysfunction leads to a "biological energy crisis," resulting in slower collagen synthesis and thinner, less elastic skin that sags more easily.

Mitochondrial Disease can contribute to the appearance of a saggy "turkey neck" by accelerating skin aging and weakening the underlying muscles. While mitochondrial disorders primarily affect high-energy organs like the heart and brain, they also impact the skin's ability to maintain its structure and the neck muscles' ability to provide support.

Apparently there are some exercises you can do that could help. Or I could just wear scarves. Or I just could not care. I remember last summer it getting better with swimming. Considering we're talking about re-joining our gym in a few weeks maybe that will help? Or should I even really care that much.

 

 

I'm My Valentine

 

A story just for me...

I once lived inside a life that made sense.

I had worked for years — through training, supervision, self‑doubt, and grit — to become a therapist. Not just in title, but in identity. I had finally reached the place where my skill matched my purpose. I was building a career I had earned with my whole self. I was helping people. I was steady. I was proud. I was beginning.

And then, without warning, the ground underneath that life gave way.

Brain surgery.

Mitochondrial myopathy.

A body that no longer behaved like the one I had trained in, lived in, trusted.

The loss wasn’t just physical. It was existential.

It was the loss of a rhythm, a role, a future I had already stepped into.

It was the loss of the version of me who could work full time, who could hold space for others without worrying whether my own body would collapse.

For a while, it felt like the old me had died and the new me had been left behind to make sense of the wreckage.

But that isn’t the whole story.

Because the part of me that became a therapist — the part that listens deeply, understands nuance, sees people clearly, and holds complexity with grace — didn’t disappear. It didn’t get cut out in surgery. It didn’t dissolve with the diagnosis.

It’s still here.

It lives in how I think, how I relate, how I make meaning.

It lives in the way I navigate my own suffering with honesty and insight.

It lives in the way I care for others, even now, even with limits.

My life didn’t end.

It changed shape.

The old life was linear — training, mastery, career, momentum.

The new life is cyclical — energy, rest, adaptation, creativity, resilience.

The old life was built on strength and capacity.

The new life is built on wisdom and precision.

The old life moved outward, toward clients and systems and goals.

The new life moves inward, toward truth, embodiment, and gentleness.

Both lives are mine.

The therapist I was is not gone; she is integrated.

She is the foundation I stand on, even if I stand differently now.

She is the one who carried me through the hardest years, who built the skills I still use, who earned the identity I still hold.

And the person I am now is not a lesser version — she is a transformed one.

She lives with a body that demands honesty.

She lives with limits that require creativity.

She lives with a clarity that only comes from surviving what should have broken her.

I am not living a replacement life.

I am living a true life. One that honors the before, survives the rupture, and grows in the after.

My story didn’t end when my body changed.

It shifted into a new chapter, one that is still unfolding, still meaningful, still mine.

Don't Just Get Clean

I was watching an episode of Queer Eye the other night and a topic came up that resonated with me. One of the people on the show said something to the effect of: When you're showering, don't just have the intention of "getting clean." Rather see it as a time just for you. Honor yourself. Make it an experience and take time to connect with your body.

Since I view my body as a betrayer, this is very hard for me. Medical trauma is very real. I thought about what I had heard. The person on the receiving end of this advice was also a big giver to other people. I reflected back on what I think of my body and how I have treated it since becoming ill and I saw something interesting.

In the past I would shave my head because it was easier to just not think about or fuss with my hair. (Or because I was too weak to shampoo my hair.) I don't wear makeup often because I don't like the feel of it. I didn't wash my face (outside of a shower) because my complexion was clear. I just stopped spending time on my looks. This all coincided with my illness.

Yes, I would go back and forth on coloring my hair. I wanted to go natural, but then I would feel like I looked old and sick and I would switch it up again.

But something recently changed.

I can't pinpoint it exactly.

Firstly it could have been my wonderful birthday party. Being around such magnificent women and being restored with feminine energy. It really was a magical evening.

Secondly it could have been me learning about animal testing and the cruelty in the beauty industry. Everything from our shampoo, deodorant to my face products were from evil companies. I vowed to do better this year.

Slowly I made a shift. 

I started by learning more about what "mature" skin needs and the changes that happen with age. I'm growing my hair out again (though I'm done with color... for now.) I tried out a brand that I'd used a few of their products in the past and liked them. They are local, woman owned, Vegan and cruelty free. I'm super happy with what I've bought so far.

Next I made a new skincare routine for myself. I do it every morning and every night. It is some special time just for me to relax and meditate. I'm trying to take extra good care of my eyes to prevent future styes.

I have a very simple makeup routine that doesn't feel gross on my skin. Again, using natural cruelty free brands.

I'm trying to "feel into my skin." Not just dissociate and "get clean." 

Grief

I shared with my husband this weekend that I don't feel like I've ever properly processed what happened to me. Even though it was about seven years ago now. At the beginning of this blog. 

When I look back it feels like one second I'm at the height of my career. Helping people and making good money at the same time. Putting to good practice everything I learned, studied so hard for and sacrificed to make happen. Then the next second I feel like a vegetable whose body completely betrayed her. Betrayed me.

It wasn't so fast as it feels. But the impact of it all was nothing short of a wrecking ball crashing through my life. Medical bills, new equipment, tons and tons of tests, endless amounts of pills and drugs to try and doctor's appointments. 

Each day was a new hell of "what can I not do now?" I spent many nights crying and seriously thinking death would be better because of the pain. That was before my expert team figured out what medications I need to function. 

I still feel like I'm moving in slow motion. That everything takes enormous amounts of effort. And it's all invisible to everyone. Even those closest to me. I feel overwhelmed and exhausted by the smallest task. I minimize my pain and how hard everything is for me. I'm not really sure why?

 
Maybe I want to still be seen as "strong?" Maybe it feels like I've lost some control or agency if I don't push myself? I'm an expert at "keeping calm and carrying on." But that doesn't leave much space for the reality of things or to process loss. 

My husband had a good suggestion that I pick a week next month and only do what I want to do. Have my own "staycation." He said maybe doing more art will help me process things more. I thought that was a great idea.

I do get a lot out of my art and being around family. I think it's more being out in the world that's the problem. Expectations that I put on myself. I push myself a lot. I'm trying to notice more when I need to stop and rest.

Making an Effort

I'm realizing there's a very good reason why most disabled and chronically ill people complain of loneliness. It's because friends don't like to be the one to make plans. I'm not sure how that works if EVERYONE is like that. Actually I am sure. It doesn't. Friends fall by the wayside until they vanish completely.

My husband is my best friend.

Of course there are the rare exceptions, but those tend to be family members. It's the very rare friend who will be the one to make the effort to keep in touch and suggest plans.

My mom is my best friend

I have also come to terms with being that person with my friends. If I want to see them EVER than I have to be the one to text, call, suggest SPECIFIC plans... (that's the key, they have to be specific.) And there are a lot of people in my life whose company I enjoy enough to make that effort. And those who I don't.

The person I call my best friend is one of those people who would make an effort even if I was ill and couldn't do it myself. That's one of the reasons I say she's my "best friend." She's reliable, funny, fun to be with, smart, a feminist, doesn't hound or smother me, makes plans and asks me to join her. All qualities I admire. 

My best friend and my mom helped throw me the best birthday party ever.

She's also anxious as hell. Complicated. A contradiction. Traumatized and stubborn. Not all bad qualities. I think of it like a dessert. If it was too sweet I couldn't have much of it. People need balance. 

I also admire how important her heritage is to her. She's half Samoan and half Italian. Funnily enough her Samoan half seems more important to her. But I get it. I value my Italian heritage even if it is much less than my English or Irish genes.

I find now that I have my sisters in my life and their very large families it leaves less time to spend with my friends. But I will always make time for those who enrich my life.