All Flared Up

When I was in my late thirties, I decided that I wanted to go back to school to pursue a career that, over a decade prior, had taken root in me. I was dissatisfied with my job, mostly because I couldn’t manage the stress. And I hated the idea of reaching the end of my life with the regret that I hadn’t gone after my dream.

But if I’m being truthful, I wanted to take this leap because there was much more in my life that needed changing, not just my job.

One of the requirements to enter this new program of study was an in-person interview. When I arrived at the college, I was greeted by a woman with short, thinning hair that was a blend of grey and brown making it difficult to tell her age. She led me into a small room with a round table and two chairs.

As soon as we had positioned ourselves opposite each other, she sat up straight, leaned slightly across the table and spoke with a soft but commanding voice. Something about the way she held herself made me believe she was much older than she looked. “You know, this program will change your life,” she said, in lieu of introductions.

I paused, not expecting this. In my head, I was thinking, ‘I’m 39 years old, I’ve already been through a lot of shit. What more could possibly change?’ But outwardly, I said something super professional like, “Yes, I am prepared for and welcome that.”

Be careful what you wish for.

As it turned out, almost everything about my life changed.

Six months into my studies, I told my therapist that I thought I needed to leave my husband. I was deeply unhappy but I was also a hot mess. I had lost a ton of weight and was walking around with a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth that, despite brushing my teeth multiple times a day, never fully went away. My whole body felt like it was buzzing with anxiety. I knew what I had to do, but I could not bring myself to do it. And besides, how on earth could I make it happen?

I listed the obstacles to my therapist. One by one. Each a truth-bomb as to why it was not possible for me to leave. “We only have one car. I’m unemployed. I don’t even have my own bank account. I can’t afford an apartment of my own. I’m afraid of how he will react. I’m afraid of making a huge mistake. I’m afraid I’m just having a mid-life crisis.” And finally, “I just don’t think I have the strength to do this.”

She waited for me to finish. I loved this about her. She always gave me ample time to say all the things. Even giving me more than I thought I needed sometimes, a few extra heartbeats of space. Enough for the subconscious thoughts to arise, the ones that I tried so hard to suppress.

Finally she spoke, gently but firmly. “It’s normal to have fears. This is your body telling you that you are alive and that this matters to you,” she told me. “What is really important is that you get clear on what it is that you want. This might happen today, it might take weeks or maybe it will even take years. Everyone has their own timeline. There is no rush. But once you are able to do that, everything else will take care of itself. You won’t need to figure out the how or the when or the where. Trust me on this. Just get clear on what you want.”

She was right. She could not have been more right. And I have seen this play out over and over again in my life.

Now, as I welcome the brain upgrade that menopause is gifting me, I am once again reminding myself of the “what principle”.

What do I really want?

To teach and to write.

To be unapologetically me.

To fall in love with life again.

Now that I have my what’s, I know with unwavering certainty that everything else will work itself out.

And I am not at all worried about the how.