I am newly 37 years old with four young children, bumped early into menopausal ranks by a necessary hysterectomy. (The hysterectomy prevented developing ovarian cancer, so I am ecstatic that I am alive and here, even with hot flashes.)
But yes. The walking.
The walking saves my soul and my sanity and the lives of my family members. Sometimes I put in headphones and screamy ragey rock music with powerful female vocalists. Sometimes I put my headphones in just so people won’t talk to me.
When I walk, I don’t fucking smile at people. I used to, an obligatory nod and small smile at others as I met them. No more. That takes too much energy. I let my resting bitch face shine on in its glory and do its job, which is to give me space and solitude in a world that is always demanding my attention.
And I walk on, because it is how I tell myself that I have walked through everything else in my life — births, deaths, changes, loss, risk, everything — and I am still here. And I will keep being here.
I love your writing.