That, perhaps, is the difference between a crisis and a chrysalis. One keeps us frozen in fear. The other slowly reshapes us.
Technically, I’m not even fully in my midlife years yet.
And yet my body arrived early to the party.
A complete hysterectomy fast-tracked me into conversations I thought I still had years to prepare for.
Ironically, some circles don’t allow me in to the conversation because I’m “far too young” to know what menopause is.
It seems my reproductive system retired before society was emotionally prepared to handle it. Medically, I pass the test but I always get ID’d at the door.
I was medically launched into menopause with all the glamorous perks.
Hot flashes. Joint pain. An increasingly fragile relationship with sleep. And the deeply humbling realization that apparently your underarms and mid range can become flabby despite hours of working out at the gym.
(Nothing prepares you for sneezing incorrectly in your 40s.)
My body has adopted the classic expired warranty strategy, catastrophic synchronized failure. I’ve entered the ‘everything squeaks, leaks, or spasms unexpectedly’ chapter of ownership. My body has moved beyond ‘minor repairs’ and into ‘have you considered replacing the whole unit?’ territory.
Which is why a phrase I recently heard on the podcast Hello Menopause! grabbed my attention.
“Midlife chrysalis.”
Not midlife crisis. Midlife chrysalis.
The episode featured Chip Conley talking about reinvention, and I chose to listen to this episode because crisis sounds like collapse. Losing control. Becoming less.
Like panic bangs and plans to live “off-grid” and taking up emotional support hobbies. Sourdough starter anyone?
But chrysalis?
That sounds like transformation.
Messy. Strange. Hidden. Uncomfortable. Necessary.
A chrysalis says. You are not falling apart. You are simply changing form.
I think many of us who have experienced chronic illness, disability, grief, loss, burnout, etc. arrive at this transformation long before the culture expects us to.
Some of us are forced into reinvention before we even finish becoming who we thought we would be.
The Crisis
Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart.
Sometimes crayon. When I need a little more whimsy in my days.
There were years where survival became the main objective. Years where my nervous system felt like a shaken vending machine full of stress hormones. Years where I thought resilience meant pushing harder instead of listening deeper.
And then came the hysterectomy.
One of those dividing-line experiences where life becomes Before and After.
Before, I still secretly believed if I tried hard enough I might someday return to the old version of myself.
After, I slowly began realizing there may not be a way back. Emotional landslides and experiential cave-ins had blocked that passage way.
Forward and through became my only options. Through self-realizations. Humbling concessions. Constant negotiations between mind and body.
And maybe that is where the chrysalis begins.
The Chrysalis
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
A chrysalis does not look impressive from the outside.
It looks still. Inactive. Even broken down.
But inside? An extraordinary reorganization is happening.
And I think that’s what midlife (or medically-induced midlife-adjacent existentialism) can become.
Not a crisis to survive. But a transformation to participate in. Whole-heartedly.
Chip Conley talked about how the first half of life is often about accumulation.
We gather. Relationships. Responsibilities. Possessions. Roles. Expectations. Obligations. Dreams that once fit.
And eventually we become emotionally overstuffed.
He described midlife as “a great midlife edit.”
As I listened I considered the fact that chronic illness forces the edit whether you volunteer readily or not.
You simply cannot carry everything forever when your body already feels like it’s carrying a weighted backpack full of loose cutlery.
At some point you must ask important questions.
What still fits?
What actually matters?
What has become lukewarm in my life?
Do you know what a lukewarm life looks like? One of the lines from the podcast,
Pouring out part of your tea allows you to pour some hot new tea into the cup.
Because some things are not meant to last forever. Not every friendship. Not every role. Not every expectation you once had for yourself.
And maybe releasing those things is not failure. Maybe it’s pruning.
The forest understands this better than we do.
The Forest
One of the reasons forest therapy has become so meaningful to me is because the forest never panics about transformation.
Forest therapy has taught me that stillness is not the same thing as stagnation. Sometimes what appears dormant is actually becoming. I wrote more about that in this post, Nourish Your Nervous System: Forest Therapy Insights
Deadfall becomes nourishment. Burned places grow new life. Trees release entire branches to survive harsh seasons. These changes that seem negative are essential to a healthy forest.
Humans also require those experiences that appear negative and are actually essential for a healthy life.
In the forest, decay and renewal, soft and hard, smooth and sharp are all happening simultaneously.
And honestly, that feels like midlife too.
Especially for those of us living in bodies that have known pain.
We have experienced days where tears of pain rolled down the left cheek while tears of joy rolled down the right.
We know how to hold grief and gratitude at the same time.
That depth changes a person.
We know what it is to laugh in waiting rooms. To find beauty in tiny victories. To feel gratitude and grief sharing the same chair.
I have learned that emotional pain cannot simply be numbed away the same way physical pain can. There is no ibuprofen for identity loss. No heating pad for disappointment. No prescription for becoming someone new.
And while suffering itself is not noble, I do think deep experiences deepen people.
My chronic comrades know this.
Pain can also make people bitter, stuck, isolated, hardened.
That, perhaps, is the difference between a crisis and a chrysalis. One keeps us frozen in fear. The other slowly reshapes us.
If we allow ourselves to learn from it. We can become more compassionate. Tender. Wise. Present. Better able to sit beside someone else’s suffering without looking away.
As they said in the podcast,
Our painful life lessons are the raw material for our future wisdom.
I believe that in my soul.
The Offering
Sometimes our culture subtly teaches that the people worth listening to are the successful ones. The polished ones. The credentialed ones. The endlessly productive ones
What can we do about this imbalance? If you ever deem somebody less than you… ask yourself what they can teach you.
Because some of the wisest people I know have had their lives interrupted.
Some had to abandon dreams they loved. Some never got the education they were capable of and deserved. Some are rebuilding lives with parts and pieces they never would have chosen.
And still. They carry wisdom.
Do not think less of yourself because your life required adaptation. You are not behind because your path bent unexpectedly.
Some of us have earned emotional depth the hard way.
And if you cannot live the exact life you once pictured?
Find something to run toward anyway.
Even if your pace looks different now. Even if you have to limp toward it some days. Even if your dream has changed shape entirely.
A chrysalis does not become what it originally was.
That is the whole point!
A Forest Therapy Invitation: Chrysalis Walk
The next time you’re in a forest, park, or tree-lined path, try this:
Walk slowly and notice signs of transition.
What is decomposing?
What is emerging?
What is shedding?
What is adapting?
What still carries beauty despite visible damage?
Then ask yourself:
What version of myself am I grieving?
What no longer fits?
What wants to emerge now?
What if this season is transformation instead of failure?
You do not need immediate answers.
The forest is always becoming new. Slowly. Over time.
The Question
One question from the podcast we can all ask ourselves,
Ten years from now, what will I regret if I don’t learn or do now?
Conley called anticipated regret a form of wisdom. Chronic illness teaches you that later is not guaranteed. Perfect timing is imaginary. And someday can become never surprisingly fast.
So maybe this chapter is not about trying to reclaim who we once were.
Maybe it is about becoming more fully ourselves.
Hot flashes. Heating pads. Existential growth. And all.
What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.
I was going to label this as a women’s post but really guys should know this too. Proceed at your own risk.
What is it with menopause being such a hush- hush topic? We are educated at home and at school about puberty yet when it comes to menopause there is no such help on the topic. Anyone can google or do some research on the subject but do we? And how accurate is the information we are reading?
Despite the fact that I am now postmenopausal, I think? I am clearly far from an expert on the subject. Before my scheduled hysterectomy I figured I knew enough about what would happen from the little bit of girl talk and the way after- school specials made fun of it back in my day. I clearly remember Clair Huxtable on The Cosby Show faking what happens to women by going on in a big ordeal that ended with her head in their fridge freezer to make a point to her family. It seemed to say menopause will make you ridiculous unless you are strong enough to withstand the symptoms everyone goes on about. Or at least that’s what I took from it.
All my husband knew of menopause before my surgery was remembering his grandma pulling the car over and jumping out to tear her sweater off because she suddenly got too warm. It’s a funny family story that still circulates. To be fair I didn’t do much research on the matter either.
Before my complete hysterectomy I looked up the symptoms and side effects and how to try to avoid them. I thought I knew what I was in for. All the symptoms can be laughed off which makes it really dangerous for those that experience them to the extreme.
I had my surgery in May of 2019. Technically I was menopausal for one year following the surgery. But I am five years post surgery and I still have crazy symptoms. So here I am, labelled post when I am still obviously present! I am experiencing hot flashes every half hour. And other symptoms too. Clearly I must have missed a step.
It was one thing to deal with the symptoms I expected. But another to try and explain the ones nobody had heard about.
I talked to my doctor about 6 months after my hysterectomy and told her I still had all the symptoms of a cycle minus the actual period. She assured me it was all in my head. Then she man-splained how when you don’t have ovaries you can’t have a cycle. Now I know I am not the only one who has experienced this symptom. I am not making it up.
Between this brain fog that slows down my processing speed and my age, my eyes needed help with progressive lenses shortly after the surgery. And they are still going downhill quickly. This was not a symptom for which I was prepared. Yet I have read about more than one person who has experienced this decline in prescription during menopause.
Hot flashes. Yes, I’ve heard of those. I’ve heard comedians poke fun. But cold flashes? Nope. That was not in the top ten things to watch for. I mentioned before that I looked forward to warming up since I run cold. But a cold flash for someone that was already cold is terribly uncomfortable. I have to dress up to change rooms in my house if the temperature is at all lower. Followed closely by being too warm in the extra clothes and leaving more mess strewn around the house than my kids did as pre schoolers. And once I get too warm or too cold? Good night Nelly! I can’t get back to normal. Steaming or boiling anything on the stove was out of the question for over a year after the surgery. I still struggle to make a meal because once I start to hot flash I can’t bring it back. I just keep hot flashing until the meal is done and I am a hot mess.
And lastly and the most fun of all…? the emotional roller coaster. I would classify myself as someone who keeps a pretty level head and a cool demeanor in most situations. I had a mean streak as a teenager but I’ve since tamed that beast. I knew that hot flashes would warm me up to put it mildly. But I was not prepared for the rise in frustration and impatience that come with the incredibly warm face and dripping body parts. I relate to this meme, I feel like I’m in a petting zoo and all I wanna do is bite people. Why are there no such words of warning to those who are suffering: Wear breathable clothing! This cannot be stressed enough. Picture being in a rain jacket but you are more soaked on the inside of the jacket than the outside. Brent says when I start to warm up in bed the temperature climbs but even more notably, the humidity rises.
I already mentioned the book I read by Libby Weaver titled, Rushing Women’s Syndrome. I saw another diagnosis with a slightly different definition but the idea is the same. It is called Hurried Sickness. The behavior pattern is caused by a continual rushing and anxiousness and overwhelmingly continued sense of urgency in which a person feels chronically short of time and tends to perform every task faster and gets flustered while encountering any type of delay. That description is spot on for any morning at my house, especially when my kids were younger!
When there is a lack of understanding there is a tendency to feel alone. This non comprehensive list of secret symptoms is only my list. It won’t be the same for everyone. But my list matches with someone’s. And maybe they feel alone too. In evolutionary biology they say a lone monkey is a dead monkey. Instead of feeling alone in whatever you may be facing, share it with others and create a shared nature of suffering. Escape from your own woes by recognizing the suffering of others and reaching out in whatever way fits into your world.
Forest therapy has been the answer for me around my symptoms. When I spend a day outside I rarely notice one hot flash but, I kid you not, a day spent indoors, you will observe me reaching for my fan and taking off my socks and looking for a cold drink (of water) every stinking half hour. For the last five years.
If you want to calm your menopausal or apparently post menopausal symptoms, go to my contact page and book a walk with me to see what forest therapy can do for you.
My request for this week may be awkward at first but can we start to foster an attitude that supports more normalcy and education around menopause the way we do around puberty? Google doesn’t hold all the answers. Every time I googled my chronic pain symptoms I ended up with Lupus, like most of the patients on House. As adults we can’t rely on what Google alone has to say. Or even what a single doctor may tell you. But the combined story of actual women who are willing to share actual experiences.
Tell those who can’t handle a discussion around menopause, You SHHHHHH!!!!!
SUNBEAM ACRES 