Guest post by Beth Young, an adult convert currently in Bountiful, Utah (military move—no options).

I am sixty-seven years old. All of my lady parts are intact. From the onset of puberty, at age thirteen, until and after the eventual diagnosis of endometriosis at age twenty-four, I experienced horrifically painful menstrual periods.

“Unfortunately, this condition makes you infertile. ”— quote from my OB/GYN. 

Severe pain every month, for up to ten days at a time. Trials of birth control pills to help regulate the periods. Weight gain from the pills. Still infertile. Still all of the pain. Years of more pain and disappointment.

Social pain of infertility:

“You can still have a valuable life,” decreed an elderly woman in my ward.

“You can be the special aunt to other people’s children,” chirped another.

“Just relax and kids will come,” suggested a woman that I didn’t know.

“If you were a pumpkin, you’d be the seedless variety,” joked my father.

Ecclesiastical abuse in the form of deeply personal interviews: How long am I willing to wait before we adopt? (Who said anything about adoption?) Are you and your husband physically engaged (having sex)? How often? Do you use birth control? Do you suspect your husband is gay? Do you have faith in Christ? REAL faith? Have you had an abortion?

It was the early 80s, anything could be and would be asked.

“The best treatment is pregnancy”—another quote from my OB/GYN This time with actual scientific evidence to prove it. Progress! Then more debilitating physical pain. Years of it.

In my mid-twenties I had two surgeries to correct the condition. The second one worked pretty well. A couple of years later, we were able to conceive. Three children in the next nine years. Cool! Mormon boxes checked, so fewer nosy inquiries. No more grueling interviews regarding our intimate life.

Pregnancy really did seem to remedy the endometriosis. Since my first pregnancy at age twenty-eight, the uterine pain was mostly relieved, but afterward, I was having frequent migraine headaches. An odd and annoying trade-off. 

Twenty-three years after my endometriosis diagnosis, I entered perimenopause. I had several hot flashes that were excruciating, and no one had ever said anything about them, except for the uncomfortable flush of heat. No one had ever mentioned the panic-inducing chest tightness, the pounding heart, the discomfort of clothes touching skin, and the sudden, urgent need to urinate. Fortunately, after a few dozen of those over the course of a year, they passed.

However, they were replaced with cold flashes. I’ve still never heard anyone EVER talk about having experienced those. Malaria, freeze-you-to-the-bone cold flashes. Debilitating. Not-enough-blankets-in-the-county cold. Maybe fifteen minutes, maybe a couple of hours. 

Two doctors ‘splained to me that after a hot flash where I get sweaty, the moisture chills me. Huh-uh. Nope, just nope. No more hot flashes. No hot sweat. Just cold from the frosty depths of hell.

Post-menopause.

Physically: Eyebrows thinning. Waist widening, but not alarmingly so. Fewer hormones, but not entirely gone either. Fewer and less painful migraine headaches. Fewer hours of sleep per night. 

Socially: Less patience for B.S. No patience at all for boring conversations. No tolerance for priesthood interference in my life. Not willing to sit through those weird, intrusive interviews ever again. No reporting on underwear and beverages, as if those virtue signals determine my standing in the Lord’s eyes. No longer desirous of “under the direction of…” service opportunities. As an adult convert, I came into this church knowing the Lord and how to serve. The church has allowed me to hone my abilities. Hold my root beer, gents, I’ve got this! 

Oh, and laughter tends to come more easily and more often, so that is a huge win! Bring it, menopause!

Generally in life, understand this:

People are in pain. Everyone is in pain. Everyone is walking around with a broken heart about something. Let go of the need to know their reason. Hold out your arms, real or metaphorically,  to administer heartfelt hugs to those who need one.

In the Crone stage of life it is our privilege and responsibility to strengthen the youth:

Know the names of the children in the neighborhood. Greet them by name. Do your best to remember what each one likes and ask them about it. Offer help to frustrated young parents, “Hey, I’m an empty-nester, do you need an extra pair of arms?!” as you offer to hold their little ones. Play quiet games with toddlers during long meetings (where were these two-hour meetings when my kids were little and my husband often went on long military deployments?) Empathize with women of all ages. Listen to them, HEAR their concerns and challenges. Act in the Lord’s name to bring relief WITHOUT allowing yourself to burn out. Even the Lord left the needs of other people and went alone into the wilderness for forty days to get His head on straight and prepare to further serve 

The postmenopausal bonus for me is that laughter tends to come more easily and more often. Huge win! Bring it, menopause!

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This post is part of the series Menopause and Me.