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When I wrote that post I didn’t think it would amount to much. I wrote it fast and hot and a little mad, and I barely checked the spelling let alone the things I was saying. It amazes me, always, how these things work.

It amazes me, the conversation of sharing that begins when a door is cracked.

Thank you, each of you who commented and each of you who contacted me privately and wow, especially the men. I value your thoughts and prayers and stories, your hearts and your encouragements and your frustrations. Because it’s not a sexy or trendy thing to talk about.

Menopause.

There, I said it and I didn’t die.

But its taught me that I will. I suppose that’s been the sobering lesson in it all. These bright red-stained past few months are marking a transition. Midway or more. Nearer the end than the beginning, and all that.

The thing is though… I’m not dead, yet. I’m just where I am, right now, at this point in my story and there’s lots of story left. There are things I’m just beginning. Things I’m just now starting to understand and many many things I want to learn.

You are just where you are, right now, at your important part of your important story. And who knows, really, where you will go?

Can I encourage you the way you’ve encouraged me? Can I ask you to keep sharing and talking and listening? Even if it’s on the internet, but especially if it’s in your real world.

Do you wish sometimes we had stronger community traditions? Things built into our days together that are simply taken for granted times and ways of being with each other?

I wish we all took Sundays off and we all went to the same church and we all had coffee together every Tuesday afternoon. I wish we kissed each other’s cheeks when we met on the street and held hands with our friends and spent afternoons visiting while the children played in the street in front of our houses.

I wish we took trips to places poorer than ours and didn’t care so much about what things cost and gave more stuff away.

I wish we talked more.

I wish we shared more.

Because then maybe journeys like miscarriage or menopause or mental health wouldn’t be such lonely walks.

I don’t know. I’m still thinking it through. What do you think?

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