Dancing in the Downpour

I Will No Longer…

I will no longer shrink to fit.
Not into jeans.
Not into timelines.
Not into anyone’s idea of who I should be by now.

I’ve earned every curve, scar, stretch mark, and story.
And I’m done making myself more palatable for other people.

I will no longer nod and smile when I want to scream or sleep or walk away.
No more yeses wrapped in bitterness.
No more small talk when my soul craves silence or real connection.

I will no longer tolerate being “managed.”
By partners who prefer the “old me,”
By anyone who thinks menopause is a polite fade to black.

This is a full-colour
still here,
never left,
no need for a comeback.

Part 2: I Will, However…

"What frays, frays
      what stays, stays..."

Be available for life’s simple pleasures.

For long walks on the beach at sunset.
For letting the golden hour soften my face and my mood until I’m mellow and marshmallowy, melting like butter into the dusk-drenched dunes, into sands still warm from summer’s heat.

For silence.
For stretching out in sun-warmed cars, eyes closed, limbs loose, body no longer braced for battle.
For laughter that erupts out of nowhere and lingers like musk at night.
For slow mornings, good coffee,
and books that don’t teach me a thing but let me live someone else’s life for a while.

I will be available for deep conversations,
and deep stretches,
for letting my belly rise and fall without shame,
and for wearing white cotton in fields of grass...

I will be available for joy that isn’t earned,
rest that isn’t guilty,
and love that doesn’t need fixing.
And sex, slow and spontaneous, selfish and selfless...

I will  be available for moments that whisper of the infinite.
For walking barefoot where the tide kisses the shore,
and suddenly remembering:
I am not young,
but I am not done.

I will be available for the ache that comes
not from loss,
but from the beauty of having loved so much,
so many,
so deeply.

Available for the kind of peace that arrives uninvited,
settling into my bones as I stare into the endless blue
and think about those who came before me...
who walked this same sand,
beneath this same sun,
and now live only in stories, in my hands, in my dreams...

This life is fleeting,
but I am infinite.
And I get to leave traces,
a laugh line, a truth told, a hand held,
that ripple long after I’m gone.

Legacy isn’t carved in stone.
It’s carried in the warmth I leave behind.
In the love I dared to give away freely.
In the way I dance in a downpour,
then show up barefoot for the sunset.

So… will you come walk with me?

No rush. No makeup. No need to be anything but real.
We’ll let the tide wash over our aching bodies and talk about nothing,
or everything!
about what we’ve lost,
what we’ve learned,
and who we’re still becoming.

We’ll marvel at how the sky changes minute by minute,
how healing sneaks in through warm sand and sea spray.
how time stretches in the golden light,

We’ll laugh too loud.
Cry if we need to.
And when the sun sinks low,
we’ll stand still and let it kiss our faces,
and we’ll smile…

Because we made it this far.
Because we deserve this peace.
This presence.
This soft place to land.

The downpour will come again, sure!
But for now, we bask in the glow of who we’ve become.

Say you will come walk with me...