Recently, someone asked if my meltdown with saddle seat riding [Sine Die, Pondering] might be related to menopause. I know one reader has had this issue (waves hi), wherein doubt takes over from certainty. A legitimate question. I’m gonna say no.
I’ve always been a weenie about riding. Some days, with some horses, when the planets align, I can gallop my fool head off. After one Academy Driving class with Big [Show Photos], Miss Courtney had to remind me, ‘This is not a chariot race.’ Other days, not so much brio.
I’ve never been much of a hormone storm. Of course, I can get cranky and bitchy and unpleasant, but it tends to be in reaction to what I think rather than what is happening physically. Either I have a low hormone level or am so emotionally repressed that the hormonal response is squashed along with everything else. I’ve always lived too much in my head.
Or I could be deluded. I’ve known more than one person to say, “I am X.”, to which my unspoken response is ‘Really? Seriously? That’s how you see yourself? Yowzah.’
Or I could simply be alone too much. No deep psychological problems; rather a lack of contact with the outside world. (Which is one reason I talk to you every day.) Work at home. Horses at home. Surrounded by neighbors who see the world differently than I do. In absence of external data, my over-active brain feeds on itself.
If there is a problem, I think it is more mid-life crisis than menopause. I’m almost 55. What do I have to show for it? Even if I spot myself the first 20+ years, that’s three decades of adulthood: frantic activity, good times, but no big-ticket milestones. No one thing that I can point to and say, There, that’s what I did with my life so far.
I chose not to raise a family. My career never took off. Ditto my hobby. I don’t have an advanced degree. I have not immersed myself in art or charity. Yes, I have a long, wonderful marriage, but that speaks more to my winning the husband stakes than to my stellar qualifications as a wife. My life has been a string of amazing opportunities. My follow-through has been less impressive.
Yes, I should look forward to the next 20 years (1? 40? Who knows?) instead of looking back over the last 40. When I figure out how to do this, I’ll let you know.
What does this have to do with horses? The realization that you are not the person you though you were. You still feel as you did, but results do not support your inflated opinion of yourself.
And then, of course, the guilt [A Look Inside My Head]. Always the guilt.
Thank you for reading,
Katherine Walcott
Virtual Brush Box 