Hate to say it, but hot flushes and hormonal heeby jeebies are happening ’round my house.
(And BTW, I realise it’s a bit off the beaten path of small business chat to discuss an SME owning mother’s mid life matters. But if you’ve not got the biz balls for women’s troubles, you’d better shape up, cos I’m simply not in the mood for sparing anyone’s feelings right now. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?)
‘Course this stage in life was inevitable. Just cos I was burying my head in the hormonal sand doesn’t mean it wasn’t happening. And anyway, the passage of life doesn’t alter its course just because entrepreneurs ain’t comfy talking about oestrogen and ovulation. But sadly for this middle aged sole trader and wrangler of words, the body clock’s going all skew wiff at an extremely inconvenient moment in enterprise.
Naturally, there is never a good time to let go of the very last desperate clutches at youth, but it’s especially tricky when the denial is deeply dug in. And believe me, I’ve been dug in deep. Those nearest and dearest will testify gleefully to my refusal to acknowledge the march of midlife. Crisis? What crisis?
For some reason, even turning 50 didn’t make the actual middle aged facts sink in. I was too busy making like a young ‘un and having a blast. I was rejoicing in a life lived fast, and not died young. I was singing along loudly to My Generation and sort of forgetting I am nearly as old as The Who.
I’ve been celebrating success in sole trading and making the most of microbiz life. I’ve been enjoying being older and surer, and having cartloads of commercial confidence. But when it comes to the actual body running this business, I’ve been turning a blind eye. I s’pose I just didn’t want to notice the creep of crinkly skin, the sags and the bags. Bingo wings and greying things? Nein, danke. But I cannae kid myself on any longer, I’m no longer a kid.
Let’s face it, my hormones are jiving, jitterbugging and jumping out of control, just getting ready to slow down to tea dance tempo. The change of life is kinda sad, it’s kinda bad and it’s making me come over kinda wistful and weepy.
No matter the symptoms, I gotta get on. It’s business as usual in business, menopausal moments and all. But, hormonal headaches are horrid in hot training rooms, and flushing is far from fun, fun, fun. I feel a bit woozy at the weirdest of times, but deadlines still loom and the work’s just got to get done, so like a hormonal old hoofer I’ll just keep keeping on. Pass the HRT, old bean.
But a word to the wise. My temper’s uneven, and I’m a grumpy old cow, so dear client, please don’t muck me around. Do the right thing and pay up on time, or face the middle-age mood music, in stereo AND surround sound.
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