What 13 Years of Beige Walls and Bad Lighting Taught Me About Myself

For thirteen years, I lived with flat "millennial beige" walls and dim, builder-grade sconces in the living room. I told myself I’d change them soon, but I didn’t. Not because I didn’t care, but because I was too busy surviving. Too many higher-priority tasks on my list. Too tired. Too overstimulated. Too pulled into everyone else’s needs to serve my own. It never seemed like a big deal.

Last week, as part of my long list of summer chores and with help from my son, I finally painted the room a soft, luminous white and upgraded the sconces. The effect was instant. The space felt clear and fresh, like what I’d always wanted to see.

That same day, I pulled a tarot card. Strength popped out. At the bottom of the deck was The Lovers.

Suddenly, I saw the last thirteen years for what they were. I bought this house while deep in the firefight of perimenopause, without understanding what was happening to my body.

At the time, I thought the biggest problem was improving myself on every level—body, mind, and soul. I’d recently broken up with someone I thought was the love of my life, but he could never fully connect with me. Still, I tried every possible way to be “worth it,” to make him love me deeply instead of keeping me at arm’s length. I blamed the breakup on myself: my new moods, my low energy, my word loss, my failure at work, the insomnia-induced insecurities I had never known before. I went to war with my own biology, fighting each new symptom and expecting to come out a superhero at home and at work. It never happened.

Instead, I spiraled into self-doubt because I couldn’t fix even one symptom without a team of medical experts, spiritual advisors, and a real understanding of what perimenopause actually was. I now believe that keeping relationships intact while navigating midlife changes is nearly impossible without unconditional love and support.

I wasted years obsessed with “fixing” myself, with society and my partners reinforcing the myth that women must be perfect and any flaw should be instantly nipped, tucked, or medicated. To some degree, it’s still my instinct. But on the other side of menopause, I’m more focused on doing what makes me feel good and avoiding what drains my energy and joy for days at a time.

While I was busy repairing every “flaw,” the men I loved were quietly damaging far more essential things. They numbed themselves with alcohol and withheld emotional honesty. They consumed my support, advice, and energy without offering the same in return. They saw my fatigue and my requests for rest and support as a threat. In both of these relationships I numbed myself right along with them, until I didn't.

The man who would become my husband—and my abuser—moved in less than a year after I ended my previous relationship. He kept even more secrets. He drank, manipulated, and projected his shame and shortcomings onto me. He demanded I be both the powerful earner and the emotional doormat who never let him feel small. Somehow this felt like something a loyal, married woman in mid-life has to endure. So I dug even deeper into fixing myself, thinking it would make everything great again, not realizing it had never been great to begin with.

I carried the financial load, the household, the emotional labor, and the shame. They were never asked to be more. I was never allowed to be less.

So no, I didn’t paint the room. I didn’t upgrade the lights. I didn’t give myself the dignity of beauty or brightness, because I was too busy shrinking myself to survive.

But I’m not that woman anymore. I haven’t had a romantic relationship in over two years. I’ve rarely even been on a date. I can’t unsee what I’ve learned about myself—and about men of a certain age.

The Strength card reminded me that real power isn’t about pushing through, and "walking it off". It’s about returning to yourself, with compassion, clarity, and a kind of fierceness that doesn’t need to wage war, crack codes, or break barriers. There’s power in accepting that you may never know the root cause or the perfect solution, and in letting yourself feel what that feels like. Letting it float away from you.

And The Lovers card? That wasn’t about romance. It was a reminder to me that I now have an active choice in any partnership. Choosing light. Choosing softness. Choosing to be seen by people who love you as you are, without taking on more.

If you’re in the middle of perimenopause right now… and you’re hyper-focused on the symptoms—trying to fix your brain fog, flatten your belly, regulate your cycle, save your marriage, recover your sleep, and keep your job and family from falling apart—I see you.

But please see this:
You don’t need to be perfect or feel good to be worthy of rest, love, joy, or light.
You don’t need to fix everything today.
You can trade some of that Type A energy for tenderness and downtime.
You can let yourself be, and let your home hold space for you as you prefer it—softly, brightly, imperfectly.

And if you’re lucky enough to have a partner or a friend who sees you clearly and stays present in the mess, let them. Appreciate them in a way that fills you, not in the polite “send them a card, bake them a cake” way.

Let love meet you in the middle of it, not just after you’ve cleaned it all up or proved yourself.

Light the room.
Pick the color.
See yourself.
Choose yourself.