Tub Glasses and the Quiet Art of Menopause War
I've been absent from Menotopia for quite a while.
Long enough that I've questioned whether I should continue writing at all. Blogging can be a strange thing. You pour your thoughts onto a page, hit publish, and send them out into the web-iverse with very little idea of who is reading, what they take away from it, or whether anyone is paying attention at all. More than once over the last several months, I considered whether it was time to stop paying the hosting fees, shut everything down, and quietly move on.
But I kept coming back to the same realization: I still have something to say.
The fact that I'm not a doctor, not a medical expert, not sponsored by pharmaceutical companies or supplement manufacturers, and not trying to hock some product I want to influence you to buy, with no solutions to sell, is actually part of what makes me want to keep sharing. What I do have is 58 years of learning through curiosity, observation, intuition, lived experience, and a genuine desire to help other women navigate this complicated chapter of life.
Which brings me to today's return post subject: Tub Glasses.
Every time I walk past my bathtub and see my cheap readers sitting there, I smile. My tub glasses remind me of who I am, truly. Even in the tub I am practical and tuning into my basic needs, wishes, and behaviors. Seeing those readers waiting there for me emphasizes how critical it is to create spaces where I can think, process, detox, and see things without distortion. I am reminded on a daily basis to be me, choose me, and make a world that better fits me.
At some point, I also realized the bathtub had been repairing me on a regular basis. During the middle years of my second marriage, when I was living with chronic stress, manipulation, humiliation, chaos, and the emotional pain I couldn't fully understand at the time, I found myself taking Epsom salt baths every week. Looking back, I can see I was instinctively creating a sanctuary for myself long before I understood why I needed one.
In my home spaces, I am surrounded by nostalgia and reminders of how I survived so I could thrive again. Every room contains some small artifact of a lesson learned, a comfort discovered, or a version of myself that needed healing. The bathtub is one of those places.
Back then, I thought I was soothing sore muscles, winding down after a long day, and trying to steal a few hours of sleep. Now I recognize I was detoxing physically, emotionally, energetically, and spiritually. Those baths were helping restore me so I could face another day.
The bathtub became the place where I could come clean, where my thoughts and ideas were my own, where I could strategize the next day of survival consciously or unconsciously.
Today, I climb into that same bath with an entirely different sense of gratitude. My mind isn't spinning. I no longer worry about someone barging in and treating my need for solitude as an inconvenience or invitation if I forgot to lock the door.
That's why the tub glasses matter. They remind me of all of it, the healing, the growth, and the sovereignty I reclaimed from experiences that once convinced me I had to trade peace for a miserable marriage. I appreciate the freedom of no longer needing to lock the bathroom door.
I can leave the readers there, undisturbed, never moved. Ideas arrive. Questions surface. Connections get made. I find myself reading articles, making notes on my phone, or I just remove my glasses and slip beneath the water, and leaving the world behind. You can never underestimate the power of being in the moment, in the water.
The funny thing is, while I've been absent from Menotopia blogging, I haven't really stopped writing. I've probably written six blog posts in my head since October.
I didn't feel much motivation to add my voice when social media was already overflowing with doctors, influencers, supplements, memberships, courses, and menopause advice. It started to feel pointless.
I also returned to the workforce when I realized I wasn't interested in playing by the necessary rules to turn menopause into a business model. My heart is no longer in building a personal brand, chasing funding, marketing products, or reshaping myself into something more marketable for investors. It tears me up to realize I don't have the energy to work inside systems that I don't believe were ever built for women to truly succeed in or fully influence. I hope that changes over time.
What also struck me was how often women are expected to not just carry all of it but with ease and grace while we absorb every change. We're expected to keep smiling while navigating menopause, caring for everyone else, managing careers, and now hunting down estrogen patches and progesterone like they're black-market commodities. Maybe it's incompetence. Maybe it's indifference. Whatever the reason, it's difficult not to notice that when women's quality of life is on the line, the system suddenly becomes remarkably comfortable asking us to just endure a little more, do without for a little longer.
If the menopause class truly loses our HRT, it really could start an insurrection. Then again, without my patches I'd probably be too exhausted and bloated to start a revolution. If it comes to that, I'll have to summon the spirit of every caffeinated PMS warrior who came before me and do my best.
For now, I'll settle for soaking in my Epsom salts bath, putting on my tub glasses, and paying attention to whatever wisdom surfaces next.
The readers are still there waiting for me. (I hope).
So am I.
And since this is my first Menotopia post in what feels like forever, I'd love to hear what's been happening in your corner of the world.
Have you been dealing with HRT shortages, patch shortages, pharmacy substitutions, or the increasingly ridiculous scavenger hunt required to fill a prescription? Leave a comment and tell me where you are and what you've experienced.
If you're outside the United States, are you seeing the same thing?
Hearing what other women are experiencing is what the open blog is here for. The comments show us so much more.
