I am awakened by an alarming yet familiar sensation. I’m lying in a small pool of my own blood. I squirm to the bathroom to empty my menstrual cup. It is 6:58 am Saturday morning, a perfect time to start my holiday weekend. Wow! I just did this three hours ago, and three hours before. I’m now realizing this period is a gusher.
I empty my cup into a glass collection jar, and turn around to see the toilet seat glazed in blood. I look down at the tile and follow the trail of blood back to my bed. This place looks like a crime scene. I think: the blood has gotten into the grout, I’ll have to get that out before it stains. I shower for the second time. As I dry off and step out, I see blood splattering on the ground onto my white bath mat, shit! I forgot to put my cup back in, the blood has streamed down my legs already. I climb back into the shower to wash off again, this time washing the bath mat before the stain sets. Oh look, it’s on my towel too!
I’m feeling a twinge of bitterness about how much attendance to blood I’ll be forced to deal with today. I had plans, but I guess I’m staying home.
This is my first bleed in four months. I already know how this is going down. I’ll be emptying this cup every three hours, for two to three days. I will bleed through every pajama bottom I own. I will have a bucket of laundry water prepared for the spot hand-washing. I will be so tired of the smell of blood by the third day, it will sicken me. Not because it is unclean, but because taking care of myself in this state is like taking care of a body that is ill and constantly purging. It is exhausting.
Due to the nonstop caretaking, it is very likely I will not sleep well. I won’t be able to do much other than lie on the couch. So my cleaning and errands will not get done. I’m pro at this. I’ll binge watch Neflix and try not to cry more than necessary.
I have always been a heavy bleeder. But a few years ago, I started to skip periods and when they resumed they were heavier. Then the clots started. Clots so large they remind me of organs of small animals. They resemble gelatinous hard boiled eggs torn in half. When they pass they cause spontaneous leaks because the cups cannot contain them. Once they pass I feel better, but a swift river of blood follows. This time I feel lucky, no clots.
I dress and head to the kitchen. I’m absolutely starving because I was too tired to do more than nibble on nuts for dinner last night. I’m dysfunctionally tired the day before or day of my period. The stench of the rotting garbage quickly quells my appetite. In my exhaustion, I neglected to take the trash out. Now I’m annoyed. I grab my trash and head for the dumpster and think to myself: this shouldn’t be this difficult.
I think about how it would be nice to have a partner, or anyone who would be willing to come help me with these simple little things, like make me dinner, or take out the trash. Followed by the thought: “If men had to bleed, we would have entire care facilities, free of charge, dedicated to their every whim 24/7.”
But aye, the daughter of Eve must forever suffer for the sin of her foremother, or so we’re told. The very thought of Eve sickens me. Weak bitch. I’d rather be alone than subjugated to any man. I’d rather be a daughter of Lilith and bed whom I choose, when I chose it, than conform to the societal structure that is Adams’ world. I wish I knew I’d become this woman before I chose to marry and have a child so many years ago, but it is a paradox. For it was that son of Adam who helped to shapeshift me into this, daughter of Lilith.
It’s not sexy to talk about menopause
When the Crone is coming for you, there is a knowing, and a gentle slow acceptance. She has already taken youth-beauty and replaced it with mature-beauty. Our skin begins to turn downward towards our great mother, whom we are on our way back to.
My silver wisdom highlights have begun to beam from my dark crown. Soon what is left of my waistline will fill in. I am almost invisible to men folk already. Since I will not tolerate abuse or wife slavery, and I haven’t wanted to have children with men for many a year; it seems I have been of no substantial value to them. Other than sex of course. To be certain, I seized opportunities to have sexual experiences with achingly beautiful and talented menfolk, and relished in the glory of it. I digress. When your features begin to fade and soften, your visibility fades as well. Within a few short years, I found myself in the swift transition of a lifetime from being consistently sexually harassed by men, to being invisible. Invisibility is better.
If it weren’t for the occasional compliment from my sisters, I would have nearly forgotten I was ever considered a physically beautiful woman. Not that it matters. As our skin around our bones loosens over time, so does the grip of these constructs. What is left are the skeletal remains of who we have become over time. And if you’ve lived an authentic life, you are at peace with the Crone you are becoming. Yet another paradox, I will look back in a decade and appreciate the way I look today.
I’m back in the bathroom again, even though I cleaned everything, I can still smell the blood. Ah yes the grout! I fetch the cleaner. The edges of my vagina are sore from this cup. I have to use the large cup, they are more rigid. These large cups are designed for women who gave vaginal birth. I did not.
Oh what I wouldn’t give for an environment where I could free-bleed into soft towels. But I already spend too much time and energy cleaning. Today I will sip broths, mugwort tea, and eat as well as I can, these times come with a handy serving of digestive issues as well. Again, it would be nice to have a caretaker in any capacity. There will be no one here to make me pancakes. Perhaps we need to create sister colonies.
There will be lots of blood
Weight gain, hot flashes, night sweats, mood swings, and forgetfulness are common menopause knowledge, and so much blood. Although every woman’s journey is different, these are some of the ugly truths no one wants to tell you about menopause.
These are the beautiful truths as well. At every turn you have the opportunity to transmute the pain and suffering you inherit as a woman. When you’re stuck with a thing for so long, and you have grown to love it. To alchemize things you didn’t even know you wanted, but you’re now grateful to have. When you look back at the life you’ve created, you gaze in wonder and awe at the magick you had all along. So mysterious, we are a mystery unto ourselves. Our blood, our bodies, are the living embodiment of death and rebirth, of transmutation, and high magick. We alone wield the power of this portal. Even if you no longer bleed and never give birth, if you were born with a womb, you are the initiated. For these reasons sisters, we know we are to be cared for at these times. It is because our magick is suppressed, that we are not better provided for. For we are still in Adam’s world.
It’s 7 pm, 12 hours since I woke up, and I’ve had 4 half showers and I’m feeling drained, and getting a headache. I’ve bled at least a cup of blood during this time. It’s hard to account for how much ends up everywhere else beside my collection cup. The most I’ve collected in a cycle is two and a half cups. Doctors once told me that there was nothing to be done for this excessive bleeding aside from the pill. The last time I was in to see a healthcare specialist, she told me that bleeding this much isn’t normal. But since I hadn’t bled in a while, I stopped seeking help. Other women have told me they experienced the same during the menopause transition. I’m not sure if anyone has any definitive answers. It seems like women’s womb-care is not a priority unless you can’t produce healthy children.
The Twilight Years
We are considered peri-menopausal when symptomatic, until 12 consecutive months without a period. I was four months in, and now I start all over again. The crone is on her way to me, but she has not yet arrived. Sometimes her journey can span more than a decade. I am a woman who is in the twilight between day and night. I am both seen and unseen. As the blood pours from my womb, it compels me to write. I am the medium between worlds who tells you her story, so you may know what may await you. I offer my moon blood to the four directions, above and below, the elements, and earth, and my ancestors.
But wherever you are on your journey sister, if you have not seen the trail of magick behind you, stop and look for it. Accompanying it will be a trail of blood. It has been said that it is our womb blood that allows us to be so magickal. Perhaps you cannot see it fully yet, but one day you will. Walk forward knowing you make no mistakes. Every step you take brings you closer to the magickal being you were always meant to be.
Nicole is a psychic, medium, and healer whose mission is to empower others by helping them strip away illusions, programs, and limiting beliefs. Find me on TikTok as design.spark