I Though I Was Broken...

𝗜 𝗧𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗜 𝗪𝗮𝘀 𝗕𝗿𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗻.

Lately, there were days — sometimes weeks — where a heavy blanket seemed to lie over me. A thick, grey weight of sadness.

I would wake up and see everything that didn’t work. The struggles. The parts of my life that feel stuck. The dreams I once had that haven’t manifested.

I felt exhausted. Not just tired — depleted.

Invitations from friends would come in, and I couldn’t respond.
Not because I didn’t care. But because I simply didn’t have the energy to go out into the world.

Even nature — which usually nourishes me deeply — felt too far away. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to engage. I didn’t feel inspired. I didn’t feel enthusiastic about life.

And I felt ashamed. Ashamed because I live in a beautiful place. Because I have a loving partner. Healthy children. Food on the table. Safety. I have so much.

So why did I feel so sad?

I felt broken. 𝗜 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝘁 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘂𝗽.

I caught myself thinking: What’s wrong with me?

At one point, I genuinely wondered if I had a mental health problem and needed medication.

The lows would come in waves. Deep, engulfing waves. And then, almost suddenly, I would rise again — feeling immense gratitude, love for where I live, appreciation for my people, excitement about ideas. And then another layer of sadness would roll in.

Back and forth. Light and dark. Euphoria and heaviness.

And somewhere in that swinging, it dawned on me.
This is not random. 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝗼𝗽𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲. Not just a hormonal shift — a rite of passage.

A reorganisation of identity. A movement from fertile woman into elder stage. From one role in society into another. A cocooning. An initiation.

My teacher, Jane Hardwicke Collings, always said that at menopause, “shit hits the fan.” Meaning: everything we have brushed aside, everything we haven’t wanted to look at, comes back into our faces. We cannot look away anymore.

And I realised something else.

For many years, I honoured my menstrual cycle. When I bled, I withdrew as much as life allowed. I knew the big feelings that surfaced during that time weren’t proof that I was broken — they were messages.

But now I’m over 250 days without a bleed. I am in the thick of transition. And I forgot. I forgot that this, too, is cyclical. I forgot that this depth is not necessarily pathology. It is transformation. There is nothing to fix.

This is a space to embrace. A space to sit in. To feel. To listen.
And I know this. I’ve known this for years. And yet, in the thick of it, I forgot.

This stage is uncomfortable. Raw. Humbling. But it is also a golden opportunity. To see clearly. To grieve what needs grieving. To release what no longer serves. To become more aligned. To become my POWER.

I thought I was broken. But my body is working PERFECTLY.
I am in initiation.

🌙✨

If you’re moving through a transition and questioning yourself, I offer counselling support for those who feel lost, heavy, or broken — and are ready to explore what is truly unfolding.

Acknowledgement: This is my story and my experience. Not every experience of deep sadness is a rite of passage — if symptoms feel persistent, severe, or unmanageable, please seek support from a doctor or mental health professional.