Perimenopause Symptom or Sign I Still Have a Heart as Civilization Ends?

An ache developed in my breastbone yesterday. I’ll turn 47 this week, so aches are common, but this is a new development. It only lets up when I lie face down in bed and let myself breathe into my pillow for a few minutes. And if that isn’t just the ultimate symbolism.

I hauled about 200 pounds worth of samples from my basement to my car to a client’s home, back to my car into my house and down my stairs in relentless soaker snow yesterday, so I suppose that could explain it.

My suspicion is that is has more to do with the heartbreak of putting one foot in front of the other as the world burns around us. We watched our country start a new war a week ago. Today I sat in a Vietnamese restaurant with my 11-year-old, sipping pho to nurse his chest cold and my broken heart for the entire world, all while explaining the news footage playing on the television without audio. We watched footage of new air strikes in Tehran and of the dignified transfer of the six soldiers killed in Kuwait. There were lots of questions. After a wildly busy week, I just wanted to be having regular Saturday conversations with my kid.

He found out where he’s going to middle school last week. It’s not where most of his friends are going. That’s big and scary, or at least it should be. He tried out for a new basketball team this week and found out yesterday that he was cut. That’s heavy and hard. He came into my room in the middle of the night asking for help getting to sleep, just as I was dozing off after having dealt with a 2:00 AM sick sixteen-year-old puppy incident that almost led to two vomit piles instead of the one she unleashed. That’s plenty.

But no. On our Saturday escape, we talked about dropping bombs and fallen soldiers, and the ache in my breastbone throbbed harder.

This week, I had lunch with my cousin who just had her third baby. We talked about her birth story and the adjustment of her older children. We talked about the juggle of owning businesses while trying to raise families and be good friends, daughters, and sisters. That weight is heavy enough without having to grieve men in our lives we thought were our protectors who now side with pedophiles and predators.

Last night, I stood in a garage with a client wiping tears from her eyes after we’d walked through her newly updated home she’s about to sell. She tried to express gratitude for the beautiful work while explaining the grief of closing this current chapter without an exciting beginning ahead. And then she took a deep breath and said “what’s wrong with me? Compared to everything that’s happening in the world, this is nothing!”

This is the ache. Mid-life — mothering, partnership, career, home, and cobbling together some version of a social life — is a very full and messy plate, and a sink full of dishes. The unspoken part about everything happening just outside our cozy homes is much too much.

So don’t mind me while I go take a face-down rest in my pillow and breathe until my heart feels intact again, or I get a little nap. (I think we can all guess which will come first.) Universe, I’d just like to say again, I’m ok with living in precedented times again. Let’s go back to those and stay while, m’kay? My heart needs a rest. All the mama hearts need a rest.