Susan Burton

Even as a child, I'd had a sadness about aging, not wanting to cross into the double digits of 10. Getting a period at 10 was early, very early, in 1984. I'd felt horror at that advancement. Now I recognized that this was happening again. As the year ticked on, now January, now February, I found there were things I missed about menstruating. There was a stillness in my body without it.

Even as a child, I'd had a sadness about aging, not wanting to cross into the double digits of 10. Getting a period at 10 was early, very early, in 1984. I'd felt horror at that advancement. Now I recognized that this was happening again. As the year ticked on, now January, now February, I found there were things I missed about menstruating. There was a stillness in my body without it.

I missed the cycle, which began each month with a low, flat mood and then continued with the rising action of ovulation. That mid-month surge of energy, some of it erotic. I missed the elevation in mood. March. Earlier in my life, fearing pregnancy, I'd willed my period to come. But it wasn't like that now. I wasn't pulling down my underwear and hoping. April, May.

I missed the cycle, which began each month with a low, flat mood and then continued with the rising action of ovulation. That mid-month surge of energy, some of it erotic. I missed the elevation in mood. March. Earlier in my life, fearing pregnancy, I'd willed my period to come. But it wasn't like that now. I wasn't pulling down my underwear and hoping. April, May.

I was still in the before time, though I was increasingly accepting of the idea that I would soon be in menopause, testing it out in my head. Maybe this is partly because a whole new generation, millennials, had discovered perimenopause, and once again were shining up the scruffy territory we Gen Xers had claimed.

I was still in the before time, though I was increasingly accepting of the idea that I would soon be in menopause, testing it out in my head. Maybe this is partly because a whole new generation, millennials, had discovered perimenopause, and once again were shining up the scruffy territory we Gen Xers had claimed.

Advertisers had gotten there too, and now it seemed like everyone was talking about menopause, but most of them were not talking about it the right way. And this is probably always true. No one is ever talking about your own menopause, about exactly what it means to you. June, month 10. By now I was traveling without any supplies. There wasn't going to be an emergency.

Advertisers had gotten there too, and now it seemed like everyone was talking about menopause, but most of them were not talking about it the right way. And this is probably always true. No one is ever talking about your own menopause, about exactly what it means to you. June, month 10. By now I was traveling without any supplies. There wasn't going to be an emergency.

There wasn't going to be another period stain. For years, I dealt with period stains, kneeling by the washing machine, spraying stain remover into a seam, or looking at the back of a skirt and wondering if it could be saved. But there's one stain I've never been able to get out, a stain on the pink upholstery of one of our dining room chairs. I sat there one early summer morning.

There wasn't going to be another period stain. For years, I dealt with period stains, kneeling by the washing machine, spraying stain remover into a seam, or looking at the back of a skirt and wondering if it could be saved. But there's one stain I've never been able to get out, a stain on the pink upholstery of one of our dining room chairs. I sat there one early summer morning.

For me, a singularly important morning. A book I'd written had been published. I sat there in a nightgown, reading a glowing review. I could feel that I was getting my period, but it didn't matter. A dream of my life was coming true. I wanted to sit there in it. I didn't want to move. Now that stain is there, and I've tried to lift it, but it won't come out. And I don't mind that it's there.

For me, a singularly important morning. A book I'd written had been published. I sat there in a nightgown, reading a glowing review. I could feel that I was getting my period, but it didn't matter. A dream of my life was coming true. I wanted to sit there in it. I didn't want to move. Now that stain is there, and I've tried to lift it, but it won't come out. And I don't mind that it's there.

It's a marker of a moment of bliss, and of an earlier self too, one whose body still did that. For so many years I tried to manage my period, make it invisible, get rid of evidence. Now this strange, possibly even repulsive, kind of preservation. But it's a stain that makes me remember the feeling of the world opening up before me. July came, and then it was August again, and it was official.

It's a marker of a moment of bliss, and of an earlier self too, one whose body still did that. For so many years I tried to manage my period, make it invisible, get rid of evidence. Now this strange, possibly even repulsive, kind of preservation. But it's a stain that makes me remember the feeling of the world opening up before me. July came, and then it was August again, and it was official.

One full year. Is it too Pollyanna to say that I actually did feel the world opening up? There had been something trying about wanting to stay where I was. Once I crossed the threshold, there was no more resistance, and I was moving forward again. When I went for my physical, my doctor said, What was the date of your last menstrual period? August 2023, I said.

One full year. Is it too Pollyanna to say that I actually did feel the world opening up? There had been something trying about wanting to stay where I was. Once I crossed the threshold, there was no more resistance, and I was moving forward again. When I went for my physical, my doctor said, What was the date of your last menstrual period? August 2023, I said.

Menopause, she said, with an exclamation point. Like menopause, the musical. Like a curtain rising on a new stage.

Menopause, she said, with an exclamation point. Like menopause, the musical. Like a curtain rising on a new stage.