Jesus, the menopause and me

WARNING: This article deals with the realities of being a woman of a certain age. It is based entirely on my experiences. It is not against anyone in particular. Some may be offended by its rawness. Be warned it does contain what may disturbing material. Please don’t let that put you off. 

“Hello my name is Emma and I am a menopausal woman,  My last period was...”. Flip I can’t quite remember when my last period was.  I mean there was that little breakthrough bleed in November, and a pink smear in March.  Does that count? 

Actually and scarily, according to some parts of our society it might mean that I don’t count anymore, that is if you take some of the teachings of some branches of the church to their illogical conclusion. I am no longer a fertile woman and therefore, according to their theology,  my “highest calling” has passed and all at the ripe old ancient age of 49 1/2 years old, which is rather startling. On top of this, I have these stiff little hairs growing out of random places on my face. Of course, I am using hyperbole for effect here but the point stands that menopausal women are often written off in society and also, in the church.

So what now? This my story of Jesus, the menopause and me.

When we moved back to the UK, after a long stint of living in South Africa, we joined, quite by accident, what would now be called a socially conservative, neo-charismatic church*. If I had known then  what I know now, there is no ways I would have contemplated joining.  But we wanted a lively church, one that encouraged the charismatic gifts and they did.    We had only recently come to faith, within the previous 2 years and so, were quite unaware of the prejudice against women in ministry that permeated some of the conservative new-reformed churches.  I mean, I knew about the Catholic Church and how the Anglicans had just allowed women to be priests but,  I had no idea these modern looking, lively churches had so much antagonism towards strong, outspoken women and particularly women in leadership. Women who believed God had given them something to say. Women who felt they were “called”. Oh by the way, the roles you could have in church were in administration, children’s ministry, women's ministry, worship ministry (not leading it) and you could co-lead a house group with your husband. For several years I tried to accept their teaching on women’s place in the church hierarchy and the home.   I also tried to live within the culture that (unbeknownst to most) is rooted in the early church’s attempt to fit in with the patriarchal system of Ancient Rome;  by which I mean, the father is the head of the house, the mother raises the children, ideally as a stay at home parent, all the while providing the voluntary backbone of the local church, perhaps running a little hobby business on the side for pin money. Very middle class. They call this a complimentarian style of marriage and understanding of gender roles in the church. Lucky for those who can survive on one income…we struggled, let me tell you, but that is another story.  

 They would also vehemently deny that they say this.  They don’t like that label. Unfortunately, the thing about culture is, you don’t have to say it for it to be true, for it to happen or for it to be expected or to feel social pressure, which incidentally doesn’t only come from the men, it comes from a lot of the women too.  And, if you dare to question it you are told it is in the bible. End. Of. Discussion. No understanding that this was actually given as advice as the apostles and early church leaders tried to work out how to fit in to the Graeco-Roman world. When I openly and publicly began to question this approach to womanhood, I was told to shut up: by the wife of an elder. When I asked how this teaching would be affecting the children, both male and female, I was ignored.

I have children and so Mother’s Day is obviously a sort of thing.  Although, in fact, as happened virtually every year in my household, it was marked by peculiar gifts or ignored, forgotten or ruined by a family argument (nobody is perfect, most people fall out at Christmas, my family seems to do it on Mother’s Day.).  That is not why I came to hate Mother’s Day.   No, the reason I hated it was how it was dealt with in the church I was attending when my children were younger.  First of all there was the handing out of posies of flowers, or chocolate, collected by your offspring from the front of the church. Now that may seem innocuous and perhaps it was.  I mean I liked getting chocolate from my children.  (And if they are reading this, I still do, dark, ginger, and nutty are my favourite.) The problem is this chocolate was loaded with expectation and meaning.  And after us mums got our chocolate or posies...there was the awkward moment when those women whose children weren’t there, were given a little token too, just to know they were also being honoured for being mums.  This was followed by that even more awkward moment when mention was made of those poor women who had lost babies, not got married and didn’t have children, the second class women in other words. I don’t remember them getting flowers or chocolate, but if they did it was more as a consolation prize.  Of course nobody actually said they were second class, but I spoke to some of the single women...they felt it: they were made to feel it.  Then  before the sermon there was the little mini pre-sermon to all the mothers of the church, by the male pastor, about how “motherhood is your highest calling.”  

I am sure they meant well, perhaps even they even thought that it was a compliment. I hope they did.   But, it felt controlling and limiting and oh boy, the guilt because as much as I love my children and I do, it was not enough. These same men who led the church believed and told me that I couldn’t possibly have another kind of calling for example, to preach, because heaven forfend...I had the wrong kind of plumbing!  As if pushing a watermelon sized baby out of my vagina was the only thing that gave me value. Not to mention the fact that in all the years that I spent in that particular church did I ever hear the men on Father’s Day being told that “fatherhood is your highest calling.”  In fact I never even heard fatherhood spoken of as a calling at all. Funny that!  Fatherhood couldn’t be a calling, it was simply a byproduct of being a man with children. And the best way to be a father was to go out and provide and lead the household in family bible study and prayers.  Problem was in our household, and my husband will be the first one to say this, he wasn’t as good at the leading bible study and prayers bit as I was.  A dilemma there - were we being unbiblical?  Or was it simply due to a lack of an outlet to fulfil the calling on my life to preach that I used my family as a congregation?

Do I sound bitter? I am not. I am puzzled. I am sad. I am worried that women are still experiencing this sort of treatment and culture. I felt like I was getting lost, my soul was drowning and screaming for something more.  Don’t get me wrong, I adore my children, all four of them but if giving birth and raising them is my highest achievement then what happens now?  Now that most of them have grown up and some have left home. Is it all over and down hill now that my fertility has disappeared into the rear view mirror of my life?  What, not to put to fine a point on it, am I for and what the blue blazes am I meant to do with the rest of my life and for crying out loud, my big, bright brain, my talents and for goodness sake, this calling that a large part of the church says I cannot possibly have because of the aforementioned vagina.

I feel there is so much more to me and I am only just starting out.  I am a theology graduate, artist and illustrator. I make theological and secular art. My career is at is very beginning.

 I am also a preacher. I preach in my local church but it nearly wasn’t like this. It nearly all stalled in the confusion of understanding what it means to be a godly woman, Fortunately for me, I can now fulfil that calling because I am now in a church that reads and interprets the scripture in a way that advocates for equality and generosity and gentleness and kindness.  And yes, this so far, has been a fairly lighthearted look at the status of women and more specifically menopausal women, particularly in the evangelical/neo-charismatic/new reformed part of the church but, there is a serious note here.  I know of  women, across generations, who have left church and faith because of their experiences of discrimination. I cannot say this loudly enough: what we do has consequences, the people who discriminate against half the population based on their gender are not showing the Jesus I know to the world. They look unkind and mean-spirited.Yes, this has so far been a fairly tongue in cheek look at the plight of women in those church contexts, in light of my own experience but, it does touch on something much deeper: social justice. How on earth can the church (as the one I attended did) advocate for social justice when it allows so much injustice to be perpetuated against women within large parts of its own organisation?  It is hypocritical and lacking in integrity  pretend that it is not still going on.  Just because some of you who are reading this are women who are ordained or have women priests in your denomination doesn’t mean that the fight is won.  At that conservative, new reformed church I attended for fourteen years, it was absolutely ok for Maggie Thatcher to have been a prime minister but don’t even think of a woman preaching or teaching any male over 18 years of age. Apparently when your son turns 18, he is magically transformed into a man who cannot possibly learn anything from a mere woman!   

And, do you know why?

I was told it was because and here I quote “of the curse during the fall” when women were put under their husband’s authority.  Funny how every other part of the curse was redeemed by the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus, but not that bit.   This ‘reading’ of scripture is then backed up by selective quotes about “submission” from the epistles of  Paul** and Peter, with a handy omission of the bits about “mutual submission”.  No amount of apologetics, exegesis or explanation of culture and social history, of the place of women in the cultures of Rome, Greece, and second temple Judaism, will persuade those that hold this position. A consequence of this narrow-minded understanding of these passages  is that  women are the victims of discrimination, on a mass scale, in the church.  It needs to stop. It damages their self-worth.  For a long time, it damaged mine.  Many of these women are taught  that this way of being a women is the only godly, biblical way of being a woman.

’Scuse me?!!  

There is serious lack of knowledge and teaching, in my experience about how Jesus actually treated and (shock) spoke to women; how women financed his ministry; how women led and were active in the early church; about the early church martyrs, many of whom were women; about how many people, including women had to leave their “ideal” Roman family to stand up for and worship Jesus; about the desert fathers and mothers; about the ascetics like Macrina; about the women apostles and disciples.  There is a lack of understanding of how to separate ancient, culturally specific imperatives that informed the scriptures, most-favoured by those who argue against women in positions of church-leadership and that which is truly necessary for Christian living.  It is in this space, where ancient cultural imperative seems to outweigh and overshadow actual Christian teaching, that discrimination abounds.  I believe, we need to advocate and educate; there is a battle for social justice that must be fought on our own doorsteps.  

If we don’t, we will be complicit as more women are hurt and  leave church because they believe they have no value and are not valued beyond the role of wife and mother, not valued for themselves for their gifts, their talents, women who are called by God but who have been squashed into believing they cannot possibly have been.

Some people will ask, why didn’t you leave sooner?” Because if you will excuse the crassness, t took me flipping ages to work out that actually I have any value at all beyond being a wife and mother! The problem of course is that I wasn’t particularly good at it…I got bored and would forget that I needed to do the washing, I found myself deep in reading and thinking about something profound and would feel guilty for not being fulfilled by pairing socks… I always say,  Jesus took off my chains but the church put them back on.  It is sad, but true.  Good thing is, He took them off again, but it wasn’t easy.  14 years of hurt, guilt and heartbreak is a lot to deal with.  

I am still going through the process but one thing that is truly helping is menopause.

Yep that is right.  Menopause is setting me free.  I know!  Can you believe I am embracing the “change of life” as an opportunity to change my life?!  Let’s talk about menopause.  I mean really talk about it - good and bad.  If male preachers can stand up in church (and I have seen them do it) and talk about football and going bald then I can talk about menopause which can be both brilliant and awful by turns.  I was perimenopausal from about 39 years of age.  My suddenly sylph-like figure (even after 5 pregnancies) suddenly…err…blossomed. I got a bit chunky. My weight has been up and down like a…mmm… what is a polite metaphor…yes a yo-yo ever since.  But, I also got a bust I had never had and so now I proudly walk out with my blossoming chest ahead of me like a prow of a ship - v-neck tops -yes please!  

Of course there can be some down sides…Let’s address the hair issue.  First, the  random stiff white facial hairs that defy the tweezers and that once you get them out have a root the size of a small potato.  Have you meet those?  No?  Ha, you will. They creep up on you and suddenly appear and you just don’t know where from.  Of course there is other hair we need to address: it goes grey.  It really does, gradually and surprisingly.  That is right, I am talking about your crowning glory.   It will go grey and get a bit less luxurious and it does seem to get frizzier as it goes grey.  I advocate for hair dye - not because we need to conform to modern standards of youth and beauty but because hair dye seems to make my already curly, mad hair, tameable. After years of trying out purple (lovely), pink (awesome), blue (disastrous), I have finally settled on dark auburn which is closer to my natural brownish red hair.  You see, menopause gives you opportunities you never thought about! 

Then there is also the advantage of having your own little internal boiler for when the church’s heating is on the blink in winter.  Although, it is not so helpful to have this facility in a heat wave in summer or when you have a house stuffed to the gills with visitors expecting a 5 course Christmas dinner.  They (and, in my case, my male dominated family) don’t understand why I am standing with the kitchen doors and windows wide open to a snow storm or howling wind and freezing rain, fanning my deeply red face and have a head that is so hot I could fry an egg on it. I must say this little symptom, doesn’t seem to happen all the time, it seems to go through phases.   I always wondered why women of a certain age had those little battery operated fans - now I know.  In the same breath, it does mean those new v-neck tops that I have to show off my bust come in handy in winter and summer.

 There is also the menopausal morning sickness that some women get, now honestly, I haven’t yet found an upside to this.  Except that it isn’t going to be followed by 2 years of sore nipples and broken nights.  Well…actually, there are broken nights.  Unfortunately, the broken nights are a bit of a thing in the menopause.  There is the need to have to leap out of bed and have a wee at least twice a night.  And there are the nights when the hot flushes become night sweats.  I have to say, night sweats are more of a problem for me than hot flushes.  But, on the upside, at least I can wear summer jammies for nearly all year round and not bother to get the winter duvet out of the loft anymore (my husband has adjusted by wearing extra layers and adding a sleeping bag under the duvet in times of artic cold). What is more, as we now sleep with the windows wide open all year round, even in the depths of winter, at least we don’t get stuffy heads due to central heating anymore.  Menopause for the win!!

  Of course, there is the accompanying wakefulness that comes to most menopausal women several times a week at about 3 am. Now, we could see this as a down-side but, that is when I write my best sermons, my most snotty letters to politicians and think of the best come backs to spurious comments I heard the day before.  I really should get up and write it down.  In fact, if we all got up then we could get so much done but unfortunately, I then fall asleep at about 5:30, forget the lot and have to redo the work in daylight hours, once I have got over feeling like death for being awake half the night.  Those are the days when I have to remind myself that my body is “wonderfully made”, as I drag myself from bed, throw up, shuffle downstairs feeling like death and struggle to make the coffee looking through one open eye whilst the other one pretends I am still asleep.  Menopause for the win.  

But, you know what else menopause has done?  It has made me stacks more confident.  Menopause is partly why I was brave enough to say,  “I am done with all this patriarchal clap-trap you are peddling.  I am done believing that God wanted me to go through life feeling frustrated, unfulfilled and unable to practice the gift he gave me.  I am done with your nonsense.”  I got angry,  I got over feeling ashamed of wanting more, I got over the need for the approval of these male pastors, waiting for them to let me into their preaching club, these men who said they knew the Bible better than me and that their interpretation was the only right one.  I got over being oppressed, discriminated against and told I had the wrong plumbing for the gift God gave me.  I got over the fear.  I got over it and I got out. Coincidentally that is about the time I cut my hair very short, dyed it pink and went to an ecumenical theology college.  I felt so liberated and so free because I realised that the only person’s approval I needed was God’s and that I had it - he made me me and that is a powerful thing to actually know deep in your soul. 

Thank God for menopause. There is life during and after it, don’t let tell you differently.

*Dislaimer 1: I do not and will not name the church or any individuals I have discussed here.   This is an article that is based solely on my personal experience and several years of theological study. And here I want to state categorically, that this article is not anti-church or against Christianity. I am a Christian. I truly believe Jesus is my Saviour and This is central to my life. 

** By Pauline letters, I include those letters with both disputed and undisputed Pauline authorship.

Disclaimer 2: Please note: People who know and know my personal history please when responding, refrain from naming any individuals, or churches. I am not on a crusade against anyone or any particular institution; they, like me, believe that Jesus is our Saviour. I am advocating for women’s rights in the whole church. I am advocating for a positive move towards equality. Any comments that name an individual, a particular church, or are disrespectful/ hurtful/unhelpful/hate speech will be deleted/reported.