Going to the Spa Alone is not Heroic

 At least once a year I like to treat myself by booking into our local spa.  

I booked the full day at the spa with coffee and chocolate croissants to start, lounging by the pool and steaming up in the sauna for the morning,  followed by a two course lunch with wine, an afternoon facial and the remainder of the afternoon on a sun lounger, swimming and a frozen mango margarita with my Kindle for the rest of the day.

Sounds perfect doesn't it? It was.

The only irritation in the whole day however was the reaction of some people to my being alone.

I booked the day specifically for myself.  I wanted relaxation, some pampering, some time to myself.  I absolutely loved it.  I have (happily) reached a point in my life where I can go out in public alone with worry or thinking people are looking at me (although apparently some were!)

Spending a day alone doing lovely things was exactly what I needed.  I catered to myself, did what I wanted and I had the perfect day.

Yet twice I was chatting to people and was told that I was brave for being on my own, and that they couldn't do it, but wished that they could.  

But I wasn't being brave, I was enjoying myself.

I think one of the wonderful things about reaching your forties is that you no longer care what people think.  I had a day to pamper myself, I had my kindle to read to entertain myself, I was happy.  I thought nothing of being on my own in the spa, in fact I had arranged for it to be that way.  It was a treat to have some complete time to myself.

The first person who asked me if I was on my own told me I was "brave" and that they couldn't do it.  Fine.  Whatever.  The second however irritated me.  They did not seem to think that it was possible that I could have chosen to be on my own.  "Did your friends not want to come".  "What about your partner".  "Could you not have rearranged it so you had someone with you?"  The idea of my being on my own seemed to slightly shock them.  

I didn't ask them.  I did not ask him either.  No.  I wanted to go on my own!!

When I got home though I started to think.  Could I, would I have gone to the spa alone before?  And the answer is, probably not before I turned 40.  I would have been too self conscious before then.  That is one of the good things about reaching your 40s.  You no longer care what people think.

Yet of the two people who commented on my being alone that day, both looked of a similar age to me.

That is when it occurred to me that the coasting part of my life is done.  The waiting to become who I am.  This is me.  Now.  All of me.

And that me loves a spa day alone, by the pool, sipping a cocktail.  A day of self care and absolute indulgence.  What could be better than that?

From Puberty to Pregnancy to Menopause: The Brutal Truth They Don’t Tell You About Being a Woman

OK.  I am just going to say it.  Being born a woman is bloody awful.  Men, feel free to write your own for your sex.

First, the good years.  You are born, you become a little girl.  You are loved, you are safe.  You get to play with dolls and play.  You make friends when you go to primary school.  All is good and happy in the world.

Then.  Puberty hits.  

For some of us, it hits early.  Breasts start growing (at ten in my case).  What does that mean?  Well firstly, your childhood is over.  Each and every one of us remembers the time when grown men started looking at us and talking to us in ways that we could not understand.  For me, again, ten years old.  Because: breasts.

I still remember a family member saying "Oh you will have all the boys after you now!" I did not want that.  I was a child.  I did not understand it.

Then the hormones start.  You have no clue who you are yet, your body is changing in ways you are not ready for.  You realise that the world is not the safe place you thought it was and that you actually do need protecting.  That safe world you lived in no longer exists.

Plus of course, periods.  Every single month.  For decades.  If you are lucky, you get regular periods.  If not, you get fibroids (me again), endometriosis.  Pain, pain and more pain.  But of course you are a woman so the pain you describe to doctors and consultants is mostly ignored, until finally, years later, sometime actually listens and you get a diagnosis.

Don't want to get pregnant?  Let me introduce to IUDs!!!  Wonderful little things that apparently you do not need pain relief/anesthetic for (plot twist, you really, really do).  Getting one in remains the worse pain that I have ever felt.

Do want to get pregnant?  Get ready for nine months of throwing up, your body changing until you don't recognise it, hair falling out, gestational diabetes, pain and more pain.  Plus of course, going into labour!  Oh the joys!

But of course, even our bodies know that women are screwed so it pumps us full of hormones so we forget just how awful the whole thing was.

Then you have the mother years.  That have not changed since the beginning of bloody time.  We are expected to know all about the child and how to care for it instinctively, from birth plus do majority of childcare, household chores, cooking, laundry, usually also while working because "woman".

Then.  We reach our mid forties.  Sweet sanctuary!!  Our periods stop when we hit menopause.  Let's have a party, we are free!!!! 

But no.  That would be too easy.

Instead, we get the equivalent of the second fucking coming of puberty.  Tears, rage, tears, rage, on repeat.  Plus hot sweats and wondering who you are even are anymore.  Again.

So at this point, what do we have to look forward to next?  Death.  That's it.  Woman's life is over.

Wonderful.  Thanks almighty creator.

As you may be able to tell, I am starting the throws of menopause and I am pissed off.