The thief:
Tracey Tait

That’s it... She’s gone...

I sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor staring at my reflection in my full-length mirror.

Big, full-fat tears ran down my cheeks.

My face blotchy.

I had no more joy.

I was empty.

And for the first time in my life I could understand why women decided to...

‘Dear God, no!’, I said to myself and watched as I shook my head at myself in the mirror.

THIS has stolen enough from me already.

My love for life.

My happiness.

My energy.

Now I was sobbing.

There may even have been snot. Eurgh! I know.

That’s how past caring I was.

And then from nowhere, the memory of forgetting to pick my son up from school shoulder-barged it’s way to the front to get my attention.

It still breaks my heart to this day to think about it.

I’m not sure exactly when the sun broke from behind the clouds.

But it did.

Slowly at first.

And in time it gradually shone more brightly and for longer.

Just like winter turns to spring.

There’s certainly better days ahead.

For me, my menopause was a thief!

It took without giving a damn and left me grieving for who I was.

But I was still there.

Inside.

Waiting to unfurl again.