Milestones: Celebrating the Death of Aunt Flo

It’s official. Aunt Flo is gone. Forever.

After contributing six beautiful lives to the human story—two of them spiritual—I’ve been handed my executive pardon. My get-out-of-jail-free card has arrived, and I’m absolutely giddy.

Goodbye! O daabo! Sayonara!

I’m not usually one to throw a party when people leave, but this is one guest I’m thrilled to see the back of.

She Came Uninvited

Aunt Flo barged into my life when I was just ten. Yes, ten years old. Too early by most standards, but that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I was away from home for the first time, still trying to figure out how to wash my socks and find the dining hall. Then one day, I looked down and panicked. I was sure someone had poisoned me. An older cousin gave me the horrifying truth. No, I wasn’t dying. I was “becoming a woman.”

How rude. And how terribly inconsiderate.

I didn’t invite her. I had no say in the matter. She came with her own rules, her own schedule, and a complete disregard for my budding independence.

Life Under Her Rule

From that day forward, she ran my calendar.

She decided if I could go out. What could I wear? Whether I could swim, ride a bike, or stay over at a friend’s house. She embarrassed me more times than I can count. And just when I thought I’d figured her out, she’d switch things up again.

Mood swings. Headaches. Stomach cramps that felt like someone twisting my insides. And then came the procedures. The pills. The panic. Would she show up? Would she stay away?

If she stayed too long, I worried. If she stayed away, I worried even more. The unpredictability was a nightmare.

I only remember four times she disappeared for a good stretch. Each absence lasted about forty weeks. And in those glorious breaks, I was too busy cuddling newborns to miss her. But oh, how I hated her return every time.

She brought pain. And fear. And uncertainty.

Let’s Talk About Menopause

Some people talk about menopause like it’s a slow descent into invisibility. A hushed topic, like something to be ashamed of.

But not me.

This is freedom. This is a release. This is the official end of pharmacy-surfing, pill-popping, and outfit-ruining surprises.

This is power.

Menopause means I finally have a watertight excuse for saying “no” to my husband’s dreams of world domination via population explosion. It means I can take long trips, wear white trousers without anxiety, and embrace the version of me that isn’t on a 28-day countdown.

And no, it’s not “too soon.” It’s right on time.

A Farewell Worth Celebrating

I didn’t celebrate her arrival. I was too stunned and confused.

But I’m definitely celebrating her exit.

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, Aunt Flo. May you rest in peace and never rise again. If I ever see you again, someone’s going to be in serious trouble!

So, what do I write on the cake?

“Here lies Aunt Flo: 37 years of drama, one epic exit.”

Or maybe:

“She came uninvited. She stayed too long. Goodbye forever.”

Either way, I’m slicing that cake with pride.

To Every Woman on This Journey

Menopause isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of a new rhythm.

It’s the moment you reclaim your time, your energy, and your joy.

So let’s lift a glass (of herbal tea or something stronger), and toast to every woman who’s earned this milestone.

No more cramps. No more chaos. Just freedom.

Here’s to hot flashes, dry humor, and a future full of possibility.

Cheers to the end of Aunt Flo—and the beginning of you.

 

If you loved this story, you will love this as well: The Power of Thorns…