My Wardrobe and Menopause: A Love Story in Transition.

Emboding a journey of self-discovery and empowerment through the transformative experience of menopause.

There’s a drawer in my bedroom that still holds clothes from my late teens. Not because I’m clinging to the past in some dramatic way—but because they meant something. And if I’m honest, many of them still look good (at least on the hanger). I’ve never been one to throw things out lightly. My wardrobe is more like a patchwork quilt of different versions of myself—stitched together over years of discovery, dance, motherhood, exhaustion, reinvention, and joy.

I’ve always loved clothes—not in a “fashion” sense, but in how they make me feel. Bright colours entered my life in my thirties, just as I began to pull myself out of the fog of early motherhood and started to dance again. My body, my spirit, my joy—I was waking up. And my wardrobe reflected it.

Every few years, I’d have a clear-out—not to ruthlessly purge, but to play. I’d pull everything out, try it all on, mix and match, laugh at old combinations, marvel at the ones that still worked. It was my version of a “dressing up day.” Not to impress anyone, just to remind myself who I was. To feel good. Because if I felt good, that was enough.

But then… menopause.

Menopause didn’t just arrive quietly. It barged in with changes I couldn’t predict. Not just weight—but where the weight landed. Familiar outfits began to betray me. Dresses that once floated now clung. Weight felt like it migrated over my back, my arms. Some things didn’t even go on.

And suddenly, those dressing up days turned into something else entirely.

What used to be joyful turned frustrating and upsetting. For this first time ever I started to question, 'Do I look silly in this?' What used to affirm me now asked: 'Who are you now?'

The Hidden Grief in the Wardrobe

There’s a grief no one warns you about. It’s not just the hot flushes, or the mood swings, or the sleep that won’t come.

It’s the soft grief of pulling out a once-loved dress of decades and not recognising the body that now tries to wear it.

It’s the strange ache of letting go of something that once fit you perfectly—not just in shape, but in spirit.

And yet… this grief is not without its wisdom.

Letting Go Isn’t Losing — It’s Making Space

This year, I did the clear-out again. Only this time, something shifted.

I didn’t just sort clothes into “keep” or “charity bag.” I asked:

• What version of me wore this?

• Do I want to carry her with me—or thank her and move on?

• Does this reflect who I’m becoming—not just who I’ve been?

Menopause is a powerful rite of passage. And like any threshold, it asks for sacrifice. Not as punishment—but as a way of honouring the change. Of making space for the next you. The next chapter. The next shape of joy.

I still love clothes. I still play. But now, when I look at what stays and what goes, I do so with more reverence. More compassion. Not just for the woman I was, but for the woman I’m still becoming.

You’re Not Alone in This

If you’re standing in front of your wardrobe with a mixture of sadness, frustration, and confusion…

If you’re trying to make sense of a body that’s changing and a life that feels unfamiliar…

If you’re quietly grieving the parts of you that no longer “fit”...

Know this: You’re not broken. You’re becoming.

Reflection and Reinvention.

• “I am grateful to the woman I was because…”

• “Right now, I am learning to trust…”

• “I can feel the woman I’m becoming when I…”

• “The hardest part of becoming someone new is…”

• “The most beautiful thing about change is…”

 

Want support in navigating this season of change?

As a menopause coach, I work with women who are ready to stop fighting their changing bodies and start listening to them.

Whether you're dealing with identity shifts, emotional turbulence, or the deeply practical matter of not knowing what to wear anymore—there's space for you here.

www.energybodi.com