For decades, I kept waiting for my calling to arrive with the clarity of a well‑lit stage cue. I imagined something unmistakable — God’s voice breaking through the noise with a crisp directive. A holy headline I couldn’t possibly miss.

Instead, what I heard felt more like static.

Half-whispers. Nudges. A restlessness I couldn’t name. Honestly? I wondered if I was doing something wrong.

Then I found myself lingering over the story in 1 Samuel 3, where young Samuel hears his name in the dark and does exactly what I would have done. He runs to the person he assumes is calling him.

He gets it wrong three times.

Not because he’s unspiritual. Or disobedient. But because he’s still learning the sound of God’s voice.

Something in me exhaled when I made the realization that calling is almost always relational. Samuel needed Eli to help him recognize what he was hearing. Most of us need help too.

We learn God’s voice in community — through mentors, friends, spiritual guides, and the people who help us discern what is truly God’s invitation and what is simply noise.

Maybe calling isn’t supposed to be obvious.

Maybe it’s supposed to be learned.

Samuel responds to the wrong person with the right posture — “Here I am.” Those words echoed through my mind for months.

If calling were about perfect clarity, Samuel would have failed before he even began. Calling begins with willingness, not certainty. It begins with showing up, even when you’re not sure you’re hearing correctly.

I think about how many times I’ve misread my own nudges. Chasing opportunities that weren’t mine. Mistaking urgency for direction. Confusing other people’s expectations for God’s invitation.

And yet, every misstep has shaped my ear a little more.

Calling grows in relationship, not performance.

When Eli finally realized what was happening, he told Samuel to respond with a simple statement:

“Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” (1 Samuel 3:9)

Not performing. Or striving. Or proving.

Just listening.

That shift — from doing to receiving — has been the hardest part for me. I like clarity. A gameplan. I like knowing what’s expected. But calling isn’t a task list. It’s a conversation that unfolds as we learn to recognize the One who’s speaking.

Calling is less about what you do and more about who you’re becoming.

When God finally speaks to Samuel, He doesn’t hand him a career blueprint. He gives him a word to carry, a truth to steward, and a relationship to grow into.

The calling is the transformation.

It’s the slow, sacred work of becoming someone who can hear God’s voice with courage, tenderness, and integrity.

All the confusion, waiting, and missteps aren’t detours. They’re spiritual formation.

Maybe your calling is already unfolding quietly, imperfectly, and beautifully.

Maybe the restlessness you feel isn’t failure. Maybe the closed doors aren’t rejection. Maybe the small, faithful acts you think don’t matter are the very soil where your calling is rooting and preparing to bloom.

Maybe you’re hearing your name, but you haven’t learned yet that it’s God speaking to you.

A prayer for the in-between

Lord, teach me to recognize Your voice in the places I least expect it. Give me the courage to say, “Here I am,” even when I’m unsure. Shape my heart before You shape my path. And let my calling be less about what I achieve and more about who I become in You.

My Calling Was Supposed to Be Clear was originally published in Write. Mother. Thrive on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Our world greets us with constant noise. Before our feet hit the floor, we’re bombarded by notifications, headlines, and messages. For years, my mornings began with my phone in hand. I’d scroll through Facebook as I drank my coffee.

Then one day, I tried something different.

Instead of reaching for my phone, I reached for a notebook. I wrote down one thing I was thankful for.

Just one.

At first, it felt too easy. Could jotting down a single word or phrase really make a difference?

And, truthfully? Breaking the habit of checking my phone first thing was harder than I expected. Slowly, however, that small pause began to shift something inside me.

Gratitude became more than a list on paper. It became the lens through which I started to see the world.

Why Gratitude Works

Gratitude isn’t just a feel-good buzzword. It’s a practice backed by science and rooted in ancient wisdom. Studies show that regular gratitude can:

• Reduce stress and anxiety
• Improve sleep and emotional resilience
• Strengthen relationships
• Increase overall happiness and life satisfaction

But beyond the research, gratitude is deeply human. It reminds us that life is not about striving. It’s about savoring.

The Power of a Morning Pause

There’s something sacred about the first few minutes of the day. They set the tone for everything that follows. By choosing gratitude before distraction, I found a way to anchor myself in what truly matters.

Some mornings, my gratitude focused on the profound — health, family, faith. Other mornings, it felt simple—embracing the joy of warm socks, a good cup of coffee, or the sound of birds outside my window.

What mattered wasn’t the size of the blessing, but the act of noticing it.

A Habit That Grows with You

What began as a single sentence each morning has grown into a rhythm. Some days I write more, some days less. Some days I skip, but I always return.

Over time, gratitude has become less about the notebook and more about the mindset. I find myself pausing throughout the day to notice small gifts:

• A smile from a stranger
• A moment of laughter with my children
• The way sunlight filters through the window

Gratitude is no longer confined to the page. It’s woven into the fabric of my daily life.

How You Can Begin

If you’re curious about starting your own gratitude practice, here are a few simple steps:

• Keep it small: Begin with one thing each morning. Don’t pressure yourself to write paragraphs.
• Be consistent: Choose a time — before your phone, before breakfast, before the rush — and stick with it.
• Notice the ordinary: Gratitude isn’t only for big milestones. It thrives in the everyday.
• Reflect often: Look back at your list after a week or month. You’ll be surprised at how much you’ve gathered.

Final Thought

Gratitude doesn’t erase challenges. It reframes them. It helps us see light even in dark seasons. That simple habit of writing down one thing each morning has changed the way I move through the world. It’s given me perspective, peace, and joy.

The best part? Gratitude is available to all of us. Wherever you are, whatever you’re facing, there is always something to be thankful for.

The Practice of Gratitude was originally published in Write. Mother. Thrive on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A fractured toe inspired me to fight the humiliation of aging

“Your bones are very thin.” The orthospecialist nurse practitioner turned from the computer screen to make eye contact.

I gazed at the computer screen. An X-ray of my foot glared back at me. The ninth X-ray that had been taken of my foot in three weeks. This was the set that finally revealed that my little toe (left fifth metatarsal, as the doctors say into their speech-to-text recordings) was fractured.

In three places, no less. I don’t do things by halves.

Now, not only was I discovering that my toe was broken. I was also finding out that my bones were thin.

Bones, not stones

Growing up, I’d always heard I was big-boned. When all my friends bought cute anklets and clasped them around dainty little ankles, I tried to follow suit.

Every anklet I bought ended up as either a present for someone else or a very loose bracelet. I could never get the ends of an anklet to meet, let alone clasp.

“You’re big-boned, like your father.” My mother shrugged off my mortification and frustration.

I took it for granted that because my bones were big, they were also strong. How wrong we can be about some of the things we “know” are true!

Sometimes the truth is too hard to face. Denial is a more comfortable alternative.

I can’t handle the truth

After her commentary on my thin bones, the nurse practitioner recommended I talk to my primary care physician about getting a DEXA scan.

She finished with, “I don’t want to scare you, but I had a man with bones as thin as yours up on that exam table. He broke his ankle just stepping down off of it.”

What part of that was meant to not scare me?

At the time, I was seated in a straight-backed chair next to her movable desk. I hadn’t thought it a good idea to try to climb up on the table with a hurt toe.

After that statement, I was sure of it. I eyed the examination table warily as I made my exit.

It’s a broken toe, not a broken body

My broken toe marked a significant event in my life. A significant first.

The first time I’ve ever broken a bone.

I’ve had bruises, bumps, and scrapes. I even sprained my ankle once. But I’ve never broken anything.

Until now.

And it’s a humbler, if not a humiliator.

How did I break my toe?

The sad truth is, I wasn’t doing anything cool when I broke my toe. I was running from one end of my house to the other to get to the bathroom before I peed all over myself.

One Saturday morning, I was sitting on the floor in my family room, flea-combing one of my cats. I felt the urge coming on, but I ignored it until it was too late.

I don’t have the same control over my bladder as I once had.

Because the bathroom closest to me had a toilet that wouldn’t stop running after you flushed it, I didn’t want to use it. Besides that, I thought I had time to make it to the other bathroom.

If I ran.

As I ran through the house, I kicked something. I can’t even tell you what it was. Doorframe? Piece of furniture?

Whatever it was, it was hard. And I was going fast.

Surprisingly, I did make it to the bathroom in time. But the damage was done.

A few hours later, I told my husband, “I don’t think I’m okay.”

He took me to an urgent care facility across town because the one nearest us didn’t have an available X-ray tech.

The first set of X-rays was cloudy. And the guy looking at them wasn’t any specialist. He didn’t see anything broken, but he gave me a special shoe to wear because my own was way too painful at that point.

He told me to follow up with my primary care doctor. I did.

When the PCP touched my toe, I screamed and had to stop myself from strangling or slugging him. He instantly ordered more X-rays. And he set me up with the orthopedic specialist.

Even she had to look twice to catch the breaks.

3 weeks.
3 different medical professionals.
3 sets of three X-rays.
3 toe fractures.

Three times I had to answer that one very embarrassing question: “How did this happen?”

I tried to keep the answer as simple as possible. “I was running through my house to get to the bathroom.”

Visions of Glass falling down the stairs

All I could think about as the nurse practitioner’s story about the man stepping off the exam table ran through my mind hours and days after the appointment was that one scene in M. Night Shyamalan’s 2000 movie, Unbreakable.

“They call me Mr. Glass, because I break like glass.”

Talk about brittle bones. Elijah Price was born with a rare condition called osteogenesis imperfecta. During his birth, he presents with broken arms and legs from injuries he sustained in utero.

His polar opposite is security guard David Dunn, who comes out of a fatal train crash as the sole survivor, unscathed. He also has precognitive abilities. He can see what other people will do just by touching them.

One day, Elijah visits David where he works as a security guard at a football stadium. David points out one guy and tells Elijah he has a gun under his coat.

As they’re talking, the man steps out of line and heads in the opposite direction. Elijah hurries down the stairs in pursuit. He falls, and the audience hears glass shattering.

Deceptive shells of skin and bone

At forty-seven, I don’t think of myself as old. By some estimates, I may not be. Apparently, I don’t look it.

When I scheduled the appointment with my PCP to see about getting the DEXA scan, the lady taking my call said, “I’m looking at your profile picture on the computer screen right now, and you look like you’re in your twenties. I can say that, too, because I’m fifty-four, so not that much older than you.”

I laughed. “Thank you. But my bones say otherwise.”

Young-looking face or not, I am postmenopausal. And that status marks me, as it did both my mother and hers, at risk of osteoporosis.

Or, perhaps, the less-sinister osteopenia. The specialist mentioned both after she looked at the picture of my thin bones. That’s why she wanted the DEXA scan.

Learning how to keep my bones safe

Recently, Marilyn Flower asked us to write about what we’re learning about.

My newfound fragility hasn’t transformed my personality as it did Mr. Glass in the movie. I don’t sit around the house, aside from what I need to do to try to get this toe to heal. I’m not afraid to go outside.

I’m not plotting accidents that will kill hundreds of people just so I can find that one unbreakable person who complements me.

Currently, I am learning all I can about osteoporosis and osteopenia. I’m also researching DEXA scans since mine is coming up in a few days. I like knowing what to expect when I go into a doctor’s appointment of any kind. Especially when I’m given a direct order to stop taking a daily supplement both my PCP and the specialist recommended.

Did you know you’re supposed to stop taking calcium 24 hours before you go through a DEXA scan? Some sources recommend abstaining for 48 hours.

I was floored when the scheduling lady told me, and I immediately started researching why.

In case you’re wondering, calcium supplements temporarily increase the calcium levels in your body, which can complicate diagnosis. The DEXA scan may read the calcium from the supplements as actual bone in your body. So, you won’t get accurate results.

How wild is that?

Nutrition and exercise

Calcium you get from foods doesn’t fool the scan. I can keep eating my daily cup of yogurt.

Last night, I saw a commercial about a magnesium supplement that said it could help build stronger bones. I immediately started searching for more information.

Some research does seem to indicate that magnesium is important for bone health. As soon as I read that, I headed over to Amazon to put the Nature Made version on my Subscribe and Save list. It may not do anything, but it certainly won’t hurt to try.

I’m also doing an overhaul of my diet.

Calcium-rich foods like yogurt, cheese, kale, and spinach are now making at least daily appearances on my plate. In my research, I discovered that some of these foods are also rich in magnesium.

Other magnesium-rich foods include black beans and ground flaxseed.

I’ve started topping my yogurt with a teaspoon of flaxseed. And I’ve learned how to make a delicious kale and black bean main/side dish.

Bumping up my strength training from once or twice to four times per week may also help. That is, as long as I stick with exercises that keep me off of my still-healing toe.

My bones are thin. They’re not unbreakable. But my determination to do everything I can to live the healthiest, best life possible is.

I’m not going to let aging have the last laugh.

For further reading,

• Age, You Jokester
• It’s Back to School Time. What Are You Learning About?

Mishael Austin Witty is a wife, mother, and crazy cat lady. She manipulates words because manipulating people is mean. Connect with her over at her website.

I’m Not ‘Unbreakable’; I’m More Like ‘Glass’ was originally published in Middle-Pause on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

And maybe a little poison to go with it

The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in red silk and marked “Sealed with a Kiss.” It wasn’t in the mailbox with the other mail. Someone had taped it to the front door with a piece of blue painter’s tape. A gesture in consideration of the fresh outdoor paint job? Interesting.

Kelly peeled the envelope off the door and studied it as she walked through the front room and into the kitchen. Who put it there?

An instant after the question entered her mind, she knew the answer. Thad.

Sighing, she tossed the unopened envelope onto the marble-topped center island. Her six-month-old ginger tabby followed its trajectory, skidding into the cobalt-blue fruit bowl. A precariously stacked mandarin orange tipped out of the bowl. Kelly caught it and started peeling it after setting the cat on the floor with a pat on his head.

Her father glanced up from the physical edition of The Chokeberry Falls Gazette he read as he drank his morning coffee. “I thought you were headed to the shop.”

Kelly bobbed her head. “I was. I am.” She bit into an orange section.

“What’s that?” He pushed back the chair and laid the paper flat on the table.

Ben Farnsworth’s face smiled up at her from the front page. Older than she remembered, but it had been almost 14 years since she’d seen him in person. Not since they’d signed, and he’d filed, the adoption papers. She and Abigail always met for lunches and coffee dates while he was at work, so Abigail could catch Kelly up with what was going on in Zoe’s life.

According to the headline, Ben was running for state senator. Abigail and Zoe stood on either side of him. In that arrangement, it was hard to miss the fact that 14-year-old Zoe looked nothing like the fair-haired senator or his wife. She was the spitting image of her father.

What if Ben won? What if, one day, he was elected President of the United States? Zoe would be the First Daughter.

She was my first daughter. Maybe the only daughter Kelly would ever have. At 33 years old, how many more childbearing years were left for her? Should she take a chance on Thad? She shook her head. Too much history, and most of it bad.

“Kel?” Her dad put one hand on her elbow as he reached for the envelope with his other hand.

She snatched it off the island and held it to her chest. “It’s nothing. Just an early Valentine from a secret admirer.”

“Secret admirer, huh? I’m sure it wouldn’t be anyone I know.”

Kelly grimaced at the terrible joke. As fire chief, her dad knew everyone in Chokeberry Falls. Thad Duncan more than most. She brushed a kiss across his stubble-free cheek. “Gotta go. I’ll bring a sandwich by the fire station at lunchtime.”

The envelope burned a hole through her brown leather boho shoulder bag as Kelly unlocked The Little Sweet Shop’s front door.

She turned to Orly Hayes, the high school senior who worked part-time at the café as part of her community service deal with the court system. “Can you get everything set up and start the coffee? I have to take care of something in the back.”

“Sure, Ms. Pelletier.” The girl placed a ponytail holder between her lips as she gathered her long brown hair at the back of her head.

“Thanks.” Kelly spun on her heels and hurried to her office, careful to shut the door behind her.

Seated behind the solid metal desk, she felt more prepared to open whatever it was Thad had placed inside the fancy envelope. Why the secrecy? They’d been friends most of their lives, and he’d declared his love for her 15 years ago.

But then he never mentioned it again.

“I guess part of the blame for that is mine,” Kelly told the envelope in her hand. “Or most of it.”

She sighed as she slid a fingernail under the silky sealed flap. No card inside. Just a scrap of paper. It fell out when she flipped the envelope upside down and shook it.

Glaring up at her from the desktop was a message that hadn’t been written by Thad. This wasn’t his handwriting.

I know what you did. I saw the newspaper. Did you think I wouldn’t see the resemblance?
I want what’s coming to me.

Kelly shivered as the blood turned to ice water inside her veins. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold February winds blowing outside the café walls. Not a secret love letter from Thad. A cunningly disguised poison pen letter. From Mike.

When did he even come back to town? Kelly hadn’t seen him since that long-ago end of summer. Chokeberry Falls wasn’t a thriving metropolis. There weren’t many places a person could hide.

Mike knew she was living with her dad now. How could he know that much about her whereabouts, and she knew nothing of his?

Kelly dug through her bag until she located her cell phone and tapped Thad’s profile picture. She smiled at the cheesy grin. He’d grabbed her phone off the counter one morning while she was making his americano and snapped a selfie. She’d scolded him for it because it was expected of her, but she was glad he’d done it. Far from deleting it, she’d decided to use it to her contact list’s advantage.

Thad answered on the third ring. Thank goodness. “Hey, gorgeous. What’s up? I was just headed your way.”

No time for flirting. This was too serious. “Do you still keep in touch with Mike Walsh?”

“Why would I keep up with that sleazeball?”

“Well, do you at least have a phone number for him? Some way I can reach him?”

“Why do you need to reach him? Kel, what’s going on?” His tone was devoid of playfulness.

She closed her eyes and blew some stray blue-black strands away from her forehead. “I got this letter today. Really, it was more of a note. Taped on my front door. Thad, he knows where I live. He knows about Zoe. He says he wants what’s coming to him, and I don’t know what that means. I’m worried. Terrified. That guy has no moral compass. He could do anything. What if he hurt Zoe? I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her.” Not after everything I went through to ensure she was given a chance at life in the first place.

“Calm down, Kel. Have you tried Mim’s Bed and Breakfast?”

She slapped her palm against the desktop. A stack of papers slid and scattered across the floor. She’d deal with that mess later. “No. I forgot all about her. I’ll give her a call right now.” Kelly tapped out of the call before she heard Thad’s reply.

As she Googled the number for Mim’s Bed and Breakfast, Orly rapped on the office door and opened it without waiting for a response.

She stuck her head around the edge of the door. “Ms. Pelletier, I can’t find the coffee scoop.”

Kelly blinked. “What?”

“The one we use for the espresso machine. I don’t know where it is.”

Kelly sighed as she turned her gaze from the hostile note to the phone in her hand, and back again. She pushed back her chair. “Let’s go find it.”

The work counter was so cluttered, it was no wonder Orly couldn’t find the scoop. Hadn’t the evening workers cleaned up at all? And wasn’t Orly one of the ones here last night, since she worked both before and after school?

Kelly gritted her teeth and began organizing the miscellaneous items, including some leftover pastries from yesterday. And one white bottle with a red label and a screw-top cap. Thrift drain cleaner.

“Why is this out here?”

Orly lifted a shoulder and cocked her head. “Oh, that. We needed it last night. The sink got backed up, so we couldn’t use it. That stuff is amazing!”

“It’s also toxic. If some of these particles were to get mixed up into someone’s food or drink, there could be big trouble.”

“Sorry, Ms. Pelletier. I’ll try to be more careful.”

Kelly pursed her lips. “See that you do.” She made sure the Thrift bottle top was sealed and hugged it to her side as she headed back to her office, rehearsing her side of the upcoming phone conversation with Mike.

She set the Thrift bottle on the desktop, picked up her cell phone, and tapped the phone icon next to the Google entry for Mim’s B & B.

Mim picked up at the first ring. “Hello. You’ve reached Mim’s Bed and Breakfast. We have vacancies in every price range. What are you looking for?”

“Mim, it’s Kelly Pelletier. I think you have a guest named Mike Walsh.”

There was a five-second silence on the other end of the line. “Yes. He’s booked a room here.”

“Could you connect me with his room, please?”

The response came faster this time. “Kelly, this guy gives off toxic vibes. I know you had a thing for him back in the day, but it’s not a good idea to start anything up again.”

Tears prickled her eye sockets, and she blinked them away. “Please, Mim. Spare me the lecture and connect me to that guy’s room. He is there, isn’t he?”

“I haven’t seen him leave. He hasn’t even come down for breakfast. He should be there.”

“Please? This is important.”

The line went quiet for a moment, and then Kelly’s ears were assaulted by elevator music that sounded like it was from the 1980s.

As she waited, she rotated the bottle of Thrift in her hand, noting the instructions. The drain-cleaning magic was activated by hot water.

She read the warning aloud, “Keep face away from fumes, and do not allow Thrift to come in contact with skin, eyes, or mucus membranes.”

Toxic. Mim’s warning about Mike bounced around inside Kelly’s brain, along with the warning on the drain cleaner bottle.

I will do anything I can for this baby. Kelly’s own words uttered while she was still pregnant with Zoe joined them.

She thumbed over to the digital version of the paper and stared at the image of the smiling family. Her Zoe. She would still do anything to protect that girl.

Mike’s voice broke through her thoughts. “You got my message.” Still so cocky. So sure of himself.

Kelly swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “I did.”

“Well?”

Her fingers tightened, vicelike, around the top of the bottle. “I don’t want to do this over the phone. Come to the café tonight, right before we close. You know where it is. Come have a cup of coffee. My treat.”

Mishael Austin Witty is a wife, mother, and crazy cat lady. She manipulates words because manipulating people is mean. To read more about Kelly, Thad, and the rest of Chokeberry Falls, check out my novella, Protecting Zoe, available at Amazon.

Come Have a Cup of Coffee was originally published in First Line Fiction on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

And how Medium has played a part in my development

Recently, Marilyn Flower suggested a writing prompt for Middle-Pause writers:

“Who are you as a writer? Who are you as a woman?”

As she noted in her story, she and Middle-Pause founder Debbie Walker had a similar prompt idea at about the same time.

Debbie’s questions were:

“Who am I? Who am I becoming? What is my purpose?”

I’m a big fan of synchronicity.

A few weeks ago, I made a pact with myself to write and submit a story to this publication every week. By the time I read these stories, I still didn’t have any idea what I was going to write about. So, I decided to take up the challenge.

In this post, I’m going to answer all these questions and more. Maybe no one but me will care about the answers, but I still think it will be a fun exercise. I’m already learning some new things about myself and thinking about a few things in a different way.

That’s always a win.

How I discovered Medium

I was a Medium reader long before I started writing here. I’d Google something or other, and a Medium link would pop up and I’d think, ‘Huh. Medium. Sounds interesting. Looks cool. Might have to check it out.’ But because other things were always more pressing, I set Medium on the back burner.

Then, I attended a webinar by Jeff Goins and signed up for his online Tribe Writers course and community. He mentioned Shaunta Grimes and the success she was having publishing on Medium. I thought, ‘Huh. Medium again. Maybe this really is something worth looking into.’

So, I did. That was back in 2018. I can’t believe I’ve been on this platform for six years. I’ve been more active at some times than others over the years, but I always keep coming back.

Why Medium?

The one thing I loved (and still love) about Medium was the sense of community. It’s what keeps drawing me back, more than anything else. Even if I don’t hit the big numbers in terms of views and earnings, I still feel like my stories are read. And sometimes great discussions come from other users’ comments on my stories or their responses to my comments on their stories.

This desire to connect was what first attracted me to Middle-Pause, as well. Debbie and her team have done a fantastic job creating an environment in which women can share their stories and learn from the stories of other women. It’s a joy to be here!

Favorite Middle-Pause stories

In her post, Marilyn asked us to share some of our favorite Middle-Pause stories — both stories written by us and other people.

By far, my own favorite Middle-Pause story is also the most recently published one. I love this story because it shows how our inner world shapes how we view everything that happens around us. And how easily our inner world can be tainted by outside forces. I also love the full-circle aspect of the two very different Chinese buffet encounters my daughter had with two Black women.

Navigating Innocence, Racial Tension, and Empathy Through My Child’s Eyes

But I also dearly love the first story I published with Middle-Pause. The other story is more about my daughter’s lived experiences. This one is about mine. And it’s all about poop.

You might as well keep a sense of humor about the more horrific aspects of menopause, right?

What I Wish I Knew About Menopause Constipation Before I Experienced It

As far as my favorite Middle-Pause story not written by me, I have to go with this one by Blue. Not only is it beautifully written, it’s a timeless, important topic. This story resonated with me as a woman, even though I don’t live in India.

I don’t think any woman anywhere is truly free from men who will take advantage of them if given half a chance.

When Will 600 Million Indian Women Be Free?

Since we’re talking about favorites, I also need to mention Julie Calidonio. I always enjoy reading her stories because I can identify with so many things she writes about. Like this story, in which she discusses trying to help her son be the healthiest-possible version of himself while protecting him from harmful body image issues.

Should Kids Be Told They’re Overweight?

Other publications I spend time with

In addition to Middle-Pause, I write (infrequently) for Publishous. I also run two of my own publications: Write.Mother.Thrive (focused on everything writer/mother-related) and Lights!Camera!Action! (which is all about TV, movies, and “the people who make them great”).

My involvement in these endeavors has also been somewhat sporadic, given everything else going on in my life and mind. But I do still publish there, and I’d welcome any new writers who could maybe help bring some new life back into them.

I used to write and edit for Koinonia (an online fellowship of Christian writers). I had to step back from that because of family and other writing responsibilities. But I still feel like they deserve a shoutout because one of my top-earning stories is one I wrote for and published with them.

In the very near future, I look forward to publishing some short fiction stories in Liberty Forrest’s First Line Fiction. I was a fiction writer long before I was a blogger, and I still find it easier to write fiction than fact.

Who I am becoming as a writer

I read not too long ago that the great composer J. S. Bach started every composition (or at least all of his church compositions) with the letters “J. J.,” which stood for Jesu Juva (“Jesus, help!”). He ended with the letters “S. D. G.,” which stood for Soli Deo Gloria (“To God alone be the glory.”). So, essentially, every composition is a prayer.

Because I love the idea of this so much, and because I do believe that God is the ultimate Source of all my creativity and writing ability, I have decided to adopt a similar practice in my own writing. Or, at least, a similar dedication. I will ask for God’s help in everything I do, and I will give Him all the glory.

Although I don’t write for Koinonia anymore, I do write primarily faith-based articles over at Patheos. That’s a direct way to focus on S. D. G.

And I’ve restarted my own personal blog over at mishael.site. I’m going back to focusing on my editing and ghostwriting career, in addition to my own fiction writing. This is what I feel God wants me to do. I’ve sort of gotten away from that because I’ve been too busy trying to chase a buck. I don’t want this to be about money anymore. That’s the wrong thing to chase.

Instead, I’d rather chase after God’s glory.

I do have some self-published books out on Amazon. You can check those out here. And I have a sweet Christian romantic suspense novel under contract with Elk Lake Publishing. We’re in the editing stages now. Still. That’s something else I’ve got to focus on in the days ahead.

So, I am — and am becoming — a published author. A woman writer who seeks to entertain and engage with both fiction and nonfiction, for the glory of God.

S. D. G.

Who I Have Been and am Becoming as a Writer was originally published in Middle-Pause on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Kids say the darnedest things

One Sunday after church, my family headed to our favorite Chinese buffet for lunch. An African American family sat down at an adjacent table. My then-two-year-old daughter looked at them, looked at me, pointed, and said, “Look, Mommy. Monster!”

The mother figure at the table glared at us, and if looks could kill…

My golden-toned peachy Caucasian skin turned every shade of blue, red, and purple, with maybe a little sickly green thrown in there, too, as thoughts ricocheted around in my brain. Should I apologize to this woman that I’d never seen before in my life and would probably never see again?

She didn’t understand why my daughter said what she said.

In Little House on the Prairie’s Season 8 anti-racial prejudice episode, “Dark Sage,” Dr. Caleb Ledoux tells Dr. Hiram Baker:

“I guess when a man [or woman] gets used to being treated a certain way, he [she] comes to look for it.”

That woman thought she knew what was going on, no doubt because she’d experienced similar treatment and heard similar words thrown at her before. But she didn’t have a clear assessment of this particular situation.

“We don’t see things as they are. We see them as we are.” — Anais Nin (although this quote may be better attributed “Anonymous”)

I wasn’t in any position to enlighten her, either, not having any sort of relationship with her. Other than the fact that she perceived me as someone who taught her children that all dark-skinned people were “monsters.”

I offered an apologetic half-smile and shook my head. “No, honey. Glenn’s not here.”

Then, I carefully avoided eye contact with that woman and her family for the rest of the meal.

The “Monster” game

What the lady in the Chinese buffet didn’t know (and couldn’t have known) was that just that morning, my daughter had been in the church nursery with a man named Glenn, whose skin color was a similar shade to that of the family we saw in the restaurant.

A man who ran chasing after the kids all morning, playfully laughing and shouting, “Monster!”

For all the progress the city of Louisville, Kentucky, has made in ensuring desegregation and racial equality, there’s much left to be desired. Racial tensions continue to run high, and I can still drive through some of the West End and feel like the only white person there — because I most likely am.

Segregation is still alive and well in most of our churches, too, even though the Bible clearly tells us:

There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3:28, NIV)

Glenn was a member of the one African American family that attended our church at the time. Today, our church is more of a blend of colors and ethnicities. Then, it wasn’t.

My daughter, in her innocence, was equating the color of Glenn’s skin with the fun game he created. And she transferred that association to seeing the family of a similar color when we went out to eat afterwards.

That next Sunday

The next time I saw Glenn, I told him about what had happened in the restaurant.

He doubled over with laughter. “Oh no, oh no!”

“Glenn, you’ve got to stop with the ‘monster’ stuff. It’s getting me into trouble.”

He nodded. “How about if I change it to ‘Cookie Monster?’”

I sighed in relief. “Yes, that might work.”

My daughter knew Cookie Monster as the fuzzy blue Sesame Street Muppet. She wouldn’t associate those words with Glenn’s skin color. And we were hours away from the Eastern Kentucky Blue Fugates. So, there was little chance of her offending anyone with blue skin, should her developing brain make an association between the “Cookie Monster” game and the Muppet’s skin color.

Problem solved … sort of

Over the following eleven years, my daughter’s world has continued to be unintentionally whitewashed. She’s been in the same private Christian school since kindergarten, where maybe a handful of students are non-white.

As I said before, our church congregation has become slightly more diversified. But not by much.

Her older sister is at a Catholic high school with much more diversity. After this coming school year, the younger girl will join her. Unfortunately, the older girl developed a kind of hatred for her whiteness during her freshman year.

A hatred she was afraid to talk to anyone about besides us. She especially didn’t feel comfortable bringing it up to the non-white school counselor.

That’s a different sort of problem we’re trying to navigate carefully, and I wonder if I’ll have to guide the younger girl through the same thing. I can’t help thinking we’re all getting a small taste of what it must be like — what it must have been like for generations of people who came before us — trying to survive in a world that hates you because of the color of your skin.

Even though it’s not the color of your skin that makes you good or bad. It’s what’s inside (or not inside) your heart that truly matters.

Another encounter at a Chinese restaurant

This past Mother’s Day, we visited another Chinese buffet after church. In the parking lot, my younger daughter noticed an African American woman who was dressed up in a gorgeous pink silk suit with a matching wide-brimmed hat.

She turned to me and said, “Mommy, look at that woman. She is really beautiful.”

I smiled and nodded. “You should go over and tell her that.”

She ran after the woman to deliver the compliment.

The older lady’s face lit up with a smile, and my smile broadened as our eyes met.

I thought about that long-ago experience when my daughter’s words caused a shadow to darken that other woman’s mind and face, and maybe even her heart. It would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to find that woman now and make amends. But I feel like my daughter and I took a step in the right direction on that Sunday when we brightened that other woman’s day.

And maybe that lady we saw in that Chinese buffet over a decade ago will read this post and remember the encounter and be able to better understand what happened and why.

If not, I hope and pray that she knows she is beautiful and worthy of love, honor, and respect. Because she is.

Mishael Witty is a wife, mother, and nature lover who writes about the things she’s most passionate about. That includes faith, family, food, and fitness. You can find more of her faith-centered writing over at Patheos.

Navigating Innocence, Racial Tension, and Empathy Through My Child’s Eyes was originally published in Middle-Pause on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

On June 20, 2023, my last menstrual period started. Friday morning, I woke up celebrating that it’d been 366 days since my last period (a year plus a day is when they say the post-menopausal period starts). But then I remembered that 2024 was a leap year, so Thursday was actually my year and a day.

I’m five days into my post-menopausal period (e.g., the rest of my life). Over this past week, I’ve spent a lot of time celebrating. Here’s a brief rundown of what and why.

I got some wrong ideas about “the change” from TV

There are three television episodes that stand out in my mind when I think about menopause.

1. The Little House on the Prairie episode “I Do, Again.” Caroline and Laura are experiencing pregnancy symptoms at the same time, but Dr. Baker informs Caroline that she isn’t going to have a baby. She’s going through “the change.” Caroline sinks into a deep depression because now she really won’t be able to give Charles a son, and she begins to feel useless. Charles takes her on a romantic trip that eventually snaps her out of it. Still, my young female brain got the message: Menopause (the change) = uselessness and depression.
2. The Golden Girls episode “End of the Curse.” Like Caroline, we see Blanche starting out thinking she’s pregnant. But she finds out her condition is “much worse.” In Blanche’s words:

“It’s the worst thing ever. My life is over. I’m not a real woman anymore.”

She thought she wouldn’t be attractive anymore. Her sense of self-worth was tied up in her looks and her sexuality. So, the message I heard? Menopause = loss of sexuality and attractiveness, and overall worthlessness.

3. The Designing Women episode “Screaming Passages.” One morning, Julia Sugarbaker somewhat dramatically announces to her coworkers that she is going through “the change.” Then, within the next few minutes, we see her experience hot flashes and cold flashes, along with near-instantaneous mood swings. She was going through, as Anthony put it, a “hormonal Twilight Zone.” Then, later, she mentioned something about how she felt like Sybil, and that really scared pre-menopausal me, who had just seen the Sally Field movie. Menopause = insanity.

Today, I’m celebrating the fact that aside from disappointment early on when missed periods were followed by negative pregnancy tests, I never experienced menopausal depression. I haven’t experienced extreme mood swings, although I have dealt with both the hot and cold flashes … along with some inconvenient constipation.

Most importantly? I’ve never once felt useless, undesirable, or worthless since I stopped having periods.

I don’t have to fight over the bathroom

When my girls were young, we lived in a house with one bathroom. It dawned on me that we would all likely cycle at the same time. Women who live or work together usually do. That meant we’d be fighting over the bathroom all the time.

At least for a week or so every month.

But by the time my older daughter got her first period, my own were becoming erratic. Some months I would get one. Other months, I didn’t. No time to fight over bathroom space.

My younger daughter’s periods started a few months after my last one made its appearance. A few months later, we moved into a bigger house, with two bathrooms. No reasons to fight.

I’m literally in the best shape of my life

A few years ago, I joined a gym and started paying more attention to what I eat. I lost 30 pounds and too many inches to count. I’m back in the same size clothes I wore in high school, even though I weigh about 50 pounds more than I did then.

It’s good weight. Muscle weight.

I’m stronger and leaner than ever. And healthier. I make sure my body gets plenty of veggies and fruits daily. I also take a daily calcium supplement my doctor recommended because both my mother and grandmother struggled with osteoporosis.

All this to say, I didn’t think I would be this healthy at this stage of my life. Menopause = aging = your body falls apart.

That’s what I believed, anyway. I’m glad I was wrong.

My hair thinning and falling out? Yes, that’s happening. But in every other way, my body is still functioning well.

I have orgasms in my sleep now

The first time it happened, I was shocked — and not even really sure I experienced what I thought I’d experienced. Because, you know, I was asleep.

That was a few years ago, and since then I’ve had a few more of these sleepgasms. I used to feel a little ashamed about it because I still haven’t gotten completely past the religious teaching that says, “Sex is bad.” I’ve even heard that masturbation is cheating on your spouse.

But no manual stimulation is involved — and definitely no cheating. This is just my body responding naturally to some interesting changes that are taking place. I’m learning to let go of any feelings of shame and just enjoy the experience when it happens.

After all, for the longest time, I thought menopause meant no more orgasms. I guess I took that from that Golden Girls episode I mentioned above.

Is sex a little more uncomfortable? Sometimes, yes. But it can still be thoroughly enjoyable.

I didn’t know what I didn’t know

As I reflect back on this first post-menopausal week, I’m laughing at all the wrong beliefs I used to have about menopause. There’s a lot of misinformation out there, and there’s still a significant lack of factual information available to help women navigate all the changes they might experience. I can’t say “will,” because every woman’s body is different.

Even though those TV shows I mentioned aired 30–40+ years ago, I still feel the truth of Julia Sugarbaker’s statement:

“Too many women feel like they have to treat this as an embarrassing little secret.”

In The Golden Girls episode, Sophia, in her characteristically no-nonsense way, echoed this sentiment:

“I got it, nobody told me. I didn’t get it, nobody told me. I figured this was life and just went back to my meatballs.”

To me, this quote spells out the ultimate state of acceptance. I’m more ready than I thought I would be to accept the reality of this stage of life. In fact, I’m kind of excited about seeing what’s next.

And, just as I refused to keep silent about my menopausal journey, I refuse to keep my post-menopausal status a secret. Sharing the truth of my experiences, and even my shattered faulty belief systems, may help other women feel like they’re not so alone. Maybe it will inspire them to share their own menopausal stories to create an even greater sense of community.

Of course, nothing builds community quite like food. Sophia and the other Golden Girls knew this well.

Meatballs, anyone?

Mishael Witty is a wife, mother, and nature lover who writes about the things she’s most passionate about. That includes faith, family, food, and fitness. You can find more of her faith-centered writing over at Patheos.

I’ve Changed My Mind About Being Post-Menopausal was originally published in Middle-Pause on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Reflections on men and personal boundaries

A recent trip to McDonald's had me reassessing boundaries. And thinking about how to do some things differently in the future, even as I wondered whether I needed to do anything differently.

Can’t I keep the doctor’s appointment I’ve already rescheduled several times because I was taking care of my mom?

One Friday morning, my dad came to pick up my older daughter to take her to school. He handed me a $20 bill. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?” I folded up the bill and stuck it in the pocket of my shorts.

“After you take Julie to school, go by McDonalds and get your mom an egg and cheese biscuit and a Diet Coke for breakfast.”

I grimaced. “Well…”

“What’s wrong?”

Aside from the fact I would be buying processed junk food for my mother to eat at the beginning of the day? “I have a doctor’s appointment at 9, and they want me there by 8:45. There’s no way I can get Julie to school, go to McDonald's, get the food to Mom, and then get there in time. I’ll have to cancel it.”

“No, don’t cancel it. It won’t matter if you’re a little late.”

It would. They’d put someone else in my spot, and maybe fit me in somewhere, but I might have to sit and wait a couple of hours. And who would get Mom’s lunch for her? “It just won’t work out well. It’s fine. Nothing urgent. I’ll cancel. Mom needs her breakfast.”

Because of multiple strokes, my mother is unable to use her left hand. In addition, it’s unsafe for her to operate her gas stove because she gets confused and forgets to turn it all the way off. If she remembers that it’s on, at all.

Unfortunately, canceling the appointment wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Too late to cancel online and too early to cancel by calling the doctor’s office. The answering service wouldn’t even connect me to voicemail.

Already feeling some type of way because of the abrupt change in plans and the compounded inconvenience of not being able to speak to a human, I made sure my younger daughter got to school and headed to the closest Mcdonald's parking lot.

At this point, the main doctor’s office was open, so I was able to cancel my appointment. Since I was already parked and since I don’t like using the drive-thru because I’m always somewhat afraid I’ll either run into a building or a sign or not be close enough to hand off the money or grab the bags from the workers, I got out of the car and headed toward the glass door.

Can’t I walk in and order food without having to listen to comments about my attire?

As I neared the door, I slowed my pace. An elderly man stood outside, studying his cell phone screen.

I waited (mostly) patiently for him to go through the door so I could get inside.

He eventually glanced up. “Oh, here. Let me hold the door open for you. I’m still half asleep.”

Careful not to make eye contact to avoid any further conversation, I hurried inside and up to the counter since I couldn’t order from the app or the kiosk using cash.

The man moved to stand in line behind me. “I can’t wear those.” He pointed to my crocs. “They hurt my feet.”

Good thing they’re not your shoes. They’re mine. As I offered a noncommittal hum in response, I silently willed the girl behind the counter to turn in my direction to take my order so I could get on with my breakfast mission and get away from the creepy old man who, because he made a comment about my shoes, was probably checking out my bare legs and who knows what else?

Can’t I walk to my car without being insulted and listening to my mother being indirectly insulted, as well?

Finally, I was able to order. I filled the Diet Coke up at the drink station as fast as I could, grabbed the bag off the counter, and headed out the door.

Still all up in my own head because of the events of the morning, I barely registered the homeless man sitting on the grassy parking lot median. His lips moved, and some sound came out, but I couldn’t decipher the words.

I wasn’t paying attention.

At least, not until he raised his voice loud enough for me to hear as I closed my car door, “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to say ‘good morning’ when someone says ‘good morning’ to you?”

I knew then that the words I hadn’t been able to make out before had been directed at me. And my inattention had offended him, even as the unwanted attention from the man inside the store annoyed me.

Was it wrong of me to not want to engage in conversation with strange men?

As I drove to Mom and Dad’s house, the homeless man’s words ran through my mind. An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over me.

But just as soon as it did, other thoughts and emotions chased it away.

That man didn’t know me. He also obviously doesn’t know my mother. I was raised in the 1980s, at the height of “Stranger Danger” warnings. One of the books frequently in our bedtime reading lineup was Never Talk to Strangers.

If you are hanging from a trapeze
And up sneaks a camel with bony knees,
Remember this rule, if you please — 
Never talk to strangers.

My mother taught me I didn’t have to talk to strange men if I didn’t want to. And I probably shouldn’t.

Another iconic female role model in this regard was the character of Julia Sugarbaker on the ‘80s/early ‘90s sitcom Designing Women, which I still watch every now and then on Hulu.

As I reflected on my encounters with both the croc-starer and the man in the grass, I remembered one scene in particular where three of the women were sitting at a table in a restaurant, talking, and this creepy guy named Ray Don Simpson came up and tried to put the moves on them.

Julia famously shot him down.

“There’s no need for introductions, Ray Don. We know who you are. … You’re the guy who’s always wherever women gather or try to be alone. You want to eat with us when we’re dining in hotels. You want to know if the book we’re reading is any good, or if you can keep us company on the plane. And I want to thank you, Ray Don, on behalf of all the women in the world for your unfailing attention and concern. But read my lips and remember, as hard as it is to believe, sometimes we like talking just to each other, and sometimes we like just being alone.”

Yes. Sometimes, we actually like being left alone.

And we have the right to keep to ourselves.

Would I have done anything different?

As the recovering codependent overthinker that I am, I replayed both encounters on continuous mental repeat.

Would I have done differently? Should I have done anything differently?

Would I have told my father I couldn’t possibly go buy food for my mother and take it to her? No. Should I have? Under the circumstances, probably not.

Would I have actually engaged in conversation with the guy who was fixated on my shoes in a different frame of mind? Maybe. I’ve been known to carry on full conversations with strangers of both sexes while waiting in line at various establishments.

But this guy was putting off a creepy vibe, or else I was just perceiving one, given the situation. Should I have? Eh, maybe, maybe not.

The Ray Don Simpsons of this world don’t need encouragement.

Would I have said “good morning” to the man sitting in the grass if I knew he was talking to me and if I wasn’t in a hurry to deliver food to Mom? Again, I’m not sure. If I thought all he wanted was a greeting, I might have thrown one over my shoulder on the way to the car. If I thought he was after money, I would have just kept walking.

Not that I’m against giving people monetary help, but I know all too well how good gifts can be misused. Sometimes it’s better not to give, if there’s a chance that gift may be used on something that would cause damage to the recipient, whether physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual.

Will I do differently in a similar situation in the future?

When I recounted my adventures to my husband later that evening, he half-jokingly asked if he needed to go beat anyone up.

Then he got quite serious and said, “Don’t go back to that McDonald's. Or, if you do, use the drive-thru. You probably should have done that to begin with.”

He knows how much I hate doing that and all the reasons why. But he also knows I’d be more comfortable doing that than dealing with more encounters like the ones I had with those two men.

In the future, I will face my fear of looking stupid in the drive-thru. At least I know I’ll be able to quickly and easily drive away, no matter what happens.

Mishael Witty is a wife, mother, and nature lover who writes about the things she’s most passionate about. That includes faith, family, food, and fitness. You can find more of her faith-centered writing over at Patheos.

A Woman Walks Alone into a McDonalds Restaurant … was originally published in Middle-Pause on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

‍Can I talk about poop? Especially poop, as it relates to the various menopause stages? In particular, in my case, we’re talking about very hard poop, even before I officially entered menopause.

When I first set out on my perimenopause journey about eight years ago, I had no idea how much my bathroom habits were going to change. Never mind how much constipation would become an expected part of my life.

Why Isn’t Menopause Constipation a More Popular Conversation Topic?

The subject of constipation often gets brushed under the rug. Hidden away in embarrassment. I’ve heard women talk about hot flashes and night sweats. I’ve even heard women talk about the near-constant mood swings that can have you screaming and throwing things today and huddling in a puddle of tears on the floor tomorrow.

No one warned me I would one day (actually, it’s happened on more than one day) feel like I was passing a brick out of my back end … if I felt like I could pass anything at all.

You know you’ve been there. You’ve had those moments, too — when your behind keeps you guessing and desperately searching for relief. I’m not alone in this struggle, and neither are you.

The Link Between Estrogen and Constipation

Once you set out on the road to menopause, everything seems to go haywire. And I do mean everything.

Why does this happen? Blame it on the hormones.

During perimenopause, the transitional phase before menopause, estrogen levels fluctuate wildly. This hormonal rollercoaster disrupts the normal functioning of your digestive system.

As you enter menopause and estrogen levels continue to decline, the risk of constipation becomes even higher. The decrease in estrogen can slow down the movement of your bowels, which causes constipation.

Add to that the stress and anxiety that often accompany menopause, and you have the perfect recipe for hard, dry poop.

Constipation Symptoms During Perimenopause

What are the symptoms of constipation to watch out for?

First and foremost, if you’re having fewer than three bowel movements per week, you may be dealing with constipation. If your poop is hard, dry, and difficult to pass, that’s a clear indication your insides are not happy.

Bloating, abdominal pain, and a general feeling of discomfort are also common signs of constipation. So, if you find yourself experiencing any of these menopause constipation symptoms, it’s time to take action.

Constipation Relief Through Diet Changes

When it comes to managing constipation, one of the first lines of defense is dietary change.

You Need More Fiber

Increasing your fiber intake is key.

Fiber plays a crucial role in promoting regular bowel movements and maintaining digestive health. For menopausal women dealing with constipation, increasing fiber intake can offer significant relief.

Here’s why fiber is important:

• Promotes Gut Health: Fiber acts as a prebiotic, nourishing the beneficial bacteria in the gut, which can contribute to overall digestive health.
• Aids in Regularity: A diet high in fiber can help regulate bowel movements, reducing the discomfort of constipation.
• Bulks and Softens Stool: Fiber adds bulk to the stool and can soften it, making it easier for these bricks to pass through your digestive tract.

Fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and legumes are all great sources of fiber.

I’ve started making sure I eat at least a cup of beans each day. Beans benefit more than just your poop. They can help you lose that stubborn menopause weight gain while, at the same time, improving your blood pressure and cholesterol.

Flaxseeds

Another natural remedy is flaxseed. Flaxseeds have recently gained in popularity because of their many health benefits, including the ability to alleviate constipation.

Not only are they rich in fiber, they also contain omega-3 fatty acids that can soothe the digestive system with their anti-inflammatory properties. And they are rich in lignans, which have long been studied for their potential estrogenic effects.

Since decreasing estrogen is particularly a problem during menopause, you can see how adding this to your diet would definitely be beneficial.

Ground flaxseed can easily be added to any meal or snack. A tablespoon per day is all you need to address menopause constipation.

Here are some simple ways to incorporate flaxseeds:

• Smoothies: Blend them into your morning smoothie for an easy and nutritious boost.
• Dressings: Use flaxseed oil as a base for homemade salad dressings.
• Overnight Oats: Prepare overnight oats with flaxseeds for a fiber-packed and convenient breakfast option.

Personally, I like to experiment. Ground flaxseed doesn’t have an overpowering flavor. I’ve added it into my spaghetti and cream sauces, among other things. No one in the family can taste a difference, and everyone benefits.

Eat Yogurt and Other Fermented Foods

Probiotics are beneficial bacteria that promote a healthy gut microbiome. A balanced gut microbiome is essential for proper digestion and regular bowel movements. This balance can be disrupted during menopause, and this is one of the causes of constipation.

Yogurt and other fermented foods have live cultures of probiotics that can aid in the breakdown of food and the absorption of nutrients into the digestive tract. They also reduce inflammation in the gut. This promotes more efficient digestion.

Choose plain, unsweetened yogurt that contains active cultures. Greek yogurt, kefir, and other probiotic-rich varieties are particularly beneficial. Enjoy yogurt as a snack, blend it into smoothies, or use it as a base for dressings and dips.

Fermented foods like kimchi, sauerkraut, kombucha, and miso are also excellent sources of probiotics. Incorporate these foods into meals as flavorful condiments or enjoy them as standalone side dishes to support gut health.

Lifestyle Changes to Help Relieve Constipation

While you’re busy making changes to your diet, you might want to think about switching up some other things in your daily routine.

Increase Hydration

The same decreasing estrogen responsible for your constipation may also be causing you to become dehydrated. And don’t think for a minute that dehydration and constipation are unrelated.

As I enter my eighth month without a period, I feel more than ever that everything is drying up inside my body. But that’s what happens when estrogen levels drop. Your body loses its ability to retain moisture.

At all.

Of course, hot flashes and night sweats can cause excessive sweating, which further contributes to fluid loss.

Increasing your water intake throughout the day can help you look better, feel better, and keep things moving smoothly through your system. Here are some tips for staying hydrated.

• Drink water: We all need to drink eight glasses of water each day, and it might be better to drink ten glasses. I carry a water bottle around with me at all times. Not only does this ensure I have access to water, but it also serves as a visual reminder.
• Eat hydrating foods: Incorporating hydrating foods such as cucumbers, watermelon, and oranges into your diet can contribute to your overall fluid intake. These foods not only provide water, but they also give you essential vitamins and minerals.
• Limit caffeine and alcohol: Caffeine and alcohol both have diuretic effects, increasing the risk of dehydration. Limiting your intake of both of these beverages can help you maintain adequate hydration levels.
• Monitor your urine color: Did you know your urine color can clue you in to your hydration status? Light yellow to clear usually indicates proper hydration, while dark yellow urine may signal dehydration.

As my voice teacher told me a long time ago:

“You always want to pee clear.”

Herbal Teas

Drinking a few cups of herbal tea each day is a great way to stay hydrated while you’re getting in some added constipation and menopause relief benefits.

Some herbal teas known for their potential to provide relief from constipation and other menopause symptoms include:

• Peppermint tea: Known for its ability to relax the muscles of the digestive tract, reducing the bloating and discomfort associated with constipation. It also has a cooling effect on the body, so it can help you deal with those annoying hot flashes.
• Licorice root tea: Licorice root tea has mild laxative effects and can soften stools, making them easier to pass. It may also help reduce inflammation in the digestive tract. This tea, like peppermint, also combats hot flashes. Win, win!
• Ginger tea: Ginger has natural anti-inflammatory properties that can aid in promoting better digestion and relieving constipation. You might remember it also relieves nausea … another annoying menopause symptom no one warned me about.
• Dandelion root tea: Dandelion root tea is a gentle laxative that can ease constipation. It may also support liver function, contributing to overall digestive health. More than that, this herbal powerhouse prevents bone and hair loss and fixes hormonal imbalances leading to anxiety, depression, and weight gain.

Why not take a break from reading this and go brew a soothing cup of herbal tea right now to take a step towards easing your menopausal constipation and other troubling symptoms?

Exercise

Regular exercise, such as walking, strength training, or yoga, can be a powerful tool in relieving and managing constipation.

Here’s how exercise can help:

• Improved Bowel Function: Exercise stimulates the muscles in the intestines, promoting the more efficient movement of poop through the digestive system.
• Hormonal Regulation: Engaging in regular exercise can help regulate levels of hormones, including estrogen, which may mitigate constipation and other menopausal symptoms.
• Weight Management: Menopause often brings about changes in body composition, and maintaining a healthy weight through exercise can positively impact bowel regularity.

If you’re new to exercise or looking to incorporate more physical activity into your routine, consider the following tips:

• Start slowly and gradually increase the intensity and duration of your workouts.
• Aim for at least 150 minutes of moderate-intensity aerobic activity per week.
• Consult with a healthcare professional before beginning any new exercise regimen, especially if you have underlying health concerns.

Constipation Medication

If diet and lifestyle changes don’t do the trick, you may need to turn to other remedies to help you poop. In some cases, constipation can become severe and require medical intervention.

Your healthcare provider may prescribe medications such as laxatives or stool softeners to help get things moving. You can also find some effective ones over the counter, so you may not even need to consult with a doctor.

I’ve had some great success with Dulcolax, for example. You just have to be sure to drink plenty of water when you take laxatives, and only use them at the lowest-possible dose for a very short period of time to avoid laxative abuse.

Support for Dealing with Menopause Constipation

Dealing with constipation during menopause can be frustrating and isolating. But you are not alone in this journey. There are support groups, online forums, and resources available to help you navigate the ups and downs of constipation.

One I recently discovered, in addition to the Middle-Pause Community, is the Unpausable Women Facebook group. I’ve already made some great connections, chatting with other women about hard poop and other annoying menopause symptoms.

I don’t feel so crazy or alone anymore. You won’t either when you reach out to other women who understand what you’re going through because they’re going through it too.

Don’t let constipation keep you stuck. Take control of your digestive health by implementing some of the strategies mentioned here.

Your body will thank you!

Mishael Witty is a wife, mother, and nature lover who writes about the things she’s most passionate about. That includes faith, family, food, and fitness. You can find more of her faith-centered writing over at Patheos.

What I Wish I Knew About Menopause Constipation Before I Experienced It was originally published in Middle-Pause on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Mindfulness is the practice of being fully present in the moment. It is being aware of your thoughts, feelings, and sensations without judgment. It is about paying attention to your experiences with curiosity and kindness. Mindfulness allows us to cultivate a deeper connection with ourselves and the world around us. It has gained immense popularity in recent years, due to its numerous mental and physical benefits.

The benefits of mindfulness for families

Mindfulness is not just for individuals. It can also have a transformative effect on families. When families practice mindfulness together, it creates a nurturing and supportive environment where everyone feels heard and understood.

Research has shown that mindfulness can reduce stress, improve communication, and enhance emotional well-being within families. It helps family members develop empathy, patience, and resilience, thus fostering healthier relationships and a greater sense of harmony.

Understanding the importance of a mindful family practice

In today’s fast-paced world, families are often caught up in hectic schedules and face constant distractions. A mindful family practice provides an opportunity to slow down, reconnect, and create meaningful moments together.

It allows family members to prioritize their well-being and strengthen bonds. By incorporating mindfulness into family life, parents can model healthy habits for their children and teach them valuable skills for managing stress and navigating challenges.

How to introduce mindfulness to your family

Introducing mindfulness to your family can be a gradual and enjoyable process. Start by having open conversations about mindfulness and its benefits. Share your own experiences and encourage everyone to express their thoughts and feelings.

Consider attending mindfulness workshops or seeking guidance from experts who specialize in mindful parenting. It is important to approach the practice with a sense of curiosity and flexibility to allow each family member to explore mindfulness in their own unique way.

Creating a mindful home environment

Creating a mindful home environment is essential for nurturing a successful family practice. Begin by designating a calm and quiet space where family members can retreat for mindfulness activities. This space can be as simple as a corner with comfortable cushions or a small meditation area.

Remove distractions such as electronics, and create a peaceful atmosphere with soft lighting and natural elements. Encourage everyone to contribute to the space, whether through artwork, plants, or personal mementos that inspire mindfulness.

Incorporating mindfulness into daily routines

One of the keys to building a mindful family practice is to integrate mindfulness into daily routines. Start by setting aside a few minutes each day for a family mindfulness practice. This can be done through guided meditations, deep breathing exercises, or mindful movement such as yoga.

Incorporate mindfulness into everyday activities like meals, chores, and bedtime routines. Encourage everyone to eat mindfully, savoring each bite and paying attention to the flavors and textures. Make chores a mindful experience by focusing on the sensations of cleaning or organizing. At bedtime, practice a relaxation exercise together, such as a body scan or visualization.

Mindfulness activities for the whole family

Engaging in mindfulness activities as a family can be fun and enriching. Consider exploring nature together. Go for mindful walks, or picnic in a park. Engage in creative activities like drawing, painting, or crafting to allow everyone to express themselves mindfully.

Practice mindful listening by taking turns sharing stories or thoughts without interruption. Play mindfulness games that promote awareness and presence, such as “I Spy” or a gratitude scavenger hunt. By making mindfulness enjoyable, it becomes a natural and exciting part of family life.

Overcoming challenges in building a mindful family practice

Building a mindful family practice sometimes comes with challenges. It is important to approach these challenges with patience and compassion. Some family members may be resistant to the idea of mindfulness initially, while others may struggle to find time to practice.

Encourage open communication and understanding within the family. Start with small, manageable steps and gradually increase the duration and complexity of mindfulness practices. Celebrate progress, and acknowledge that everyone’s journey is unique. Remember that building a mindful family practice is a continuous process that requires flexibility and adaptability.

Resources for building a mindful family practice

There are numerous resources available to support families in building a mindful practice. Books, online courses, and apps provide guidance and inspiration for incorporating mindfulness into family life.

Some recommended resources include:

• Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids* by Dr. Laura Markham
• Susan Kaiser Greenland’s Calm Family program
• the Smiling Mind app, which offers mindfulness exercises for different age groups

Additionally, local community centers and mindfulness-based organizations often offer workshops and classes specifically designed for families. Try doing a Google search for some in your local area.

*This is an affiliate link. I may earn a small commission if you purchase something after visiting this site.

Help your kids be mentally strong

Bringing mindfulness into the home is a powerful way to foster happiness and resilience within the family. By practicing mindfulness together, families can create a nurturing environment that promotes emotional well-being, communication, and connection. The benefits of mindfulness extend beyond the individual, positively impacting the entire family unit.

Through open communication, a mindful home environment, and incorporating mindfulness into daily routines, you can cultivate a mindful practice that enriches the lives of all your family members, as well as strengthening your relationships with each other. Embrace the journey of building a mindful family practice and enjoy the transformative benefits it brings.

Bringing Mindfulness Home was originally published in Write. Mother. Thrive on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.