Libido. Gone but not forgotten.


I can’t help but look back on the days when my husband and I were dating. Every chance we had we were in the throes of passionate love. O.K. I’ll call it what it is, oversexed 20-somethings. The great thing is that it was always mutual. If it wasn’t him instigating the tryst, it was me. I will confess, once when we were on vacation with the kids, we stole away to our car and well, you can guess what happened. And before you judge, my kids were old enough to be alone….with cartoons on…..with a bribe….it was brilliant.  I look back on that time and smile and then there’s a freeze frame and a voice over and it’s me, “My how quickly those years pass and libido shifts.”

So ladies, the truth of the matter is I’m in my 50’s and my libido is shot, kaput, absent, finished spent. No, don’t say it’s fading, it’s a complete blackout. Am  I the only one that feels that way? Don’t get me wrong, when my husband rubs my back or kisses me on the cheek I love that, but only that. It’s all I need. But if I even make one move to insinuate I want more, it’s all over. The sweet rub on the back manages to find it’s way around to my boobs. At which point I turn around and say, “Really?”  Then I feel bad, for a brief moment.

The question then becomes, where did the big L go?  It’s like my libido was traded in for a renewed zest for life. Friendships are deeper, hobbies are pursued more passionately and time in the shower is spent well , washing my hair, cleaning my body and that’s it, done. If there was an agreement made re; my libido way back when, I wasn’t privy to it.  Either way, I’m here, libido free unless I have a couple of hours to rev up the motor. Quite frankly, and we’re being perfectly frank right? I’d rather be reading a good book. You?

So this is the time in life that was never discussed. Whoever would have thought that a young woman with a very healthy sex drive would be writing an article 30 years later about, hasta la vista libido. Well, I never would have thunk it, that’s for sure.  And there’s certainly pressure on to keep that libido rocking. Check out all the  TV ads for guys to call all hands on deck to hoist the sail via a little blue pill.   Is it me or is the way those guys look at the women they’re with a little creepy? The ad says, “If symptoms last for more than 4 hours call your doctor.”  At that point they wouldn’t be calling the doctor for him, it would be for me. Honestly, my worst nightmare.

There’s also pressure (I consider it more of a nuisance) from Hollywood to maintain youth in all aspects, including that sexual appetite. What happens if we don’t? Men seek out younger women. Whatever.

I suppose we do need to consider our significant other.  Sure, I’ve talked about it and reassured him that my love for him is no less, just my sex motor has burned out and that model no longer exists, sorry, no fixing it.  He knows I love and adore him, and I certainly do my best to compromise from time to time.  I truly believe it is simply part of life’s transitions. We find other ways to show our love for each other. I am a believer in the theory that libido is for procreation.  Over it.

But the whole point of this blog is to discuss this topic which is rarely discussed, the fact that libido wanes, but we don’t. Dropped libido isn’t a death sentence, it’s simply an opportunity to re-prioritize.  Maybe discussing libido, or lack thereof is inappropriate. (I’m in my 50’s now, I don’t care) Maybe women still aren’t comfortable discussing it, maybe it’s just me and I’m a pathetic libido free woman, or maybe you agree that the media makes us believe that sex should be hot and heavy until you drop dead (assuming that’s in your 90’s).


Just like the song, “To every season turn, turn turn,” I believe to every age there is a season and with that comes change. I choose to roll with the change and know that my partner in love takes me with the good and the bad as I do with him. Either way, there’s so much positive at this stage of life that if libido is the only thing I’m missing, I think I’ll be o.k. and so will my hubby. The circle of life in all its libido free splendor.





It suck to get old. Or does it?



Growing up my elders often shared, “It sucks to get old.”  Typically, the comment followed an injury or a bout with the flu or cold. They were always sure to add, “The body just doesn’t bounce back like it used to.”  The bounce back part when it comes to certain parts of my body, I’m a believer. But the getting old sucks piece, it’s tempting, but I’m not buying in.

A couple of weeks ago, I was out walking and mistook an ice patch for a puddle of water. (How my eyes deceive me. ) I felt like it was in super slow mo. My legs kept moving as they left the ground and gravity pulled me down with an oomph. “Dangit!” I thought to myself, “This is not going to be good.”  I looked back at the right butt cheek that took the impact of the fall to see my favorite walking pants torn. I wanted to pull down the pants to assess the damage but I noticed a man walking towards me and thought likely not a good time.

“You o.k. ma’m?”  Ugh, “Yes, thank you, I’m fine.”  I walked with a limp and I thought for sure I was out of commission for awhile. Then I noticed my knee was bleeding and I was immediately brought back to my youth.

Remember the summer of scabby knees?  I wore those scabs on my knees and elbows as a badge of courage. In fact the success of summer was dictated by the number of kids who showed up on the first day of school with the scabbiest of knees. That thought made me smile.  I then realized that here I am at 50 something, I can still wipe out and walk away, sans tears.  I began smiling at the fact that I can be outside and move my body fluidly, without limitation. Even though that fall did set me back a week or two, I have got the absolute best scabby butt cheek in the world.  And I feel like the kid I did in summer, with my badge of courage. Unfortunately, I can’t share it. Well, I guess I could but somehow I’m thinking the reaction would go from cool to creepy. scab

So when I hear folks drone on and on about how age slows the healing process (yes, it does) or how we just can’t do what we used to I have to move on. I can either buy in to it or walk away knowing that things may be different now, but I can still sport a scab with the best of them!  Who say’s getting old sucks?  Not me.


Here’s to scabby knees!

Meno Pause

Why Girlfriends Matter


I don’t know about you, but as I’ve gotten older there is no more cherished time than the time I spend with girlfriends. Sure, sure, when I was younger and had little kids, girlfriend time was important, but once you get past 50 it seems to change. If you’re lucky enough to still be friends with childhood buddies, you’re lucky. I’m not one of those. We moved a lot  and I never developed those types of friendships. I envy those that do.

The friends that I have made over the last five years I treasure. Maybe it’s because those friends are the real deal. They are my friends because what matters to us now is vastly different than what mattered to me when I was 30 or 40 years old. Some of the friendships I had years ago were simply because they were school moms and automatically became part of the friend circle. But once you get to your 50’s you’re more selective with your friend choices. Gone are the “friends” with constant drama.  Today my friendships are richer and the expectations are non-existent. The conversations are deep and without judgement. You’re no longer trying to be something you’re not, rather we’ve accepted who we are and we like us. It’s refreshing and comfortable and very, very important.

I met with friends recently that I don’t see very often and I said in an email the next day. “My time with you both was simply good for my soul.”  And I meant it. There’s no idle chatter about what so-and-so is doing, there’s no competitiveness there is simply a reciprocal respect.  Of course there’s talk of grandchildren, for those that have them, but never in a “mine are better than yours” but a genuine sense of pride. I’m happy for my friends. Gone are the conversations that were set up to impress. Our conversations are now set up to share mutual joy. So cool and so much easier.

I watch as my daughter enters her 24th year. I think about what’s ahead for her. She is one of those lucky people that has stayed connected with a couple of her childhood friends. But she made new friends in college and they are now inseparable. I like her friends, they’re nice people and they seem to be good friends that generally care about one another. I love to see that.

I have found that my time with my friends is something I prioritize now. My husband is content to stay at home, friends don’t seem to hold the importance for him that mine do. Kind of interesting, but I certainly don’t try to figure it out, not at this stage of life. I also don’t dress up like I used to trying to impress whomever. People have said that women dress to impress other women. That may be true, but at this phase of life, I’m about function, not fashion. It’s not to say I don’t like to look nice, I do, but comfort comes first, cute comes second.

Although I say that my husband is my best friend, I must admit that my girlfriends hold a pretty special spot in my heart and for that, I’m grateful.


Here’s to great friends and great conversations!


Meno Pause

Do You See What I See?


I never had to wear glasses until the printing on everything started getting smaller. One day my eye doctor broke the news to me, “It’s not the print, it’s your eyes you need glasses.”  “What?  My eyes are fine, I see just fine!” He insisted I get fitted for lenses. I didn’t need regular glasses I needed the ones that help you see close up, far away and in between. I  pleaded for contact lenses, and he said I’d hate them. I got them anyway. I hated them.  So I decided to take the plunge, admit my weakness and get glasses. After two weeks they arrived, I put them on and the choir sang, the blues were bluer, reds were redder. Think I’m exaggerating? I’m not. I gotta tell you, vanity totally robbed me of being able to see through a clearer lens. The times I ordered things off the menu that I had no clue I was getting. The times at stores where I thought the price tag was 19.00 only to choke on my gum when I handed them my credit card and it was 190.00. And on and on the inconveniences go. Vanity outweighed 20/20 vision.  So I started thinking about all of my friends that are wearing cheaters, or getting glasses and I believe there’s a reason that eye sight goes and why same age couples should stick together.

Think about it. Young eyes see everything. Every hair on your chinny, chin, chin, large pores, all of it. I know it because that’s what I see with my glasses.  Think about it, if your spouse or significant other has the same crappy eye sight as you do, he/she can’t see those wild chin or mustache hairs or in some case mole hairs. Right?  We can see their ear hair and outgrown eyebrows. Imagine the older person that connects with the young person with sharp eyes. Do you think they look at those tiny little things we can’t see and think to themselves, “yuck.”  If I were a twenty something and saw the curly grey hairs from my spouses ears, something tells me I’d be shopping around for someone my own age.

I think bad eyes were the creators way of making sure that the scorecards are even and you can’t see my obvious signs of aging and I can’t see yours. Therefore, we both believe that we look as great as we did the day we met. Pretty brilliant thought, eh?

I now have glasses and my husband just wears cheaters which means when he puts them on he’s only looking at a menu or newspaper, not the neck hair I forgot to pluck. I’m grateful for the ability to see through younger eyes again, but the difference is that when I see the aging process on my spouse, it simply reminds me we’re growing old together and that doesn’t make me want to run away, it makes me smile.

Here’s to seeing what you want, and ignoring the rest!

Meno Pause