Settling in with my Tibetan family
31 May 2012 Leave a Comment
in All posts Tags: IVHQ India. International Volunteer Headquarters, McLeod Ganj
What with settling in with my home-stay family in McLeod Ganj (similar in size and vibe to what I image Kathmandu to be) and finding my feet teaching Tibetan monks, you could say these past few days have been one hell of a learning curve.
I am staying with Payma and her husband Nyima, and their little minx of a daughter, Tenzin Zompa.
Both Payma and Nyima speak surprisingly good English, learnt at school, and they have made me feel very welcome.
The one-storey house is made of concrete, as are most of the houses. It has a kitchen and two small rooms which act as bedrooms-cum-living-areas. They don’t have chairs, but use low couches that double up for sitting and sleeping. You just chuck a blanket over you at night and curl up on the Tibetan rug (probably made in China) that covers the couch. All Tibetans do this.
Payma and Nyima’s room has the most enormous flat-screen television you’ve ever seen, tuned to the Bollywood movies channel. My room, on the other hand, is dominated by a shrine dedicated to the Dalai Lama.
Just off is a tiled bathroom with a western loo. But there’s no running water at the moment. It has to be collected from a standpipe in large heavy canisters and I sluice myself down using a jug. But after a hot, tiring day, this cold wash-down is as invigorating as standing under the shower at home.
And, I only clean my teeth using precious drinking water.
Water here is a problem. A big problem. In the rainy season it must pour through the valleys, but right now there is barely a trickle. McLeod Ganj is known as a health spa, and I can only imagine how much water is put aside for people who can afford these treats.
As part of the home-stay agreement, Payma gives me breakfast, usually a plain omlette and flat bread. At night, it’s typically a hot chilli vegetable dish accompanied by rice, (occasionally there’s a little meat included), which I am learning to eat with my right hand. At first I made a dreadful mess, but I’m getting the hang of it now, and rather liking it.
The house is part of a tight Tibetan community, so there are always people and children milling about, and the dawn chorus involves quite a lot of spitting, snorting, and coughing. But everyone is full of smiles and I feel quite safe.
The only drawback is that the house is at the bottom of a series of precarious steps made out of concrete and rock, leading up a steep hill to he main road. This means a laborious climb every morning and several stops to gather breath. The upside is how my fitness is gradually improving.
Teaching the monks is another mighty experience. On the first day, Dawa, our IVHQ Tibetan co-ordinator, gave us volunteer teachers a briefing on what we could expect. The only problem was that his English could do with a bit of a buffing up, so at times it was quite hard to understand exactly what he was saying.
Dawa, Tibetan IVHQ co-ordinator
Anyway, I teach three lessons a day. Four and half hours in total.
My first lesson lasting two hours was conducted beneath a tree in a kind of park area with two young Tibetan monks and a Mongolian couple.
I am amazed at how much English they already know, but their accents are simply dreadful, and if you can get a Tibetan and Mongolian to pronounce ‘V’ with any clarity, sign up with IVHQ to teach right away.
Sherab and Rinchen, the two Tibetan monks, told me they were dispatched to the monastery by their parents at the age of nine and ten respectively. Sherab, a thoughtful, quiet twenty-seven-year-old who loves to paint Buddhist Thangkas and read short stories, said that his mother had decided on this particular path for him because he was so small for his age.
For thirty-year-old Rinchen, who is obsessed with basketball (he plays in his robes) and loves to hang out with his friends, it was because his mother couldn’t think of what else to do with him.
I got the impression from both of them that this wasn’t necessarily what they would have wished for themselves, but they had accepted their fate with good grace, and the expectation of reaping good karma in their next incarnation.
Lobsang Charphel and Lobsang Tenzin
My second lesson is with Lobsang Charphel and Lobsang Tenzin, two older monks who live in the Dalai Lama’s temple complex, with very little English between them.
They are utterly delightful and giggle most of the time, especially when I demonstrated the difference between walking, running, limping, and crawling.
They also learnt the words for ‘floor’, ‘ceiling’ and ‘scissors.’ Scissors proved to be a bit of a challenge pronunciation-wise, but they are game for anything.
We also ‘took off our shoes’ and ‘put on our shoes’, and we ‘picked up the toothbrush’ and ‘put down the toothbrush.’ More beaming smiles when they got the hang of that.
My final lesson is with Zorigoo from Mongolia. This is an hour of conversation rather than a full on teaching, so the two of us retired to a café where I ordered a sorely-needed cup of tea.
Zorigoo has a passion for horse riding (Mongolian national pastime) and holds great admiration for his hero, Genghis Khan (he is God in Mongolia). He also told me about Ysuhbayar, the most famous wrestler in the land, who I guess is the equivalent to our David Beckham.
Zoirgoo has come to India with his girlfriend to learn English (not much opportunity in Mongolia) and is passionate about saving the Shonkhor, a small eagle, that the Arabs are capturing in huge numbers for hawking back in their own countries.
View of the Himalayas
After I finished my day, all I could think of was cold beer. So I headed for a lovely café with panoramic views of the snow-capped Himalayas, and remained there enjoying a super-large bottle of Kingfisher beer until it was time to head down those perilous steps to Payma and supper.
My first day working as an English teacher has been a wonderful experience, and I am looking forward to settling in properly. But I am very glad that I do have previous teaching experience, because it’s quite something to be thrown into the deep end without a single teaching resource. Nothing is provided, so you have to think on your feet and improvise.
Certainly my twenty-five-year-old IVHQ colleague who has never taught before found it a huge challenge, particularly when she was ushered into a class of eight monks with only one English grammar book between them.
But this is the adventure we signed up for, and I am thrilled to be here.
I see the challenge ahead as a fantastic opportunity to learn about a way of life that is so completely different from my own in the UK, and to know that teaching is never a one-way street.
One of the main streets in McLeod Ganj
A gruelling bus journey soothed by the Dalai Lama, himself!
29 May 2012 1 Comment
in All posts Tags: Dalai Lama, Dharamsala, International Volunteer Headquarters, IVHQ, McLeod Ganj
Okay, so the bus stop in the middle of a Delhi slum wasn’t exactly London’s Victoria Coach station, and the road certainly wasn’t a motorway, but this was a journey I’m glad I didn’t miss.
It started for me (I was travelling with four other IVHQ volunteers) with two delicious potato cakes from a food stall holder for the massive sum of four rupees (around five pence).
Lulled into a false sense of camaraderie with the locals, I handed my suitcase to a lean, just post-pubescent youth with a wispy beard and moustache who was loading luggage underneath the air-conditioned bus to Dharamsala.
He took my case, threw it in, and demanded twenty rupees for the trouble. When I challenged him – there was no mention of having to pay for luggage when the tickets were purchased – he hauled my case out again.
‘Can you please put this back,’ I said. ‘No,’ he replied, his eyes flashing. I knew I was in trouble (you learn fast in India).
Luckily our taxi driver stepped in and bargained Whispy-Beard down to ten rupees. My case was reinstated and I climbed abroad the bus feeling more than a little miffed, but keen not to upset this little upstart any further. The driver cheered me up, with displays of much back-slapping and hand-shaking with his colleagues.
We set off more or less on time, at half past six in the evening, and shortly stopped at a second pick-up point. An American couple in their mid-twenties joined us. They were coping admirably with a cock-up with their tickets. The bus they had meant to take had already left.
Our bus set off again, but a few minutes later we were back at the original bus stop. Hmmm. We picked up more people. Once more we set off, this time getting a little further afield, but, Hey Presto! In no time, we were again back were we started.
Why? I have no idea, nor, it seemed did anyone else on the bus, even the most hardened of our fellow Indian travellers.
After several minutes of uncertainty all round, a blue-shirted official struggling to maintain control over his bulbous stomach waved us off with a flick of his wrist, and we finally jolted forth for Dharamasala on our epic eleven-hour overnight journey.
Within an hour we had pulled into a rest stop.
‘Twenty minutes,’ warned the young man in a green t-shirt who had thoroughly checked our tickets.
Within fifteen minutes, all we Europeans were back on the bus as commanded. The Indians, including Mr Driver-Who-Everyone-Liked and his colleague, Green-T-Shirt-Who-Duz-The-Tickets, clearly had a different understanding of time. After forty-five minutes, they finally reappeared, and off we went again. I settled back, wrapped in the blanket provided, with my blow-up pillow secured around my neck. Ah! Time for a good sleep.
Not a bit of it. Road surfaces in India are appalling at best and catastrophic at worst. This was going to one almighty bone-shaker.
As we drove on, we passed numerous vehicles parked (sometimes, double parked) at the side of the road, with passengers stretched out under blankets on the ground alongside them, evidently trying to get some sleep just yards from trucks and night buses thundering by. I wonder whether India has laws that stop some bus and coaches from proceeding after nightfall.
Apart from my bones being jogged and jarred to the marrow, all continued well until we pulled into a petrol station. By now it was heading for 2.00am. I couldn’t find my sandals, which had shot off on their own expedition under the seats, so I had to go to the loo barefoot. An interesting experience.
So, we all got on board again and nestled down. The bus engine roared into life and we were away. Two seconds later, the bus screeched to a halt. Mr Driver-Who-Everyone-Liked tore off the bus, with Green-T-Shirt-Who-Duz-The-Tickets in hot pursuit. For some unknown reason, Mr Driver proceeded to have a massive run-in with a maroon-turbaned lorry driver who had drawn in beside the petrol pumps.
Mr-by-now-Very-Cross-Lorry-Driver pulled out his mobile phone, but I don’t think it was his mother he was calling. His action sent Mr Driver-Who-Everyone-Liked into an apoplectic fit. Much finger jabbing and verbal abuse on both sides.
In stepped a lanky garage security guard with loaded rifle slung over his shoulder, supported by a gaggle of fretting petrol attendants. Finally Mr Driver-Who-Everyone-Liked turned his heel on maroon-turbaned lorry driver, stalked back to the bus and off we went.
Only to draw up two minutes later outside a Sheikh shrine.
Green-T-Shirt leapt off the bus, threw aside his shoes, donned a scarf from a bin, and proceeded to pray at the shrine. He completed what he needed to do and headed for the bus. But Mr Driver-Who-Everyone-Liked was also off the bus, making a mobile call aided by several Sheikh priests clad in white.
One was much more important than the rest. He had a gold dagger attached to his rope waist band and marched importantly up and down holding a long golden stave as if on a military parade ground.
I have no idea who Mr Driver was calling, or why (I can only assume it was connected to Mr-Very-Cross-Lorry-Driver). I just wished he’d get back on the f***ng bus and f***ing well DRIVE. It was by now nearly quarter to three in the morning.
Eventually, both he and Green-T-Shirt returned to the bus and wheels rolled. Two minutes later we were stationary outside The Moon Hotel, a concrete dome and glass affair which promised air-conditioned rooms and the place to hold weddings.
Green-T-Shirt and Mr Driver got off the bus and opened one of the luggage compartments. I swear Mr Driver climbed inside, but I can’t be sure because I couldn’t really see what is going on. He must have got out again because the bus moved off, and we were now doing a mighty speed. Potholes, be damned.
After an hour or so, we began to climb. And climb. And climb. The bus lurched round zig-zag corners
at alarming angles, sending water bottles careering off luggage racks and rolling around the floor for the rest of the journey.
By this time, my body and soul were desperate for sleep, but my alarm system was blowing a force twelve flight-fight-freeze gale.
As dawn approached and we neared Dharamsala, we were met by what seemed to be the entire Indian army out on an early morning run. We passed the town’s Christian burial site, home to the bones of so many colonial men, women and children, and then a scrub fire which would have had the whole of the Gloucestershire (where I come from) fire brigade racing to put it out. But this is India, so we hurtled past without a care.
After several more hair-raising bends, we drew into our destination, safe if not sound, stumbling from the bus dazed and falling relieved at the feet of Dawa, our wonderful project coordinator.
He scooped us up and led the way to our home stays. But our adventures for the day were not over. Dawa told us that the Dalai Lama, whose base in exile from Tibet is of course right here in Dharamsala, had just returned from a triumphant trip to England where he had been awarded the very prestigious John Templeton prize.
We parked our bags and raced to a corner on the road where His Holiness was to drive past. Battling terminal exhaustion, we joined a host of flag-waving Buddhists, Hindus, Christians, Muslims and atheists eager for a glimpse of this extraordinary man.
At last, after two long and increasingly hot hours, a blast of police sirens and we all surged forward only to be pushed back again by the Dalai Lama’s security men.
Cavalcade heading to Dalai Lama’s home in Dharamsala
I had my camera primed and caught a shot of the lead car. But I completely missed the second car, which had the Dalai Lama, grinning from ear to ear – as he does – seated in the front passenger seat and giving his traditional prayer greeting.
But I didn’t care. It was one of those unexpected precious moments in life.
And, that’s what travelling is all about.
The end of the first week with IVHQ India
26 May 2012 Leave a Comment
in All posts Tags: Bollywood, IVHQ India. International Volunteer Headquarters, Kingfisher airways, Vicky Donor
The end of the first week with IVHQ India approaches. And, what a week it’s been.
I arrived just before a massive storm hit New Delhi airport. Hats off to the Kingfisher Airways pilot. It was one hell of a bumpy ride in. My legs were still like wobbly jelly when I walked through arrivals to be met by an IVHQ driver. Was I glad to see him.
As we drove towards the hostel flashes of lightening lit up the meanest black sky I have ever seen, and the wind began to howl. I only understood the full consequence of this storm a few days later.
The IVHQ hostel is located in Gurgaon, a new city located north of Delhi itself, a sprawling mass of high rise
flats in gated and guarded compounds catering for the new middle class Indian. It feels like these monstrous pink blocks have been literally thrown up, and it wouldn’t take much for them to tumble down. On the streets outside, of course, live a heaving mass of the much less fortunate.
The IVHQ hostel is the home and office of Ananta Kumar, project co-
ordinator for IVHQ, and his wife Namrata. Both are simply delightful, nothing is too much trouble, and Ananta’s infectious giggle could charm the eagles out of the sky, unless, that is, he’s being beaten at Shithead (my favourite card game).
Ten volunteers were sitting around the table eating supper when I arrived, all aged under 25. But they were most welcoming and relieved that my plane had landed safely before the storm had taken hold.
In the morning several volunteers left for their assignments, leaving a core group of four Canadians, one Irish, one Chinese and myself. Their average age is 22, so we’re talking about an almost four decade age gap here, but it’s been nothing less than a delight and privilege to be with them.
Our orientation week has included seeing the sights of Delhi in a sweltering 41 degrees. As we drooped around Gandi’s tomb, I had to agree with Al’s sentiment (he’s Canadian from Pakistani origin) : ‘This is more like a chore than a joy.’ But over two days we gamely did The Qutub Minar, India Gate, The Red Fort, and Humayun’s Tomb.
However, it was the bustling, stinking, evocative Indian market on the way to the Qila-i-Kuhran Mosque that really did it for me. 
Once at the mosque, similar to all the other places we’d been, we soon became a focus of curiosity. It’s more irritating than anything else, and most move away once they have their photograph.
We’ve also had Hindi lessons: ‘Merra naam Sue hai’ (you can guess) and been to see ‘Vicky Donor’, the new Bollywood sensation.
Even though I couldn’t understand a word, I loved it. It’s a comedy about sperm donation with lots of in jokes about the differences between Punjabi and Northern Indian culture. Namrata, sitting beside me, was crying with laughter, which made me laugh anyway. I hope they bring it out in the UK with subtitles.
On the way to the see the film, Ananta and Namrata took me to a slum to hand in some clothes. I had no idea what to expect, but when we arrived we discovered that the storm had completely destroyed the slum, which had stretched for miles. There was literally nothing left apart from bits of plastic blowing in the breeze and a few desolate groups of people sheltering under scraggy trees, trying to put some kind of shelter back together again.
As soon as Ananta slowed down, ragged children and limping adults raced towards the car, hands outstretched. ‘Throw the bag out of the window,’ Ananta cried, ‘otherwise they will break the car.’
I understood what he meant as a host of grubby palms started to batter the windows. I threw the bag at them and we zoomed off. It was one of the most helpless moments of my life. The West may be experiencing recession, but we have no idea about this kind of poverty and deprivation. It reminded me of Cormac McCarthy’s post-apoplectic tale, The Road.
But the highlight of the week for me is how we vollies have morphed into this quirky little family 
group. Everyone gets on well and is respectful of each other’s differences, which has made me realise how set in our ways we older adults can become. I find their hunger and enthusiasm for life invigorating, and would recommend any older person to take the risk and go for it. But you do need to be flexible.
While staying at the hostel, the volunteers sleep in small mixed dormitories. I was fortunate to be offered a room to myself (there was one spare, which is not always the case) but I will be sharing when I get to Dharamsala.
The accommodation is basic, not madly comfortable, and the ceiling fans clatter at night (no air-con) in a vain attempt to manage the stultifying heat and, although they don’t last long, the intermittent power cuts can be annoying when you’re reading. So if you want to come to India choose your time carefully.
You also need to be aware of the loo paper situation. Most modern homes have western styled loos (questionable concept since there is such a dreadful water shortage). But the rest are squat loos. The Indians do not use loo paper, they prefer to wash themselves – always with their left hand, which I think is much more hygienic and doesn’t clog up the works. However, it’s a good idea to bring a couple of rolls for those dire situations which can occur on your travels.
I would also suggest you bring a blow-up pillow, a pack of cards, a damn good book, a computer (wireless network is everywhere), a mobile phone (you can buy a local sim card very cheaply), cotton clothing, and the awareness that young people know what plight the world is in. If this planet is going to be saved, it will be by the kind of youngsters with whom I am currently sharing my life.
Tomorrow we head for Dharamsala courtesy of an eleven hour overnight bus journey, and a lot more adventures. So, fir milenge (see you later).
Almost off on my IVHQ adventures!
18 May 2012 1 Comment
in All posts Tags: Cotswolds, EFT, Eva Marthan, International Volunteer Headquarters, IVHQ, sex and the menopause, The D-Word
Almost there. Within 48 hours (all going well) I will be at Mumbai airport, boarding the two hour Kingfisher flight to Delhi.
I am feeling a mixture of excitement and anxiety, but good news! The EFT tapping seems to have worked. The prospect of a nine hour flight to India does not fill me with the usual dread (although, of course, I might feel differently as I clip my seatbelt on for take-off). So a heartfelt thank you to Eva, and keep at it. There’s lots of nervous folk out there who need your help.
The build up to my departure has been a delightful slowing down, seeing lots of friends, and having a jolly good clearing out. There is not a cupboard in the house which has not had me bottom up, hurling things over my shoulder into the charity bag or into another one labelled ‘the dump.’ Some of this stuff has been with me for years, festering in drawers rarely opened and even, shamefully, moving house with me eight years ago. I guess you can only get rid of things when you’re ready.
But why, in the west, do we accumulate such unnecessary clutter? Because we can, I suppose. I am very conscious that I am going to a culture where vast numbers of people can’t afford even a pair of shoes. It’s a humbling thought.
I still have no idea in what form my IVHQ volunteering is going to take shape. But I’m not particularly bothered about that. I am taking with me a Bon Voyage card that my dear friend Luchinda sent, reminding me that ‘Life is a journey, not a destination.’ I’ve decided that’s going to be my motto throughout my adventures and hopefully it will be sustaining when things get interesting.
I am also going to use my adventures to gather research for my next book, Older and Wiser. It will be the sandwich filling between writing about Sex, Meaning and the Menopause and The D-Word: Talking about Dying. More about that anon but the book will include much of what I experience as an older volunteer. I suspect I am heading for a major learning curve.
In the meantime, it’s back to packing my last bits and pieces, thoroughly enjoying these last few hours of living in the gorgeous Cotswolds, and knowing they will be here when I return.
The banking system might be a different matter…
Countdown to IVHQ adventures and dealing with fear of turbulence
10 May 2012 2 Comments
in All posts Tags: EFT, Emotional Freedom Technique, fear of flying, India, International Volunteer Headquarters, IVHQ, turbulence, Vietnam
It’s count down to my big IVHQ (International Volunteer Headquarters) Indian/Vietnam 
adventure.
In nine days I climb aboard my flight to Mumbai, and hope to catch the connecting Kingfisher flight to Delhi a few hours after my arrival. That’s not looking too hopeful at the moment. Kingfisher pilots are striking because they haven’t been paid for a while.
Oh well, that’s travelling for you. But there’s always the Mumbai Rajdhani Express from Mumbai Central station to New Delhi. It takes a good eighteen hours but I love the magic and mayhem of Indian rail journeys and the food is always sensational – although the loos can be interesting.
I am not sure what to expect from my placement to teach English in Dharamsala. The IVHQ booklet asks for flexibility and the willingness to smile in the face of adversity. So that’s what I intend to do. I will be staying with a Tibetan family in McLeod Ganj (Upper Dharamsala – named after David McLeod, a British Lieutenant-Governor of Punjab) and will be teaching about four hours a day. Quite to whom at this stage, I have no idea. It could be at one of the Tibetan schools in the area or with local teachers or even to groups of monks. More on that when I get there, although I hope I am as prepared as I can be. Yesterday I went to the local Pound Shop and stocked up on pens, bubbles, sticky numbers and letters and a bunch of balloons sporting the Union Jack logo.
But first I spend time in Delhi on an orientation week learning basic Hindi and getting to know a little about the rich complexity of Indian culture. This includes trips to the fabulous Locus Baha’i Temple, India Gate, The Red Fort and a Bollywood film. A must for anyone who is serious about India.
The biggest challenge (apart from dealing with the dread of flying – back to that in a moment) is what to take. I dragged out a super-large suitcase from the cupboard into which I threw my entire wardrobe. Following a few heated words with my husband (‘You’re insane to take that much’), it’s been replaced with a much smaller case, and I can see the sense. It’s daft to lug around stuff you’re never going to use, and anyway, how much do you actually need? In hot climates, very little.
As mentioned above, I have an overwhelming fear of flying. And, I am fed up with it. That’s a good thing because in the coming four and half months I will be taking at least twelve flights, most of them long haul.
So today I spent several hours sweating over websites that claim to help people deal with their fear of flying, or in my case, turbulence.
And, Glory Be, I think it might, possibly, perhaps, maybe have worked. I’ve learnt that turbulence is caused by changing air currents, isn’t dangerous at all, and that the plane rarely rises and falls more than a few inches, even in the most severe turbulence. Hmm. Not my experience when coming into land at Beijing a few years ago. But I do take on board how turbulence is caused by the speed of the plane hitting a kind of road-bump in the sky. I just don’t, don’t, don’t like it.
After watching a host of self-help YouTube videos, I found Eva Marthan to be the best. She teaches a simple EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique) method that actually seemed to help. If it really has worked, I shall leave my beloved cat for her!
I plan to blog regularly about what I encounter, particularly how Indian and Vietnamese cultures treat older women (I fly to Vietnam at the end of June to work for five weeks with an eco-tourism NGO before my husband joins me for a couple of months travelling through South East Asia, New Zealand and the US). I hope to come back with a much broader understanding of my own aging process and how I can put this to good use.
Please do get in contact via my website site if you want to. I will be delighted to hear from you, and to share my experiences with you.
Another Day Talking About Sex, Meaning and the Menopause
30 Jan 2012 1 Comment
in All posts, Menopause and ageing Tags: ageing, early onset menopause, menopause, sex and the menopause
This time the workshop took place in Sailsbury with a group of 16 therapists and counsellors. Five (including the only man – thanks again, for being there) were in their fifties and (apart from the male therapist) well into the menopause. Ten were in their forties, and one – a pregnant counsellor who worked with people with learning difficulties – was in her thirties.
Of course, many similar themes emerged to those I wrote about in my previous blog, so I won’t go over old ground. However, I will outline different issues that this particular group raised.
Again, this was very much a day of exploration. The day was split into two sections. During the morning, we looked at the personal experience of the menopause. In the afternoon, we discussed different ways to improve working with older female clients, couples, and younger women with early onset menopause.
A day of talking about sex, aging and the menopause, not forgetting ‘hot tongue’.
23 Jan 2012 1 Comment
in All posts, Menopause and ageing Tags: aging, death and aging, early onset menopause, facing mortality, hot tongue, menopause, mother's menopause
Following my article in Therapy Today on Menopause: How Women Suffer in Silence, I have started to run a series of workshops on Sex, Meaning and the Menopause aimed at counsellors and therapists to develop better awareness of working with older women, how the menopause affects relationships, and the impact of early onset menopause on younger women.
Last week I worked with a group 12 participants, including two men. Two therapists were in their mid forties, most well into their fifties, and a couple in their early sixties.
The following is a summary of the discussions that took place. There are no absolutes here. This was very much a day of personal and professional exploration and discovery. But I do hope that these points may resonate with anyone reading this blog, and even help you on your own journey of understanding the menopause.
Introductions
As each participant introduced themselves, and stated what they wanted out of the day, I was astounded that even therapists who promote and practice self development and self awareness seldom talk to each other about this profound change of life. One participant said she felt a huge rage about what was happening to her, and this was affecting her relationship with her husband and children. She wanted to know if others were having similar experiences. Another said, ‘I want to understand the deeper aspects of the menopause. I never talk about this.’ One participant asked, ‘I feel invisible. Is that normal?’ One of the men confessed, ‘I’m here because I haven’t got a clue about it.’
Personal experiences
In small groups, I encouraged participants to discuss their own experiences of the menopause, and to think about the different ways it affected their lives.
These were the main points that came out of their discussions:
Overall, participants expressed anger and concern about how little information was available about the emotional and psychological impact of the menopause (early onset menopause, even less so). Rather the menopause tends to be ridiculed or dismissed. Women, themselves, will dismiss how they are feeling as ‘there’s no point making a fuss.’
As it’s not an illness or disease, GPs seem to have little time for the menopause. Yet, the menopause is much more complex than the message: ‘You’re through it as soon as your period has stopped for twelve months.’ Several participants felt outraged by this misnomer. Clearly distressed, one participant said, ‘I feel that it’s never going to end.’
There are also too many glib messages that state how the menopause can be ‘fixed’ with medication such as hormone replacement therapy (HRT). One participant said she felt ashamed to admit she wanted to take HTR to ‘stem her wrinkles’. Others were suspicious of the health risks, or did not want to take it. All wanted much clearer information on the pros and cons of HRT.
Participants were also concerned about an over-focus in the media on ‘anti-aging. ‘But you can’t anti-age,’ said one participant, ‘That’s ridiculous.’ Others spoke of how sad they felt about the way important rites of passage were not longer practiced in our modern society. Reaching the menopause is a profoundly life changing process for a woman, but it’s as if it doesn’t really exist.
Some participants spoke about being at an age where they were now caught between elderly parents and children still at home, or having to help out with grandchildren. ‘When it is going to be my time?’ said one participant. Others, however, were experiencing a sense of liberation. Another participant said, ‘At last I can do what I want.’
Several participants spoke of uncomfortable physical symptoms such as hot sweats. One participant’s GP told her she’d probably have to put up with them for the rest of her life[1]. That was very hard for her to accept. Another participant was experiencing a little known symptom called ‘hot tongue’ (the tip of the tongue becomes uncomfortably over heated). Her GP assured her this was due to the menopause, and at some point would cease. This was a new one on me, and none of the other participants had heard of this before either.
Sexual changes are rarely spoken about. Media messages seem to focus on ‘something is wrong when a woman no longer wants sex.’ Everything seems to be about continuing to have a healthy sex life no matter how old you are. The participants agreed that sexual changes during the menopause are much more complex than that. When a woman brings up the subject of low libido or painful sex, GPs tend to shrug their shoulders and hand over a prescription for HRT.
Much discussion focused around the sense of loss experienced during menopause, particularly the loss of sexual attractiveness. This can be devastating for some women. The loss of fertility also caused much distress. ‘Knowing you can’t have another baby is awful. Your purpose of being a woman is finished,’ said one participant. Another, who had an early onset menopause turning forty, had to accept she had lost the chance of ever having children. ‘It was devastating,’ she said. Another participant spoke about feeling a loss of identity: ‘Who am I? Just who is this crazy woman?’
All the participants realised that reaching the menopause marked a time of transition from young person into someone who, as one participant put it, was ‘moving towards death.’ Others spoke about an increased feeling of mortality, and the need to ‘forgive yourself for growing older.’ One participant spoke of a growing desire to ‘make sense of things’, while others had decided to change their Anglican faith to a more esoteric spiritual practice.
From Menstruation to Menopause
During the next exercise, I encouraged participants to compare their journey from menstruation to menopause with that of their mothers, playing attention to the messages they had may have absorbed from her about sex, sexuality, femininity, menopause, and aging. I also invited them to consider any crisis their mother might have got through as she reached the menopause. The two male therapists looked at how their mother’s journey had affected their attitude towards women, and their own aging process.
Most realised their mothers had never spoken about the menopause. There was a sense of ‘coping and getting on with it.’ Some mothers had had a hysterectomy, which was never discussed in the family. ‘It just wasn’t done to mention things below the waist’, said one participant. However, it was also recognised that stoicism was very much part of this older generation’s attitude to life.
One participant who had been estranged from their mother, said, ‘I worked out that my mother must have been going through a dreadful time while having the menopause. I feel much more compassion for her now.’ Another participant admitted she had been determined to do the menopause differently from her mother, and had harboured deep resentment towards her. The exercise helped her to understand her mother’s helplessness.
Working with clients
In the afternoon participants looked at how to take these insights into their therapuetic work with older females, couples, and women with early onset menopause. Following are the major points that were discussed.
Working with older women
- Participants were much more aware of how the menopause might affect older female clients. They were also aware that some women are in denial of the menopause, or refuse to admit they are aging. This can be a very sensitive subject to introduce, and to manage. However, it’s important to provide information that the menopause is a process, not a one-stop event.
- Menopausal women can feel isolated and misunderstood. Some women develop depression at this time, and struggle with low self esteem. It was generally agreed that if an older woman is experiencing mood swings or distressing symptoms, she should talk to her GP about the possibility of being menopausal. Knowing there could be the reason for low moods can help.
- Some participants said they might struggle if a client was insistent on using cosmetic surgery as an anti-aging solution. It would be important to work with underlying core beliefs such as low self esteem, or a fear of aging.
- Working women facing the menopause can be particularly vulnerable. Some women have been known to leave work rather than admit they are experiencing distressing symptoms. Highly successful women can suddenly experience a loss of confidence, or suddenly find themselves side-lined.
- Some older women may come into therapy because of relationship problems. Sometimes this is due to sexual changes, although many women choose to leave their partners during the menopause. They’ve had enough of ‘looking after everyone else.’ Other women are abandoned by their partners, who often look for younger partners.
Working with couples (gay and heterosexual)
Several therapists had not really considered how the menopause might affect relationships. The discussion developed into the following points:
- Partners can often misinterpret fading sexual interest as personal rejection. They will generally think ‘there’s something wrong with me.’ Alternatively, other partners may be completely ignorant about the menopause. Their attitude is, ‘Well, just how long is this going to last?’ It’s important to explain what the menopause is, and encourage the couple to talk about what’s happening.
- Many menopausal women develop vaginal atrophy, which means that penetrative sex becomes uncomfortable or very painful. Women can feel very pressurised by their partners to continue to have penetrative sex. On the other hand, men are often forced to accept that their wife no longer wants sex. However, this means they are also forced to deny their own sexuality. Couples may require help to explore different ways of bring intimacy into their relationship.
- During couple counselling, men more than women tend to bring up the subject of HTR as a way to fix sexual difficulties. There is so little information available for these men that they tend to research on the internet. However, most sites about the menopause promote HRT. This needs a more realistic exploration and discussion.
- Women with hot sweats often experience difficulty in sleeping. This can be disruptive to their partner. Or upsetting when the woman wants to sleep separately. It’s important to help partners to understand what’s going on, and to find a solution to sleeping arrangements.
- As their partners reach menopause, it is not unusual for men to be drawn to younger women. The work is about helping both parties to confront their aging process, and to find ways of supporting each other through this immense life transition.
Premature or early onset menopause
Again, here are the major points:
- Premature or early onset menopause usually happens because of gynaecological problems, such as endometriosis, or ovarian or uterine cancer. In most cases, a partial or total hysterectomy is performed, or the person may be given radiation treatment or chemotherapy in the case of cancer.
- The woman may be raging against the surgeon who did the hysterectomy, or she may be feeling defiled or disfigured. This can lead to a crisis of confidence, the feeling of ‘being a freak.’
- Therefore, early onset menopause is often accompanied by overriding grief and loss. These young women may well feel isolated from their peer group, and struggle to accept the loss of fertility as well as their identity as a woman.
- They may be fearful of what early onset menopause means to their relationship, or to any future relationships.
- It’s important to provide on-going support when working with these clients, and understand that they may well be traumatised by their treatments or surgery. The most important issue for a woman in this position is to find a way to regain control of her life. This would be a profound, on-going journey.
Our day together ended with a wonderful feeling of unity and acceptance. Many participants were very moved by each other’s stories, and expressed gratitude for having had the chance to really talking about the menopause. I, myself, was deeply touched by being with this band of twelve therapists, so willing to share and talk about such sensitive and personal matters.
As I said at the beginning of this blog, the discussion points I have outlined are not absolutes. They are part of a much needed on-going dialogue about how the menopause affects us all emotional and psychologically.
If you have been touched by anything you have read, or you want to raise your own points, I would love to hear from you. What you have to say is important.
[1] Acupuncture is certainly worth considering.
2012: a time to accept our mortality
03 Jan 2012 4 Comments
in All posts, End-of-life issues Tags: accepting mortality, advanced decisions, end of life, living wills, mortality
Well, here we are at the start of 2012. Normally I wouldn’t hesitate in wishing everyone a Happy New Year. But somehow I can’t bring myself to use the word ‘happy’. Not when we are confronted by such global uncertainty.
Yet on a twelve miles walk yesterday across magnificent Cotswold countryside it was easy to forget the seriousness of what humanity is facing. Thank goodness for that. I think the human spirit can take so much gloom and despondency before it innately begins to seek out something to soothe and calm the soul.
The walk certainly did that for me. It always makes me marvel to know – and trust – that the untidy mess of mouldy undergrowth and all those tight brown buds on skeletal branches will turn within not-so-many weeks into verdant hedgerows and flourishing trees.
For me, this cycle of life and death is truly miraculous and hope-filled. So hope-filled that when I returned home, I updated my living will (also known as Advanced Decision). This clearly states that I do not wish to receive life prolonging treatments or to be resuscitated if and when my quality of life deteriorates beyond what is acceptable to me. This includes dementia related illnesses. It was witnessed by a close friend, with a willing and enthusiastic flourish of her pen. That is what I call a New Year present.
Setting aside the current cross-party political debate about who is going to pay for end-of-life care for increasing numbers of elderly people, I believe that taking personal responsibility for how I want to end my life is the most significant decision I can make for my family, and, indeed, for society as a whole.
Dying back in the natural world is about clearing away the ‘old’ to make room for the new. It is also about dead vegetation creating rich compost for fresh life to thrive.
Unfortunately it appears that humanity is hell-bent on trying to cheat this fundamental law of nature. But it won’t work. Nature is already fighting back, in ways that we can’t – or don’t want to – imagine.
So my 2012 New Year wish is for us all to stop chasing the illusive state of happiness. Rather, I wish for us to learn to embrace and accept our mortality. By doing so, maybe we can experience what it feels like to truly give back to each other.
Hong Kong: at what cost?
09 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
in All posts Tags: animal rights, animal welfare, consumerism, Guangzhou, Hong Kong
I have just returned for a week in Hong Kong, which included a weekend in Guangzhou – third largest, and one of the fastest growing cities in China.
It’s hard to explain what it’s like to visit mega-metropolises such as these to people who have never been. Let’s say that in comparison, London is more like a sprawling township.
This is my second visit to Hong Kong – my first being four years ago. Within this short timeframe it felt to me that Hong Kong had quadrupled in population, pollution and most of all, noise. 
Amidst thronging streets festooned with brightly decorated banners and neon signs, the sound of drilling, hammering and pounding explodes from a multitude of building sites, adding to the chaotic honking from cars and lorries, taxis, trams and buses – all vying to gain that extra inch in traffic jams so thick it is a miracle anyone gets anywhere.
Then there’s the shopping. I’m no slouch when it comes to shopping. But this was an experience so overwhelming I found it not just exhausting, but distressing. From clothes, handbags and computers to food, animals and flowers, no matter what a shop or stall was selling it was packed with goods. Logic says there must be a market for it, but it made me question who was buying it in this kind of quantity? More important, what will happen to it all when no-one actually wants it?
I also began to notice the difference between those that have in Hong Kong, and those who clearly do not. While shop facades in downtown Hong Kong may bear the signs of Jack Wills, Marks and Spencers, Gucchi and other Western fashion icons, around the back is another matter.
I took this photograph of a tiny, dirty side street, where the less fortunate obviously sleep in the bunkbeds without overhead shelter.
Yet I was very taken with the way they cared for their shrine. It gave me hope that some kind of spirituality was respected within this human madness. Having said that, I also realised it was their symbol of hope that their circumstances would change. One day, they too will be able to own an i-pad and buy vastly expensive chattels in the array of over-the-top glitzy shopping malls that are the pride of Hong Kong.
But the most distressing for me was the blatant lack of care towards animals. 
I challenge any carnivore to visit the food market in Guangzhou are not be affected.
Guangzhou (once named Canton), a two hour train journey away, is a young modern city compared to Hong Kong. But its development over the past twenty years has been frantic and phenomenal. The city skyline is littered with bright yellow Meccano cranes towered over half built sites set to create yet more breathtaking sky-scrapers. 
Every inch of available land is commandeered as this building boom careers along at break-neck speed. The upside is employment. The downside is horrendous air pollution and devastation of water supplies, and, of course, the destruction of the old way of life.
I yearned to see old China. There were signs that it still just about exists, but I was very sad to see that such a wonderful ancient culture is all but gone. Even the pagoda on the opposite bank of the Pearl River to the awesome 612 metre high Telecom 
Tower in Guangzhou feels Disneyised. It could easily have come out of a box, ready made.
I came home disturbed by what I had seen. I will certainly never forget the experience of standing for a moment in the middle of hordes of people who had one thing on their mind: making money. It made me feel lonely and displaced.
Yet, I can also see how Hong Kong is a beacon to those who want this kind of life. And you have to take your hat off to Chinese ingenuity. But I believe it comes at a great price to us all.
The appearance of strangers, and the healing power of Handel’s Messiah
07 Nov 2011 2 Comments
in All posts Tags: Cardiff Millennium Centre, Cirencester Choral Society, Conductor David Lawrence, Hallelujah chorus, Handel's Messiah
Yesterday I took part in a mega Handel’s Messiah sing-along, prepared and performed in just one day. Conducted by David Lawrence, 1,000 voices, most certainly nearing if not well past sixty, gathered from different parts of the UK to raise the roof of Cardiff’s Millennium Centre. It’s the first time I have ever taken part in this kind of choral singing, and I am now hooked. But not just for the music.
I went with two fellow altos from Cirencester’s Choral Society, which meets and sings every Tuesday evening. We had a very jolly drive over the Severn Bridge karaoke-ing along to ‘Forwuntous a child is born,’ (number 12 in the score). Our choirmaster, and I would imagine every choirmaster/mistress in the known universe and for all time, goes apoplectic about this. It should be a clear crisp, ‘For-unto-us-a-child-is-born’, but you try singing it.
