The Weight Within
A painting born from the emotional weight of perimenopause, and the unexpected hope I found
within it.
26 July 2026
I know this may seem like a strange painting. In some ways, it feels that way to me too. But I painted it at a time when I needed somewhere to put emotions I couldn’t quite make sense of.
When my thoughts feel overwhelming, I paint.
Art has become a form of therapy for me. It gives me a place to process emotions that don’t always have words yet, and on the day I created this piece, that was exactly what I needed.
I’ve been dealing with symptoms of perimenopause for a while now, but over the last year they have become increasingly intense. The past few months have been the hardest so far. Even writing the words “so far” leaves me feeling a little afraid of what might come next.
The closest way I can describe it is that it feels like an alien has moved into my body.
I feel like I’m trying to crawl out of my own skin. I don’t always feel like myself, and that is not only strange, it also feels really scary.
What surprised me most wasn’t that perimenopause exists. It was how little I understood it before I found myself living through it. I’d heard the word menopause all my life, but I had never really learned what comes before it or how profoundly it can affect someone’s body and mind.
Looking back, I wish I’d known more.
The changes can be subtle at first. Then one day you realize how many pieces of yourself have quietly shifted. Your skin changes (hello, mysterious face rash). Your hair changes (frizz has become my new companion). Your internal thermostat seems completely disconnected from everyone else’s. Your emotions can change in an instant. And those are only a few of the many ways your body begins to speak a new language.
For me, it has honestly felt like a total mind fuck.
If sharing this helps even one person feel less alone, or encourages someone to learn about perimenopause before they find themselves living through it, then writing these words will have been worth it.
When I began this painting, I wasn’t trying to tell a story.
I simply needed to paint.
I started by covering the canvas with Phthalo Green using a sponge, then built layers of color with palette knives and instinctive marks. Eventually, in a moment of sadness and frustration, I threw a cup of semi-transparent Payne’s Grey paint across the canvas.
I tilted it.
I let it drip.
Then I dragged the paint across the surface with my longest palette knife.
When everything settled, I stopped and looked.
That’s when I saw her.
A woman’s face.
A single tear running down her cheek.
It felt like the painting had quietly reflected back exactly how I was feeling.
So I left it alone and let it dry.
When I returned a day later, I was in a much better place emotionally.
The face was still there.
The tear was still there.
But I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.
The dark shape also reminded me of a butterfly wing.
Hints of color were shining through the darkness. Was it already in flight? Or was it still waiting to emerge?
That simple observation changed something for me.
A butterfly goes through an extraordinary transformation before it ever spreads its wings. I found myself wondering what changes are happening inside the caterpillar during that time. Everything is being rearranged before something entirely new can emerge.
Maybe I could think about this stage of life differently.
Maybe instead of imagining an alien living inside my body, I could imagine a cocoon.
Not something that has come to destroy me.
Something preparing me for whatever comes next.
Maybe one day these wings will fully open, and I’ll recognize myself again.
I decided to call this piece The Weight Within because, to me, it holds both heaviness and hope.
We all carry invisible weights.
Sometimes they’re grief.
Sometimes anxiety.
Sometimes illness.
Sometimes change.
Sometimes they are simply seasons of life that ask more of us than we feel prepared to give.
The weight is real.
But it doesn’t erase who we are.
Just like the colors beneath the Payne’s Grey, our true selves don’t disappear. They become harder to see for a while.
Today, I no longer look at this painting and see an alien.
I see someone in the middle of a transformation.
The colors were always there beneath the shadow.
Perhaps they just needed time to emerge again.
The Weight Within 46 × 55 cm