I have taken my midlife by the hiking poles and stepped into the world of pilgrimage.
Back in 2010, I was getting grumpier by the day — sharp-tongued, quick to judge, and controlling every detail of my life like it was a high-stakes hostage negotiation. It wasn’t because I didn’t care; it was because I didn’t have the energy that had always been available to me.
I had no idea what was going on with me!
Some mysterious beastie had moved into my body — uninvited, loud, disruptive. I had never seen it before, and I didn’t want to now. I had always been a joyful, free-spirited adventurer, the one who’d say, “Yes, let’s!” to most things — not out of recklessness, but out of an intense need to understand what lay beneath the surface of life. I’d been bold, curious, full of spark.
But this beastie brought with it hot flushes that left me drenched and dizzy, an unquenchable craving for sugar and carbs (like I was trying to self-soothe a dragon), and a sleepiness so intense I sometimes thought I had slipped into another species.
Who was this woman I had become? And where had I gone?
I threw myself into the community projects that fed my soul, rallied others, and poured what felt like my remaining life force into causes that mattered. But I still felt trapped. I didn’t have the language or the roadmap. No one was really talking about this back then. We were still in that weird hush-hush zone where menopause was seen as the end of something — rather than the wildfire of transformation that it really is.
Six years passed. Six long years of riding that internal rollercoaster with no harness, no seatbelt, and no idea when the ride would end. Then finally — someone said the word menopause out loud. And the dam burst.
What?! That’s what I’d been experiencing. Ohhhhhh. The beastie had a name. And with a name came understanding. And with understanding came power. And with power came freedom.
And that’s where my solo walking journeys began.
My first multi-day walk was Hadrian’s Wall Path in 2017 — an 84-mile (135 km) journey across Northern England, from Bowness-on-Solway in the west to Wallsend in the east. A route steeped in ancient Roman history, with misty mornings, very high hills and low valleys, and crumbling stone walls that once marked the edge of an empire.
It was my first real solo pilgrimage outside of the hundreds of tracks I had walked alone throughout the ngahere (forest and bush) here in Aotearoa, New Zealand.
I walked the first few days in awe that my body would allow this after so many years of misuse and neglect. Once it found its flow and my mind took a back seat, I literally felt like I was on top of the world, looking out from England to Scotland, the roots of my mother’s and father’s family ancestral line. And through every step, I met myself again. Not the old me. Not the pre-menopause me. But the wiser, deeper, fiercer me.
The new woman who could stand on a hilltop in the wind and scream at the Roman Emperor Hadrian for commissioning this wall to mark the northern boundary of the Roman province of Britannia, to state claim and defend against the northern tribes.
“You idiot, Hadrian,” I screamed. “What were you thinking? You don’t even need a wall — that drop from this hilltop is like 30 metres. Who’s going to climb that?”
At that moment, I was so angry, releasing so much with the help of my disguise at Hadrian! What a great emotional release. I felt so alive, free, and walking in my beloved nature.
As the day of walking ended, I would make my way off the wall and head to our campsite for the evening. My husband had planned to walk with me but had an injury, so he set up our tent and campsite and was ready and waiting when I arrived. This was a pleasure for us both, and he could see me growing stronger by the day.
This was also the walk where I discovered I belonged to a walking community who valued the peace and quiet of the natural world and the freedom to roam.
It lit a fire in me.
What I’ve learned is this: menopause was not the end of vitality — it was the fire that burnt away who I’m not, so I could meet who I really am.
For me, that meant finding ways to move the anger, not suppress it. I didn’t need to fix it — I needed to give it room to breathe, to scream on a hilltop, to walk it out step by step, kilometre by kilometre, until it softened into clarity.
When I walked, I let the wind carry my rage. I let the trees hold me in my grief. I let my breath remind me that I was still here — and not broken, just breaking open.
Nature became my therapist, my confessional, my gym, and my classroom. I didn’t find all the answers out there on the trail, but I found something more powerful — the quiet courage to keep asking questions.
If you’re in this stage of life and feeling undone — you’re not alone, and you’re not broken. Maybe you’re in the middle of becoming?
I suggest you walk it out. Shout if you need to. The hills and valleys can be with your rage. Let yourself feel it all. That’s where the healing lives.
That walk wasn’t really the end of me — it was just the beginning. The start of a new kind of training. Not just for fitness, but for freedom. For presence. For joy.
I returned to Aotearoa, New Zealand, and began preparing for an even bigger adventure with my newfound inner fire to fuel me to newer heights.
