I’ve had a hate-hate relationship with my uterus since high school. Damn it, when those monthly menstrual cramps immediately benched me from my normal adolescent activities. 

This monthly disturbance carried on into college and my mid-twenties until a planned pregnancy with my new husband. A short ten weeks in and two weeks after we announced at Christmas that we were pregnant, I learned that the baby’s heartbeat had stopped. I was instructed to meet the doctor at the hospital immediately. It was a Monday morning, so I had to call my boss and tell him I had a “womanly emergency.” I then called my husband, who came to the hospital from his San Francisco office.

I was 26 years old.

It was difficult to understand what had happened and why. At the time, I didn’t have a solid understanding of my body.

Life moved forward. I became more aware of my eating habits and paid much more attention to a healthy lifestyle. I have two beautiful children with my husband of 25 years: a 22-year-old son and a 20-year-old daughter—both bright and healthy.

Those pesky monthly cramps were less annoying after my pregnancies and breastfeeding. I was a fit, tall rectangle who could wear practically anything while chasing after two very active kids. 

The plot twisted when my youngest was five years old, and my gynecologist noticed a small cyst growing on my left ovary. We monitored it over the next decade until it grew sizable enough for him to have a tantrum about removing it immediately. I asked my girlfriends what they thought and got a second opinion from a highly regarded doctor who ultimately performed the surgery at UCSF in February 2021. 

The number one reason why I said yes was a fear that I would bleed out and require emergency surgery, much like what happened to my mother in her 50s. I thought I was choosing the more responsible and proactive route.

Not a day goes by that I don’t question my decision. My cramps are the worst they’ve ever been; I gained weight in my middle, my boobs literally doubled in size, and my butt easily fills up an airplane seat when I fly.

Today, I am 50 years old. 

My body is softer, and so is my heart.

Over the last twelve years in business, I have heard from clients who have told me about their difficulty getting dressed because they are bloated or uncomfortable wearing certain garments. I have happily restyled their looks and earnestly made adjustments, but now I can actually feel what they were feeling.

I approach styling much like an architect does when they draw with angles and shapes. It helps that geometry comes easily to me, and I aced my Architectural Drawing course in college. The human body is a three-dimensional canvas requiring insight into how fabrics drape, where they hit at different points of the body, and what the wearer wants to expose or hide. 

When Leonardo da Vinci drew the Vitruvian Man in 1490, he explored ideal human proportions based on geometric principles. He believed the human form could be understood through circles and squares, representing a perfect universal harmony. But my journey as a stylist has taught me something different: no ideal proportion exists. Our bodies are constantly evolving canvases, each telling its own unique story. 

My changing body has revolutionized how I approach styling. Where I once saw “figure flaws” to minimize, I now see opportunities to celebrate new curves and create fresh silhouettes. When a client tells me she’s struggling with menopausal weight changes, I don’t just reach for the traditional “slimming” solutions. Instead, I share my own story and show her how to work with her body’s new landscape, not against it.

These physical changes have transformed my styling approach in concrete ways:

– I now start each session by asking clients how they want to feel in their clothes, not just how they want to look

– I’ve developed a “comfort-first” approach to selecting fabrics, especially for women experiencing hot flashes or temperature sensitivity

– I’ve mastered the art of strategic layering that allows for body fluctuations while maintaining style

– I’ve learned to create optical illusions with color blocking and pattern/fabric placement that celebrate rather than “correct” body shapes

My personal evolution has deepened my professional expertise. When a client recently burst into tears over her changing body, I didn’t just sympathize – I understood. I showed her how to adapt her wardrobe to her new shape while maintaining her signature style. We discovered together that style isn’t about fitting your body into predetermined ideals; it’s about dressing the body you have today with confidence and grace.

At 50, I’ve learned that our bodies aren’t just geometric puzzles to be solved; they are also flowing rivers that change course over time. My own journey from being that young woman in the hospital to becoming a stylist who truly understands women’s bodies in transition has taught me that our “imperfections” often become our greatest strengths. My perimenopausal middle hasn’t just changed my shape – it’s reshaped my entire approach to styling, making me more empathetic, innovative, and effective at helping women feel beautiful at every stage of life.

The relationship with my body may still be complicated, but it’s evolved from hate-hate to something more like respect and understanding. Every roll, curve, and change has become a lesson in adaptation, creativity, and grace – lessons I now share with every client who walks through my door.

After all, isn’t that what true style is about? Not forcing ourselves into someone else’s ideal, but finding beautiful ways to express who we are right now, in this body, at this moment. My perimenopausal middle has taught me that, and it’s the most valuable styling lesson I’ve ever learned.