issue no. 36

In the midst of the ‘pause’

the hormonal impact of design

Please note this is told from personal experience only, through the lens of a white, cisgendered, able-bodied female, and is in no way meant to speak for or represent everyone’s experience.

As in all the things I write, there will be blind spots. I offer my sincerest apologies in advance for any accidental ones. My intention is always love + respect.

As always, thank you for reading.

XO, Krista

I am in it, folks – the pause that feels more like a jet propulsion to an out-of-body experience: Perimenopause. I am thoroughly feeling the rollercoaster of all the things they whispered might come. And for some ungodly reason, I assumed I could overcome it alone.

My mom never experienced it, which seems to be a common theme for her generation. “Yeah, I don’t think I had it,” she casually responded, as though I‘d inquired about a leg cramp. An entire generation suffering in silence, so well versed in the need to suppress their experience that they literally don’t remember it. And for a while, a small part of me hoped she was right and that maybe her impenetrable hormones had been graciously passed down to me.

But alas, I am not a unicorn. So, I figured when it does happen, well, I’ll just power through it. Let me ride this biological body wave and see all that it has to show me - all the punishing, depressing, sleep-deprived, sobbing beauty that is meant to be revealed. What is it about being a woman that makes us believe we must endure to be worthy?

As though my suffering will meet some intangible threshold, unlocking all my worldly desires. “Oh, my dear, we’ve been waiting for you. Congratulations! You’ve successfully reached the suffering quota. Please proceed to receive all your blessings”. And of course, because I’m a perfectionist (which I tried to deny to my therapist, saying “ but I’m not good enough to be a perfectionist” - to which she just looked at me and smiled), the minimum wouldn’t be enough. Nope, I needed extra credit- more suffering, please!

Look at me- I did it! I suffered the most that I could with the cards I was dealt. Impressed?

Buuuut sometimes you look around and realize that maybe life is difficult enough, even when you’re dealt a hand of privilege. Headbutting my way through the anxiety, poor sleep, crying in the bathroom so the kids don’t see, joint pain, headaches, brain fog, irritability, mild depression, lack of joy, debilitating fatigue, weight gain, etc., seemed a little…absurd. There was help and research and a me to salvage. Not the old me, but this new evolving version. After all, doesn’t she deserve happiness too?

So, as I write this, I am on day one of my HRT (hormone replacement therapy) journey and I’m feeling…hopeful + empowered. A big shout out to my close friends who listen + share their own experiences daily in the group chat. I’d be lost without you.

How does my experience with perimenopause relate to design + architecture? Well, it does because everything does.

I think of it through the lens of a user- let’s say the evolution of a person with a uterus moving through the built environment. From the embarrassment of first periods in a classroom designed with fluorescent lighting, crowded desks, and zero privacy (the only escape to a public restroom that mimics that of a prison), to killer cramps with the only pelvic comfort being a ¼” thick plywood seat beneath you.

Pregnancy in sterile + racist institutions that treat you like a sick person rather than a creator of nothing short of a miniature cosmos. They deliver the bad news that you’ve miscarried (again) and while they do seem genuinely bummed for you, the humming of the machines coupled with the crinkling of your paper “gown” adds insult to injury. You’re left alone in a cold dark room, lit only by the ultrasound machine that has quickly become your nemesis. You collect yourself, wriggle upright from the awkward inclined position, walk over to your clothes folded neatly in a pile on a hideous beige chair, and get dressed. When you emerge, you’re thrust into a brightly lit hallway that leads precariously to the same waiting room where just 25 minutes ago your life was full of possibility.

We labor in rooms designed for illness rather than the powerful transformation of bringing life earthside. 30+ hour marathons on cold gray linoleum, while our partners contort themselves in a sidechair to squeeze in some rest. We birth in ways that facilitate doctors more than physiology- on our backs, legs in stirrups, dismissing every bit of intuition we have left to make room for the booming voice of authority to yell “PUSH”.

Even cats know better. They seek out a hidden corner in a dark closet, away from threat + noise, away from the distraction of anything other than what their body was designed to do. But our civilized culture lies spread-eagle on a table in a bright white, sterile room, surrounded by a staff of strangers. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs is no longer relevant.

“Architecture is the stage on which we live our lives.”

Mariam Kamara

We power through postpartum without proper support- forced back into workplaces with shameful policies + even worse design. My first lactation room (in 2009) was a public bathroom stall where I’d carefully pump between meetings, hoping my manager didn’t notice my absence. Sadly, this is by far not the worst scenario. Even sadder, this was at a well-renowned architecture firm specializing in workplace design.

Abortion facilities feel more like high school detention than a healthcare practice. Pelvic exams administered in sub-arctic temperatures. Sexual health history questionnaires so personal that they’re better suited over a glass of wine, but instead are shared under the blueish haze of an LED and with zero eye contact.

Our world is so vastly lacking in supportive design, even for the able-bodied user. We can do better. We deserve better. Our spaces are literal manifestations come to life, limited only by what we envision, so let’s dream big.

“Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody, only because, and only when, they are created by everybody.”

Jane Jacobs

Care to share your experience or have questions about resources?