Let me take you back to exactly 15 days ago. I’d been dreading the Monday after having over two weeks off, galivanting around (mainly our house) with my kids over Christmas and then flying across the Atlantic on my own to be with family and friends I hadn’t seen in 13 years.
There was no work lined up for me after a super slow-work December. And every freelancer knows, if you have a slow month, or even a slow week, it actually feels like you will never work again a day in your life. So I sat down at the computer after a surprisingly tearless school drop off, determined to research what was going on in the world and then pitch stories to editors, hopeful.
The day ended with absolutely nothing. I essentially worked 8 hours for free. And the same continued every single day that week. I just couldn’t focus. I was working, but not working. Looking like I was getting stuff done, but very much getting absolutely nothing done. Dry of ideas, but pushing semi-formed ones out to editors anyway in hopes of work.
Before getting the boys from school each day, I’d let out a loud scream of frustration, so pleased to be working from home with virtually deaf neighbours so that no one could hear me. I wish work success didn’t mean to much to me, because at the end of my life, I am absolutely sure it will not be what I want to define me. But during the week described, I felt lacking in value because no one was validating my efforts. In effect, my failure at work felt like a failure at life.
Not only was work pretty crap, so was my parenting. One of my boys pushed every one of my buttons all at once. Morning, 3pm, and night – there were a series of constant fusses, whinges, tantrums, and tears. Several times, I spoke to him, impatience and irritation rising up in my voice, then retreated to the other room to cry.
“He’d be better without me,” I thought to myself.
I’ve never read a parenting book I liked, but felt like heading to the library to check out every single one in hopes that someone somewhere might guide me into more angelic parenting.
All week, there was an electric charge running through my veins. My Raynaud’s fingers full of little sores from the freezing temperatures trembled. My heart rate rose. It took every effort to be kind. I just wanted to drink wine, eat chocolate and toast, and sleep. I could only do what was required of me, nothing extra.
After five days of this, I considered ringing the doctor to ask for help.
And then, there was blood.
My periods are very screwed up right now, thanks to the copper coil. So my period unexpectedly came days early, an unexpected but welcome reminder that I am not pregnant.
And with that first show of blood, I let out an audible sigh of relief: “This is why I’ve been on the verge of a breakdown.”
And yet, the emotion didn’t go. I have only just stopped bleeding 10 days after starting (another consequence of this coil is what I hear) and I only just feel more like myself.
Actual circumstances haven’t changed, but my hormones have. So I can deal with the little and big dips of life because (I think) I’ve got more estrogen, meaning I’ve also got more serotonin.
I’m not sure we women blame our hormones enough for our moods. In fact, if someone else (say a partner) asks whether we are due on when we are irritated that the sink is full of dishes yet again, we (I) often get even more irritated that someone would think I can only get irritated when my period is to blame.
But really, our hormones do have a lot to answer for. Over the last two years, some of the most acutely low periods I’ve experienced have come in the two weeks before periods. And then, in a matter of a few days, all normality is restored.
It isn’t just me. As I’ve talked to friends about my symptoms, I hear about theirs.
But what do we do with that? Well, I might see a doctor just to check in. But the reminder to consider that these emotions may be the consequence of a menstrual cycle might also be built into the diary.
These feelings will most likely pass in less than two weeks. If they don’t, make note. Just be kind to yourself. Get some sleep. Go for a walk. Try to keep your mouth closed if you think you’re going to explode venomous flames. Eat food that makes you feel good. If at all possible, reduce work stress. See a friend.
I think I’ll plug those words in my calendar on the weeks before I’m due again.
Hormones aside, it’s just January. Every January, for most people I know, is a bit of a slog. Post holidays, only glimmers of daylight, and hibernation mode. But spring is calling. We’re nearly there. Let’s just get through it.
It’s just January.
It's so tough, Lauren! I think I was 36 when I entered peri-menopause and had no idea what was going on. I suffered a lot for 9 or 10 years before I found some relief through HRT. I know you probably have lots of people giving you advice, but if you ever want to chat, I'm here! I heard this lady lately and really enjoyed her. Wish I would have heard her when I was in my 30s! https://open.spotify.com/episode/6rPJGtqN9PzewavT9uTRoa?si=PJXyChs-Tpm2oLo_afFt7A