November 12th, 2024

I caught a case of the hormones today.

A disastrous night of fitful sleep was the first symptom. Normally early to bed, early to rise, my body and brain refused to settle down until well past midnight. The sleep which followed was wrought with terrible dreams of personal and professional failure. I woke at 4:30am, drenched in sweat, dreading my alarm which was set to ring in thirty short minutes. Hell no! Not today, sister! Putting my phone on silent, I drifted in and out of stressful dreams for another hour or two.

When my body finally woke and reluctantly peeled itself from damp bedsheets, it carried me down the stairs, feeling like a ninety-eight year old woman who opens her eyes and cries in disappointment, “Why am I still alive?” The extra hour of sleep did nothing to energize my lethargy. My brick legs clomped and my shoulders slumped in protest of every movement.

I’m pretty sure my face didn’t get the memo that we were awake in the world. It felt like clay which had sat overnight on the countertop—dry and brittle, as if any little motion would leave a devastating crack in the structure.

And, the brain fog! Holy hell! If my body creaked, “No thank you” and my face was frozen in a permanent state of, “Fuck off”, my brain absolutely refused to acknowledge that life was happening around us.

I sat, sipping my coffee in a black cloud of misery. My son, galloped down the stairs, skidding into the kitchen, all six feet two inches of him wrapping his arms around me in morning greeting. The grunt I offered in return signaled for him to retreat slowly and not make eye contact. Smart boy.

My husband, however, loves to poke the bear.

“Chase,” he said to my son in a mock whisper. “I think her attitude is the only part which has woken up this morning. Look out, buddy!”

I could barely lift my head to muster a look of dark and threatening distain.

He laughed, “See! Told ya!”

He kissed my forehead and cooed, “Mi amor, you can do this today. You’ve got this!”

Because my mouth felt too exhausted to move, I replied moodily in my head. Nope, today I don’t ‘got this.’

And you know what, sistas? That’s okay. Some days, our hormones make us feel insane. Others, our bodies bleed, leaving us pale and iron deficient. Some days, we walk the earth like insomnia riddled zombies. Others, our bloated stomachs make it impossible to put on pants. Wandering through the maze of perimenopause is like a carnival from hell—unpredictable jump scares around every corner.

When my son was small, he used to say that women had “horror-mones” and truer words have never been spoken. Today, I succumb to the rollercoaster of estrogen and progesterone wreaking havoc on my body. I will be gentle with the expectations I place upon myself. Wrapped in coziness, I will gift myself a little grace.

Tomorrow, I will rise again and conquer the world.
​
Maybe.