It might have helped if I’d known more before finding myself teetering on the railing of a bridge, clutching a Black Box of cabernet.
Had I known, I wouldn’t have felt the need to write about how worthless I feel.
If I’d been told, I wouldn’t have frantically searched the yellow pages looking for a therapist to tell me that I wasn’t having a nervous breakdown.
It would have helped to know before I found myself wrangling with either wanting to jump my manfriend’s bones or figure out why he was trying to ruin my life with his very existence.
If I had known, I’d have understood why none of the usual words weren’t helping.
I can’t be the only one who wonders why our culture so easily discusses Erectile Dysfunction and Irritable Bowel Syndrome and barely acknowledges this thing that every woman goes through.
I’ve managed to turn mood swings into an Olympic event. I go from smiling at the blue summer sky, singing to Fleetwood Mac and marveling at how good I’ve got it, to crying because I’ve inadvertently stepped on a delicate blue butterfly – all within the same ten-minute span.
As my car bumps over the railroad tracks, I wonder at the bouncy feeling of jello-y flesh above the waistband of my jeans, and vow never to take the route over the tracks again.
One minute I’m convinced I’m doing the best for my kids, the next I fantasize about them spending a night – just one freaking night – at their narcissistic father’s house. “One night won’t kill you. Please! I’m begging!”
After five consecutive days of rain, I tell myself I’ll feel better once the sun comes out. After two hours of sunshine, I’m complaining about all the yard work there is to do.
In the last couple weeks, I’ve said (sometimes screamed) all of the following:
“I’ll be nicer when the school year is over.”
“Where did I get all these knit tops? Where did I get this muffin top? The two do not belong on the same body!”
“I just need a full night’s sleep. Really. I’ll be fine.”
“What? What do you want now?! Can it wait? Can you ask your other parent? Nevermind… “
“No! It’s not my period! Shees!”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“When did I tell you that? Who are you, again?”
“Yes, I am having a little glass of red wine at lunch time. It’s like prune juice. You’ll understand when you’re my age.”
“No, I’m not anxious or depressed or moody or bitchy! God! Why do you ask me that?”
“I just need to lay down. Just for a minute. I’ll be better. I promise.”
In his patient, tolerant, kind voice, the manfriend said, “Well, do you think it might be depression?” I looked away, rolled my eyes, bit my tongue and thought, “Men!”
And that night – the third night in a row of little or no sleep – at 4:00 in the morning, I searched my lifeline. I searched the internet for depression – again. This time I searched a new tangent and explored more specific physical symptoms instead of mental health signs. I looked at things like bloating and remembered my grandmother saying, “Oh dear, bananas just don’t agree with me.”
I screamed inside my own head at the thought of turning into my grandmother.
I searched weight gain and age. I’d been thinking this thick stuff in my middle was my 50th birthday present to me.
I looked at sleeplessness and irritability and tingly skin and headaches and there it was….
A list of 34 signs of which I had at least 26.
If I’d had night sweats, I’d have known.
Hell, even I’ve heard of hot flashes, of which I have none. I’m the one always grabbing for a “lightweight sweater”. I’m always freezing. In fact, last week I may have screamed, “Give me a goddamn hot flash, would ya?”
And so, it turns out I’m at another wonderful (said with all the facetiousness I can muster) rite of passage in my femaleness – menopause.
The morning of the discovery, I delivered the good news to the kids. I said something like…
“Hey, guess what!
I’m not losing my mind!
I’m supposed to be thicker around the middle!
Yay, me!
I’m supposed to be irritable and cranky and hardly sleeping and itchy and quick to cry.
I’m supposed to want to give up one minute and kiss little cute puppies in the next minute.
I’m normal!
I’m menopausal!
Yay, me!”
To which Will replied, “Huh?”
“That means that one of these days I won’t be getting my periods any more, so we won’t have to deal with that crabbiness!”
Will said, “Yeah, I… I guess… that’s good news?”
Jenny quietly sipped her chocolate milky and didn’t say a word
I explained that periods and menopause are all part of the privilege of being able to give birth to amazing kids. I’m not sure she’s convinced.
Then I said, “Hey! At least I’m not married to a narcissist while going through menopause!”
Then I turned to walk into the kitchen, check the clock, and wonder if it was too early for a little glass of prune juice.
Tags: cuz I am Woman, gratitude, humor, in search of self, life, survive
THAT is fantastic! The story, the explanation for the symptoms, that you are happy about it.
but I feel I must warn you that even men have a ‘cycle’…
LOL!
Z,
HA!! I think I intuitively knew that about men having cycles. Thanks for giving me an idea of something else to Google at 4:00 a.m.
Something about all this reminded me a lot of discovering NPD. I had stewed, fretted, and worried and finally figured out what the deal was. Now that I know what I’m dealing with, I can go with the flow – so to speak. ;)
That’s what happened when I discovered narcissism. “Okay. This is it. Now what am I gonna do.” Information is a powerful thing.
When I read the intro on Twitter, I actually snorted and coffee flew out my nose…. Yep, good old menopause. I feel for you dear, isn’t it great? One minute or day I’m on top of the world, the next I’m in the middle of sobbing and wondering where the nearest bridge is to jump off from. I have an urge to get done EVERYTHING all at once, so then NOTHING gets done at all. Can’t sleep, feel like I’ve had 27 Mountain Dews and I haven’t had one in decades. Oh the sex part, it’s all I think about, when, where, NOW, I feel like a 16 year old male with a constant hard-on, except I’m a 51 year old flabby female. What the ???? Is there a quick fix to this great passing through the cycle of womanhood? I can’t take any hormones or weird herbs to fight it off, cold turkey this girl is…. I’ll be the one fanning myself on the porch this winter when it dips to -25 degrees.
I’m here for you through the struggle, I’ll be up all night too! We could start a club!
xoxox
Hey Annie!
Oh I’m in such good company! Imagine how many fine members in that club. We need a name…
An acronym or something…. Okay…. What about TITMAP – Think In The Middle and Proud. At least it made me laugh. ;) And if we can’t laugh…
Love it, absolutely love it. You’re a funny lady.
Toni,
Thanks for stopping by. ;)
Hi Jesse,
I am still laughing at his post. Seriously, cannot stop laughing. Thank you for your irresistable humor. I especially laughed and related to the driving over the railroad tracks! Now I know I am not alone and that has its own comfort:”soft-in-the-middle” comfort. I am still trying to find those “fabulous abs” in 20 mins a day workouts. No luck yet . . .
Hugs–
: )
Lynn,
At what age do we get to quit worrying about abs? I think I was there a few years ago – or at least that’s what I tell myself. ;)
I am practicing embracing who I am . . . even with the effects of time ; ). I am definitely a work in progress! Have a fun day.
Lynn,
I have limited a lot of the stuff I take in – TV, magazines, newspapers. I am getting more and more selective about which messages I will listen to about how I “should” be. Not sure if it’s helping, but I do feel less pressure.
That doesn’t mean I’m not a work in progress, that just means I working to meet my own standards. ;)
Happy Summer Solstice! Enjoy this long day.
Jesse,
I like your approach a lot! I find myself becoming more and more at ease with who I am and how I am aging. I am thankful I am able to age–that is a luxury in and of itself.
Have a great weekend!!!
Lynn,
Yes! That is a luxury. And choosing who (or who not to) age with is another luxury!
Happy weekend to you and yours!