Leaning Into the Rage

Cover Photo by Polina

So, I’ve tried to remain quiet about the shit-show that is this stage of life. No, really, I have. I wanted to be able to “silver-line” it, you know, say something positive about the “changes” my body is going through, but if I’m honest, there’s no true silver lining to be had. It’s horrible. Awful. Evil.

In an attempt to maintain my sanity today, for this one moment in time, I’m furiously typing out my emotions. If I’m lucky, my words will resonate with others. But I’m a female, so luck’s never had anything to do with it, am I right?

So, in an effort to control my wonky cycles and possibly reduce the rage that led to what my teenagers call “crash outs,” I was prescribed a progesterone-only birth control pill because the IUD kept falling out. 

Eight weeks into it and a whopping 10lbs later (4.54kg and .714 stones), I mentally could not do it. I ballooned. It was like each morning I woke up and saw “more” of me.

I’m jealous of the women who are able to take HRT. I hear their stories about recaptured sleep, the reduction/elimination of hot flashes, and the mental clarity when the brain fog is lifted, and I can’t help but feel envious.

I’m happy for them, truly I am. I just get a little sadder for me. 

Feminist Equality Bullshit

I feel like a former Jim Jones cult member who drank the Kool-Aid but survived. 

I find myself at a loss for what to tell my girls. Yes, they can be anything they want, but society isn’t set up for them to be anything but a worker. Or a mother. Never both. 

I’m raising them to spend money and time and effort on building their careers, and then, when they become a mother, they’ll have some uncomfortable choices to make. 

It’s the rare woman who can be there for her young children, fully, and still earn like she did prior to becoming a mother. Juggling career and kids, especially when they’re younger, can feel impossible because young children are so needy. If she prioritizes them, then her career is likely to take a hit. Maybe she’ll get lucky and her career will only stagnate. 

All of life is an opportunity cost. 

Then, the day will come when her kids are older and she gets her feet back under her. She will be excited about her upcoming future. A return to me is what she’ll think. 

Then blam! Perimenopause hits, and the old her is dead. Or dying. Decaying is probably a good description, too. 

All of a sudden, she can’t sleep. Her thoughts will wake her up like a military bugle at 2am and keep her up until 4am. Her alarm will wake her a second time at 5:30/6am to remind her just how much the next 5-10 years are going to suck. 

Then, one day, she’ll go to the DMV on Tuesday because she thinks it’s Wednesday. The young lady behind the plexiglass window will tell her the reason her appointment is not showing on the screen is because she’s got the wrong day. The young lady will laugh at her because she can’t fathom mixing up the days. She has estrogen, and therefore she knows the days of the week.

The perimenopausal woman will leave the DMV in silence—her head held high despite her gaffe—because she knows something that young lady behind the plexiglass doesn’t: This is her future. One day, she too will sneeze without realizing she had to go to the bathroom until it’s too late. She, too, will walk past a slice of cake, and the calories will leap onto her thighs like cottage cheese. She is laughing at her own future brain-fog self.

The perimenopausal woman will get into her car torn between the embarrassment she feels from her reduced mental capacity and the bittersweet satisfaction that this is the future of all the estrogen-filled, young, plexiglass women who can finish the sentence they just started. 

But then she’ll feel bad because that young woman behind the plexiglass window was once her. And isn’t part of a female’s superpowers her ability to create community. Women are strength in numbers. They build. They do not tear down. 

So, she’ll drive off wishing plexiglass woman a smooth transition into and out of perimenopause. Because why not? Shouldn’t one woman make it through unscathed? Why not her? 

Because it sure as shit ain’t me.