Good Evening Friends,
It’s my husband’s birthday today.
I almost forgot to buy his cards. Then I forgot to write them felt too unwell to write them.
Our twelve year old daughter wrote them this morning—even mine.
Bed was a difficult place to leave this morning.
I posted a note on Saturday, captioned ‘three meltdowns and a river of tears later’…
I didn’t elaborate further that I was deep in luteal overwhelm, which can be difficult to know and understand during perimenopause, as often it’s a rollercoaster of high and lows that seem completely random. I can’t let peri take sole responsibility for my inability to track—my neurodivergent differences meant I’d been going through life, not awfully good at reading my body signals, and even worse at managing to stay consistent with tracking.
Saturday. We had planned to pop to our local Sainsburys, to pick up picnic lunch for the beach—Tarik was being particular about a duck wrap that he likes—but decided rather than drive 40 mins in the hot car with food, we would go to Sainsburys nearer our destination. The kids were playing music in the car and the sun was making it uncomfortable with the heat through glass. Traffic was busy. We had set off later than planned.
Portobello high street was heaving with crowds of scantily clad pale limbs, all heading in the same direction as us, as we all piled out the stuffy car to get our picnic goodies. The meal-deal fridges were completely empty—so no duck wraps then. It was then I became aware of the internal stirring—annoyance. Irritable. Low Fucking Tolerance. They didn’t get a delivery, I was told, by a nearby staff member who must have overheard my grumbles about leaving later than planned, equating to all the food being gone!
We found a Co-op—picnic saved…
Except they were almost out too, so choice was limited—which can be a good thing when I’m struggling to make a decision, but it doesn’t help when actually none of what was there would be my choice—the kids picking up sushi and sandwiches, eventually I made a selection, after asking everyone if they thought I’d like it. The kiosk queue was busy and taking a while to go down, so I said to the kids that we should go do self-checkout—it was card payments only, I’d slipped only cash into my pocket—the stirring I’d felt earlier, was now instantaneous overwhelm and I was putting my food down on random shelves. I just had to get out.
I’m aware that my kids are following behind me, putting their food back too—of course they are, likely confused, even though they are aware of my health struggles—I’m embarrassed and confused, so I send them back inside to find Dad, he’d gone off to find crisps(reads-staying out of my way, as I was snapping at him in the overwhelming sandwich-choice-area). Outside I want to find a spot that I can’t be seen, as I’m feeling the urge to tug on my hair or hit my head. Trying to regain control of my breath.
I want to get in the car, go home. That would ruin the day for the kids though, I think, as I glance around to see if people are looking at my distress. Or, is their day already ruined. Have I spoiled another day out. This is why it feels safer to stay home. Navigating outside, dealing with people—it’s just too much—add in a small inconvenience, and I’m broke.
We made it to the beach, and I only cried once more. Braving the cold sea water, bracing against the roaring tides, we all went in together. And all was well.
So, back to now…
Today is much the same (only two meltdowns, in the safety and privacy of home).
During this stage of my cycle, I now know how to explain these episodes of overwhelm and frustration that lead me to meltdown—not only to myself, but to others—encouraging me to feel a little less bonkers. It does not, however, ease the guilt I feel on behalf of my body’s behaviour, during those times. Yes, even when I’m being kind to myself and showing compassion—the bonkers part is that the hormone cocktail feeds the overwhelm and frustration, while simultaneously feeding the guilt and shame—the controls on the main switchboard are out-with my reach. I can’t turn it on. I can’t turn it off. It’s set to it’s own timer.
We are still celebrating today, in small ways.
He understands. (I hope)
All of these episodes/occurrences/occasions, have me wondering, how all of this would be manageable—if I was ever lucky enough to get anything published—the honest answer right now in this time and space, is no, I would not manage.
With that acceptance, I went wandering in my mind. I landed upon the idea of serialising, here on Substack, ‘my book’—chapter by chapter. Although I must admit, I feel scared and slightly enormously cringey! Thoughts are welcomed, please share in the comments or message me.
Lastly, I wanted to share some gorgeous photos I took yesterday—CLOUDS.
The pretty clouds with the sun filtering through the glistening streaky gaps, or peaking from behind the dark grey…got me thinking how amazing and beautiful the sky looks, in all states of formation and colour palettes. That the clouds even emphasise the beauty, if you just look.
My head mostly feels like a big heavy, hazy cloud.
I’m going to write through it anyway.
FIGHTING THE FOG.
SEARCHING FOR GLIMMERS.
L&L
Nicola