The final straw came two cycles ago.
Everyone and everything had been annoying me for a few weeks. Lockdown isn’t easy for any of us, but my patience had gone out the window.
I was barking at my partner, Alex, for leaving the tea towel on top of the bench and blasting my mum for texting me pointless messages. I was basically sweating ALL of the small stuff.
I hated myself, and this was just not me. I knew my period was due and I put it down to PMT, which every woman gets to some degree... right?
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No matter how much meditation I did, nothing seemed to help.
Negative thoughts were constantly creeping into my head while I was trying to sleep.
They were mostly about me not being good enough for my partner and that he was obviously going to leave me, that I was a shit mum and there was no point writing a book (which I was negotiating with a publisher - my dream come true!) because no one was going to read it.
I had no motivation for anything. Even the agreement with the publisher and deadline for submission didn't spark excitement in me.
Who even was I?
It was relentless. I hated myself, I hated my partner, I hated everything.