In life, I try to strike a balance between transparency and over-sharing. Motherhood is a blessing and a joy but it’s messy and scary, too. Life is messy and scary.
I don’t try to pass myself off as a parenting expert or a front-runner for mother of the year. Puhleeze. I try to be a good mum … sometimes I succeed but like all of us, I have days where I suck at it. My kids occasionally watch too much TV (and by occasionally I mean every week). Sometimes they sass and I have to get my husband to talk to them in his “man voice.” They hear me drop the F-bomb more than I’d like and sometimes, I open wine before 5 o’clock. I suspect I’m really no different than most mums out there … maybe more willing to publicly admit my imperfections, but not different.
I am struggling with life, parenthood, and change. I’ve always been a high-stress, high-anxiety person. Some of that is probably genetic and some of it has been shaped by various life experiences.
My anxiety went into high gear in 2002 when I was a front seat passenger in a car accident. My ex-husband was driving. We rear-ended a semi-truck going about 80 mph. We got out of the car just in time to see a second semi-truck crash into the back end of my car. My full-sized sedan turned into a shredded metal cube before my eyes. I’d probably gotten out less than 30 seconds before impact. I walked away with minor injuries — broken bones — but that began my journey with therapy and various lifestyle changes to help me manage my anxiety.
I’m anxious. Tightly wound. For the most part I’ve managed it by being self-aware and living a reasonably healthy life. Running helps immensely and I have a breathing app on my phone that helps chill me out when I get too keyed up. I’m not a big fan of medication and I was always quick to say no every time my doctor suggested it.
And then menopause happened.
For those of the penised persuasion and those women whose time hasn’t come yet: I wouldn’t wish how I feel on my worst enemy. Well … maybe on The Donald but seriously … my mood swings are kicking my ass. I have about six hot flashes a day and the best way to describe them is a body temperature spike of about 800 degrees. Okay, I know not really 800 degrees, but that’s what it fucking feels like. How anyone can be expected to act like a normal human when their brain and internal organs are boiling … well, I’m not really sure.
And then there are the crying jags and the rages. Sometimes I scare myself. It’s like puberty, pregnancy hormones and the very worst case of PMS imaginable all rolled into one — on steroids. For a control freak who normally keeps a close hold on her emotions, this is hard to handle. Rational me knows crying in the grocery store because they’ve moved the yogurt isn’t cool … but I’ve been feeling like I’m losing rational me. I get angry without too much of a trigger, like not being able to find a parking space or a toy being left in the middle of the living room floor.
I hurt and I’m not really sure why.
I’m not sure if I can blame menopause, pre-disposition or adjustment problems. Blame is unnecessary.