Back in the day – the days when I was firmly in the grip, or perhaps I should say clutches, of perimenopause, I felt out of control.
I felt so out of control that I sometimes bordered on the edge of panic attacks. For some women, being in control is a non-issue. For someone like me, however, born under the sign of Aries, the head-butting ram, it is everything.
For 40-plus years before I entered perimenopause, I had perfected the art of plowing through life like a freight train. No problem was too big. No obstacle was insurmountable. As a matter of fact, I rather thrived on the challenge of it all; and nothing motivated me more than to be told I couldn’t do something. You get the picture.
Enter perimenopause: erratic menstrual cycles, raging mood swings, hot flashes, night sweats (crazy night sweats), and debilitating depression; uncontrollable sobbing, crying, wringing of the hands, and the insomnia? I was an absolute mess.
But old habits die hard as they say, and for two solid years, month after month, I would stand at the calendar counting the weeks until my next expected cycle, marking off the days when I thought the symptoms would begin, in big bold letters: HELL WEEK.