An honest reflection on entering hormonal limbo earlier than expected.
It started with my hair…
My mum had always said that the women in my family hit the menopause early. But I didn’t really notice the signs of change in the beginning. Looking back now I can see the first change was my hair. The texture, which had always been poker straight and fine, had changed, seemingly overnight, to a dry and frizzy mess. I assumed, at the time, that I hadn’t been looking after it well enough, and it just needed some TLC. But no matter what conditioner I put on it this new hair seemed here to stay.
Soon my body added more symptoms. A menstrual cycle, that had been a prompt and punctual guest for so long, had decided to make unannounced arrivals days or, sometimes even weeks, early or late. A dry mouth when I awoke reminded me of mornings after my sister and I had binged £2 alcopops in nightclubs, but now the only drink that had passed my lips the night before was herbal tea. Dry eyes, brain fog, waking up inexplicably covered in sweat.
After worrying bit by bit about the different symptoms, I suddenly saw the bigger picture and realised they were all connected. So naturally I googled it. And the results were in. I was either going to die or I was approaching… the menopause.
Too young for this?
But I was only 37. The menopause was for older people. I had only just passed my twenties a few years ago. I was still young. Wasn’t I? But the signs were all there in black and white, covered in sweat.
One of the results said that you could try an at-home hormonal test, much like a pregnancy test, that searches for certain hormones in your body and measures them. It seemed like a quick and easy thing to do that didn’t require much effort, or a dreaded anxiety riddled GP visit, so curiosity got the better of me and I ordered one.
A few days later, I was confirmed as being host to menopausal hormones, floating around my body, whacking my young adult cells around and replacing them with middle aged ones.
Perimenopause: the fun in-between
I would just like to take a second here to point out that I have since been very mature (maybe a bit too mature for my liking, considering the subject matter) and had time with a menopause consultant and have been confirmed as being ‘perimenopausal’.
Which puts me in the lovely stage of limbo. I am still a fresh, fertile (probably, a lovely bout of postnatal depression has left me with no desire to procreate again) filly running through the meadows, hydrated hair blowing in the wind. But I am also a slightly dried up prune, sitting exhausted in a chair wondering when her nails had become so ridged. The best of both worlds! Periods and menopausal insomnia together? I’m truly blessed.
The best part is that there is no time scale for being stuck in menstrual limbo. So, I am left to sit here, in the womanhood waiting room, with all my thoughts and feelings on the matter. Just waiting….
Waiting. And wondering.
I have found that I have many thoughts and feelings on the matter, ranging wildly in emotions. When the ‘peri’ is finally dropped and it’s just ‘menopause’, how I feel?
Will I be happy that I no longer have the chore of the monthly visits is the main question I suppose. Honestly, even though it seems like a never-ending chore when you are younger, it doesn’t even feel like I have been having them for that long. Twenty years, give or take, doesn’t seem like that long in the span of your whole life and now, when I feel like I finally had the routine locked down, it is changing and/or ending?
Life suddenly feels very short, with your childhood and twenties being the main part, and everything else down a downhill tumble. How will I feel when the option of pregnancy is no longer an option? Even though I wouldn’t choose it for myself again, how will it feel when it will no longer be my choice.
The feeling of loss is louder than I expected
Youth seems to come with endless possibilities. The thrill of never really knowing where you will end up when you are finally a real adult.
In my mind middle aged life is set, I have already married the person I wish to spend my old age with. I already have two beautiful daughters and a wonderful home. I am incredibly lucky, I know. But already having all of that brings a sense that there is no more adventure to be had when the mid years arrive. Have I lost my adventures now?
My fear is that it will all feel very old. That I will feel old. And isn’t that a terrifying thought?
And yet, it’s kind of a relief
A part of me, quite a large part in all honesty, finds it a relief. Life is rolling out as planned. I am meant to age, to watch my twin daughters grow and flourish and have the privilege of spending my later years enjoying the life I have built around me. My sister passed away at in her early 30s and will never get to experience old age, so I will take it as the gift that it is.
And I have found that easing slowly into middle-age feels like finally putting on some comfortable trainers, after spending my younger adulthood in heels. I now feel like I can stop struggling to keep up the latest fashions to look like a twenty-year old, because I’m not.
I’m not resigning myself to the heap just yet, but seeing my body change in these ways has almost given me permission to stop trying to stay trendy or act in ways that younger age groups would. Maybe this is the peace of mind and freedom that comes with age, that you hear older generations speak of so fondly.
I’m still not sure what comes next, and that’s okay
In truth I do not know how I will feel when I finally reach the next stage of life. It has made me feel sad, as I feel most would, that the parts of my life I considered my youth, which seemed like they would last forever, are seemingly coming to an end.
But I also have no idea how long the ‘peri’ stage will last and how many different life and emotion changes I will see in that time. Some perhaps that will change my outlook and make me realise that there are still so many adventures yet to come. Literature and media are full of older generations living a life full of spontaneity and screaming that “life begins at X years old”.
Maybe I will find that life does begin at 40, 50 or 60. I’m not there yet. But I’m open to the idea!
Try this next…
What I learnt from doing things solo for a year. Theatre trips, lunches, days out. I stopped waiting for the perfect friendship group and started doing things alone.
Stuck in the in-between?
Check out these resources for help. Maybe have a look through while you are sitting in the womanhood waiting room with me.
