In the MEANtime

Ya know, the more I think about it… I never had these problems as an adolescent. I mean, of course, I had my cycle, but the hormones, good God, the hormones… they were never like this. At the most, maybe I would crave something sweet or just want to be left alone. But now? Oh, now I get downright mean! And most times I don’t show it, but I feel my fucking blood boiling (and not the blood that’s coming out of me). But seriously, every little thing just pisses me off, and it’s like… well, shit, I guess I’m in the meantime. This normally happens right before the cycle begins.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being a woman and I love being a human being with emotions! I wanna cry, I wanna laugh, I wanna feel all the feelings, but not all at the same fucking time! So I’ll try some emotional regulation exercises. Deep breathing, meditation, a cup of tea, a handful of Midol. You know, whatever works at the time. Whatever prevents me from turning into a fire-breathing, Snickers ice cream-eating dragon.

Another tactic I try is just assessing why I’m angry, like, okay, let’s go back and figure out what triggered you. Then, when I think it over, it’s like, bitch, you’re crazy! Why are you mad? Nothing even happened! Oh, wait, let me check my calendar… ah hah! I’m in the meantime!! That’s what happened; I’m a hormonal raging beast!! This genuinely isn’t fair. But it’s life, it’s my life, and many others’ lives.

And don’t even get me started on how it affects my relationships. One minute I’m perfectly fine, and the next, I’m ready to bite someone’s head off because they chewed too loudly. My poor friends and family have learned to tread lightly around me during this time, offering chocolate and backing away slowly as if dealing with a wild animal. Bless their hearts.

Of course, there are the inevitable apologies afterward. “I’m so sorry I yelled at you for breathing,” I’ll say sheepishly. They usually just laugh it off, but I know I’m a terror. I just wish there was a manual for dealing with the hormonal roller coaster from hell.

I’ve even tried yoga, thinking maybe I could channel my inner zen. Picture this: me, attempting to do a downward dog, while internally screaming because my yoga pants are too tight and the instructor is way too chipper for 6 AM. “Breathe in, breathe out,” she chirps. Meanwhile, I’m contemplating how many ways I can tell her to shove her sun salutations. But hey, at least I tried, right?

Then there’s the issue of sleep. Or rather, the lack of it. Insomnia kicks in, and I’m left staring at the ceiling, pondering the mysteries of the universe. Why is the sky blue? Why do cats have nine lives? Why do I feel the need to clean the entire house at 3 AM? It’s like my brain decides that nighttime is the perfect time for an existential crisis.

My coworkers have also had the misfortune of experiencing my hormonal wrath. One day, they’ll find me in the break room, sobbing into my coffee because we ran out of almond milk. The next, I’m snapping at Bob from accounting because he had the audacity to say good morning. Fucking prick…but Bob’s a good guy.

Public outings during this time are a gamble. I once found myself glaring daggers at a couple holding hands because they were walking too slowly in front of me. Or how about the time I almost lost it in the grocery store because the avocados weren’t ripe enough? I’m pretty sure the cashier thought I was possessed when I started muttering about produce quality.

And let’s not forget the joy of wardrobe malfunctions. Bloating turns my favorite jeans into a medieval torture device. Suddenly, I’m stuck wearing leggings and oversized sweaters, looking like a disgruntled yoga instructor who’s given up on life. And just when I think I’ve found something comfortable to wear, I realize it’s laundry day, and all my comfy clothes are in the wash. Cue the meltdown.

Despite all the chaos, there are moments of clarity. Like when I finally do get a good night’s sleep, or when a friend understands my mood without me having to explain. Those little glimmers of sanity remind me that I’m not completely off the deep end. I mean, who else would appreciate the beauty of a perfectly ripe avocado or the comfort of stretchy pants quite like I do?

So, here’s to surviving the meantime, one deep breath, and one Snickers ice cream at a time. It’s a wild ride, but it’s my wild ride, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Well, maybe for a lifetime supply of chocolate and a manual on handling hormonal meltdowns. But until then, I’ll keep riding the hormonal roller coaster, screaming all the way, and hoping that the next cycle will be a little less crazy.