I am writing this a little earlier than normal as I was just having a bath and a wave of thoughts came into my head, I jumped out the bath bolted for the laptop. Then Ian ( my partner ) put the telly on and all my thoughts crashed to the ground like a badly stacked Jenga. They have all gone! I could literally kill him; for two reasons. One: weather conditions in the north of England mean we have had to work from home for the last two days, two: he is breathing. I am so angry! I have joined three groups on Facebook this week, for many reasons. To shamefully promote this blog, and I really need to talk to more ladies going through this, I need support, I have a yearning for sisterhood liked never before. I do have a small network of females similar to me. I say small, think black hole. However I have recently been blessed with a new addition to my lady garden. No, not my tootie, my lady garden as in my small patch of roses in a garden of weeds. I will refer to this person as Clarus. Which makes a lot of sense right now to me. Anyway Clarus has been a bit of a saviour recently, I was struggling , and as usual full of self-doubt and let’s just say thanks to this person, things are becoming a lot clearer. Back to the research what I have realised whilst talking to these likeminded women is dydrogestrone is the devil, its evil , it should be re-named. Dydrorestinpeacetrone. It makes me , and thanks to the power of Social Media, I have since confirmed many others. VILE.
In my quest to become a better person and also because I do think reflection and feedback are key contributors to being a great leader. I have shared my new medication regime and the symptoms with my team and consequesnty asked for feedback; give it to me, I can take it. I like feedback like I like my men …straight up. I review this act a little like an episode of family fortunes. I ask for a survey. We questioned one hundred members of the general public and they all answered. A. You’re a twat. That type of thing. I pre warned my colleagues at work that a new type of HRT was on the horizon and that I would be ever so pleased if they could inform me if they noticed any immediate changes to behaviour. You know the usual, crying at the desk, shouting at the huddle board, storming out of meetings. So far I have received the following feedback. Your very reasonable; fluffy, approachable, calm . That was so last Tuesday. I am on a variation of HRT that is similar to combi pill – e.g. 10 days of estradiol ,clouds are fluffy, kittens are cute, world deems brighter, I love all mankind. 10 days of dydrogestrone . Kill the cat, scream at the sky, we’re all doomed and I want to kill everyone, whilst crying at nothing. Seriously I am Fucking MAD! Fuck off!
I can’t help it , well that’s not exactly true, I know I am going to say or do something horrible, I have the ability to stop it. 90% of the time. This can vary on who I am dealing with. I have a team of people that work for me. They are a good bunch and want to their best. Most of the time I respect and love them all, most of the time. Example: I have a people pleaser in my team, this person will do anything for anyone, it’s all meant form a good place and I adore them for it. Until I am in this mood, then I think they are weak not willing; ridiculous not reliable, and manipulate not motivated. And once I have digested these emotions. What do I do next? Cry. I Cry.
I started to write the above three weeks ago. My intention was to finish it later that weekend. Then life got in the way. I was going to delete the above text however it was a true reflection of how I was feeling at the time. All seems pointless now. How do I feel today? Three weeks later. Sad, but I cannot share with you all why, as it’s too private and nothing to do with the menopause.
So back to the dreaded ‘ change of life’ . It is I am discovering, as I research this more, just that. A change of life. I have continued my research over the past few weeks as my symptoms don’t get any better. I have been taking Femoston the duel HRT for 33 days now and although I don’t feel as tired as I was on the previous meds there are some equally wearisome side effects. These side effects are not life threating, I don’t feel ill. Just spent. Like a teenagers pocket money on a Friday, it’s all gone and there is very little to show for it. I just googled the meaning for menopause and it gave me this,
‘ menopause means the end’. Sums it up really.
Before you all shout ‘ Stop feeling sorry for yourself ‘ and ‘ Don’t do it’ at the screen. I don’t mean the end, as is I am about to do a Kurt Cobain. I guess I am just exploring catharsis. I know I have expressed this before. I use this blog as a release. This is my catharsis. In the quest to find the answer. Help can be given is out there; aside from the prescribed drugs from Dr Feel Good and Dr Down Under. I googled, researched , purchased books and joined support groups on Facebook. I call them support groups with trepidation, and presentiment. Why? Well I admit I have never been fan of support groups, counselling , getting help. I have always been quite old school. It’s the way I was raised. Well I say it was the way I was raised. I should rephrase that. It was the way my dad raised me. Don’t get me wrong he never professed any dislike to getting help. As a family growing up we certainly needed all the help we could get. You see my mum has for as long as I can remember needed help mentally. She has/is a person who suffers from depression. As a young women, headstrong , independent , a bit of a know-it-all, I never understood. I do now.
I go through waves of depression, self-doubt, anxiety, frequently. Jesus a trip to get my hair done often starts with a ‘ you can do this ‘ speech to myself in the mirror these days. So now at the grand old age of 46 . I get it. What I don’t get, Is when, why , how, this awful feeling skulked in. How is it you go from a self-assured female, still empathetic, yet confident, to a complete wreck. This, is how I feel most days; a wreck. I say most day’s I am probably fifty/fifty. Half time normal , whatever that means. The rest of the time. No rationale at all. It’s vanished. If I were a magician, people would pay good money to watch my self-confidence diminish by the second. Like an old fashioned circus act. Her is the new emotional act, Miss Mollie De-Camp , watch how she goes from self-assured feminist to a shivering wreak of weakling in just six seconds. How different are we from Maude Wagner, Tattooed lady , Annie Jones, the bearded lady, and the Hilton sister’s; the famous conjoined twins. No, not Paris. This is the exact type of car crash telly we all consume on a weekly basis, very rarely realising that ‘ we are not the first’ . I am certain that many women lived, breathed and worked through the menopause with barley a whisper of recognition in the past. Is it just its more talked about now. Or is it because we love a ‘ title’ as we hurtle towards the 21st century. There has always been people, ‘ outside the norm’ . Surely I’m not the first lady be worried about a beard, won’t be the last. It’s just titled better now. Jesus, watching a good episode of ‘ call the midwife’ will give you the best insight into progression. Not just about mental health, but society, self-awareness and embracing change.
So as we all reflect on the change, evolution, changing how we perceive each other. I will leave with you with this thought. As quickly as the weather changed outside in the last three weeks, so has my life. I bet so has some of your’ s and during that time some people have gained new titles. There will be a new fattest women, a new set of twins, a women’s beard being plucked as we all speak.
Does it really matter, none of it was new.