“How in the world am I gonna get through this day?” “Ugh. Slept like shit. Tired and cranky.” “I hate everything.” And my favorite: “It’s easy to get buried under the asshole parts of the day.” These are a minuscule sampling of some of my journal entries from the past several months. Without realizing it, perimenopause had slowly dropped its veil over my eyes. While I am not yet experiencing the physical symptoms, I have every single one of the mental and emotional symptoms. It happened so slowly I didn’t notice. It crept up steathily, like a burglar in the night. My mood worsened in increments. My tolerance for people dripped away like a slow leaking bucket. My sleep became more and more interrupted, resulting in me lying awake for hours during the night. I would wake up exhausted, wondering how I could possibly get through the day when the simple act of speaking seemed monumental. I noticed that I was losing interest in my favorite hobbi...
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