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Nobody Warned Me My Hormones Would Unionize/

Nobody Warned Me My Hormones Would Unionize

Sweating through your coat at the rink and other new personality traits...
Somewhere between "your kid needs a ride to 6am hockey" and "wait, why am I crying at a Tim Hortons commercial," my body quietly filed for a divorce I never agreed to. Turns out my hormones formed their own union and went on strike without telling me. No paperwork. No warning. Just a slow, aggressive campaign to make me feel like a stranger in my own skin.

Nobody sits you down for this one. You get "the talk" about periods when you're twelve. You get zero talks about the sequel, the one where your hormones stage a coup in your forties and take the thermostat hostage.

Here's what perimenopause actually looked like for me:

Standing in the rink, fully dressed for October, having what I can only describe as a personal summer. Just me. Sweating through my coat while everyone else is complaining about the cold, and I'm doing quiet math on whether it's socially acceptable to strip down to a t-shirt in front of the entire away team's parents.

And honestly, someone named it right without even trying. Peri-MEN-o-PAUSE. Because some days that's exactly it. I need a pause. From men. From noise. From "are you okay" asked for the fourth time in ten minutes. Just give me the pause part and back away slowly.

Perimenopause
Even more stressful is losing words mid-sentence. Not big words. Simple ones. Standing in my kitchen holding up the thing you use to flip pancakes, saying "can you hand me the... the... flippy thing" to my actual teenager, who now looks at me the way I used to look at my grandmother.

Rage-crying. Not sad-crying. Rage-crying, at a commercial, about nothing, while also being furious that I was crying about nothing. A full emotional platter I did not order.

And underneath the jokes, if I'm honest: it's disorienting. You spend your whole life learning your body's rules, and then one day the rules change and nobody sends the memo. You just find out the hard way, in public, usually while wearing a coat you can't take off.

I tried to power through it the way I power through everything. Turns out "just deal with it" is not a treatment plan.

What actually helped was getting real treatment, not just Google-diagnosing myself at 1am between rink drop-offs. I get mine through Felix, and it's genuinely gotten my hormones back to the negotiating table.

What helped me?

What actually helped was getting real treatment, not just Google-diagnosing myself at 1am between rink drop-offs. For me that's progesterone and estrogen patches seems to be helping Nathan keep at bay, and feeling somewhat normal on most days.

I still see my physician, he's amazing, and Felix hasn't replaced him. But when you don't have time to sit in a waiting room between practices and games, the convenience is a game changer. They actually talk to you and explain everything, not just hand you a prescription and send you on your way. When my days feel like a constant string of changes I didn't sign up for, having that kind of help a click away has done a lot for my sanity and my peace. Plus, my doctor doesn't need to see me ugly cry because my words are escaping me.

If you want to check it out, here's my link: Felix For You!

Some mornings I still stand in front of the fridge with the door open, not for food, just for the cold air on my face. Nobody warned me about that either.

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