Perimenopause and The Beginning of My Awakening (Part 2)

I’ll never forget the morning I learned I was pregnant with our unplanned #3. It was early – 6 a.m.-ish. My 6 and 3 year old were making noise somewhere in the house while my husband and I, zombies that we were, begrudgingly made breakfast.

I was grumpy, which wasn’t unusual. Everything felt like a symptom of menopause (or in my case, symptoms of premature menopause) and besides, I’d become used to being woken by the kids, menopausal headaches, night sweats, or a trip to the toilet. My husband was being weird though, probing me with questions:

“How are you feeling? Did you sleep much? And when was your last period?”

I wanted to slap him. “Hell if I know. Maybe 3-4 weeks ago?”

He pushed the issue insisting my current moodiness and sleeplessness were signs of something more. “Do you think you might be pregnant?”

“Do you think you might be an asshole?”

I was thoroughly annoyed. We hadn’t had sex in – when was the last time we had sex? Motherhood as it was felt like a clouding of consciousness most days, but even if we did have an afternoon-delight that one time, we’d been together for well over a decade and never once had an oops. Why would I have one now?

I was perimenopausal.

We hadn’t had sex in – when was the last time we had sex?

I stormed out of the house at 6:50 a.m. and drove down the street to the closest drugstore. I didn’t think I was pregnant, but no matter how many times I explained this certainty to him, he wasn’t going to take my word for it. Whatever. I’d prove him wrong; pee on the stupid stick and show him once and for all.

Walgreens didn’t open till 7 a.m. so I was stuck stewing in my car. Once the clerk unlocked the entrance door a minute or two after the opening hour, I marched through the doors to the family planning aisle and snatched the first digital pregnancy test on the shelf. I wasn’t about to try one of the cheaper tests with unpredictable plus or minus signs. I wanted a guarantee. And while I was waiting at the check out for the clerk to ring me up, I threw a pack of gum on the counter. As if that would throw her off the scent of my day ahead.

“Good morning,” she said.

I scowled at her. I was in no mood to make small talk.

She glanced at my purchases, gave me a silent nod as if she understood, and I bolted out the exit.

At home I didn’t announce my return; I just snuck into the downstairs bathroom and assumed the position. In less than a minute, I got the results.

And I screamed.

What in the literal fuck?! I’d finally reached some sort of solace in being a mother of two without the burden of diapers, already sold or given away all the baby things I’d been clutching “just in case” I changed my mind, was planning to send my husband off to get a snip-snip (vasectomy,) and was even coming to terms with my impending menopause, and now this?!

I cried. Out of guilt, shame, confusion, fear, sadness…

How could I be so wrong about my cycle? And how could I possibly raise another child? I barely felt competent enough to raise the two underfoot..

My husband had told me on several occasions over the past year the idea of having a third was impractical. We had two healthy kiddos already and could barely afford their expenses. And we were so close to getting out of the toddler hell we’d been treading through for the past 3-years. Plus, I wasn’t doing so good with being the patient, cuddly mom I’d envisioned. What were we thinking?

When he joined me in the bathroom, I was stunned. He was excited – or at least faked it enough to convince me to find a silver lining and humor in the situation.

We had our third at home as I’d preferred, and in the bathtub as I’d dreamed. But this time after the I felt full - my quiver complete - knowing this was the last time I’d be pushing a new life into the world.

Our older two doted on him. They were the best siblings talking to him throughout the pregnancy and fought over who’s turn it was to sing to him or help change his diaper or clothes or give him a bath after he was born.

Then we moved to a bigger house where two years later, phase two of my menopausal Awakening hit full force.

Remember that dream I mentioned, the one that jolted me awake from a sound sleep? It was end of January or early February 2020, and though COVID was a hot-topic on the news, work and businesses were as usual. There was a good 5-6 feet of snow outside our house in the mountain and it was mighty cold. I woke in a panic, soaked through my pajamas with sweat from hot flashes and night sweats even though our thermostat was set to 65 degrees and the ceiling fan was whirling on high.

What was I doing with my life – here, now? Was this it – everything I’d hoped for? Or was I selling myself short?

The questions festered.

Financially we were sinking. We lived in a resort town that was slowly eliminating its middle class. And emotionally I was drained. I wanted out.

I didn’t know where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do. But I wanted to run somewhere – anywhere. Away from the kids, my husband, and my damn skin if I could figure out how to peel it off.

I wanted to run somewhere – anywhere. Away from the kids, my husband, and my damn skin if I could figure out how to peel it off. .

It’s funny how menopause changes your brain. I cried. A lot. To myself, my girlfriends, my therapist. I was angry. And sad. And…I can’t describe all the feelings I was processing at the time, but they were heavy, deep, and so fucking debilitating.

Then one day, it hit me. I had to talk. Tell my husband all the things I realized I’d kept bottled up over the years. Except this time, I wasn’t afraid of the possibility of divorce or burning down the house I called my “life” for nearly two decades. The risks didn’t matter. I mattered. My feelings mattered. And that internal midlife clock that woke me from a decades-long slumber most definitely was a top priority.

So I spoke up. I told my husband about the things he’d been doing or saying that I’d tolerated but despised. I told him about things his parents, my parents, and both of our extended families had done or were doing that I would no longer dismiss or allow. I told him about how exhausted I was with our children – being expected to be their eternal doormat and not speaking up about my own needs and boundaries. Our financial state. Our residence. All of it.  

I told him everything I’d kept quiet about and I told him I was done. Ready to pull the trigger, light a match, anything to remind him - and me - I was someone besides just someone else’s wife, mother, and daughter. I was WILD. I had dreams. And since my 40th birthday was coming up, if he wanted to stick together, he’d better buckle up for the ride of his life because I wasn’t sitting backseat for the rest of my time on this earth. I had plans – though I wasn’t 100% sure what those plans entailed just yet.

Still…I knew something was bubbling from the depths of my soul.

I didn’t care what his parents thought.

I didn’t care what my parents thought.

I didn’t care what our friends or the kids or the stranger at the grocery store check out thought.

I had reached this pinnacle of awareness with clarity and urgency, like a warning label blinking directly in front of me. I couldn’t keep living my life half-mast. And I couldn’t keep doing things the same way.

“You’re at the sweetest spot,” my therapist said. “You don’t know it yet, but this is when you really find yourself. And when you do, you better love the hell out of that woman – that’s the best friend you’ll ever have.”

I thought she was mad and maybe the two of us needed to swap roles. But after a few sessions and many self-guided meditations, I realized she was right.

Well, that’s what I’ve been doing the past year. Finding myself. Purging the relationships and parts of my life that no longer make me feel good and positive and happy. Some days it’s hard. I miss the younger pieces of me - when I used to have brownish hair and less wrinkles, a tighter abdomen and perkier tits. I miss the youthful freedoms I didn’t even know I had at the time. But most days, I’m happier with this part of my life. The gray hair I sport that celebrities pay a pretty penny to emulate, the toner arms I’ve busted my ass to create, and the wisdom in freedoms I now know I have…

There are few memories I cherish and hold dear, ones I bind to my soul and can never forget. Like, I’ll never forget when I found out I was pregnant with and the birth of each of my children. But I’ll also never forget my Awakening. Because that was the moment I birthed a new me.

And so far, I really love her…

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