Why Perimenoblog?
I am continually mind-blown by three things that constantly isolate women, despite the fact that we are 51% of the planet and at any given moment, literally thousands of us are experiencing the one of these things that is making each of us feel so utterly, completely, hopelessly, miserably alone. Those three things are: abortion, miscarriage, and perimenopause.
Women have been made to feel the topics are shameful, we are culpable, and these are things we should, under no circumstances, speak about, especially in public. I suppose it all goes back to our original sin, from which all other things stem: getting our fucking periods.
I have never been appropriately quiet about my period (or any other thing, for that matter). Unless, of course, I was at the doctor, where they would ask me about my period and I would shrug and say, “I mean it sucks, but…” and then just leave it there.
The fact is, I have horrendous periods. The insane seven-day flow, bloated stomach and monthly 4-day bout of IBS that started each month with a giant whitehead on my chin, were impossible to adjust to as a teen, trying to play sports or flirt with boys or just freaking do my homework. In college, I would skip class when stuck on the toilet or pacing the hall with such bad cramps, I half-expected a baby to drop out of me when they passed. I just assumed (or hoped) this was on the spectrum of normal.
When it came to the work world, there was no mercy. Despite having the advantage of not having to pre-schedule my bathroom breaks or clock out for them, it is near impossible to manage diarrhea, cramps, nausea, and tidal flow while participating on endless conference calls. Quite simply: I do not have time to deal with my period at work.
So, at almost 40 years old, at my annual check-up, when the doctor asked how my periods were, I told her. She didn’t seem to give a shit so I found one who listened, and it changed my life. It didn’t fix my periods, but it helped me understand that all of us need to keep going until we find the doctor that will listen. It’s exhausting, but you’re worth it.
My doctor tested enough things to make sure I didn’t have PCOS, uterine cancer, fibroids, or endometriosis. Just (what’s that word for horrible periods?) Dysmenorrhea. And we made a decision to get me an IUD, which significantly minimized so many of my symptoms that I had the same realization I had when I started taking anti-depressants: HOLY SHIT! Is THIS how the rest of the world has been living?!?!
There is no way I am making the same mistake as I fall face first into this next phase of womanhood. I will not go gently into that good night. I will not pretend this isn’t happening because people find women talking about our existence unpalatable. I will not let myself feel alone and confused by something that is happening or has happened or will happen to more than half the people I love and care about, or admire from afar. And I will not leave the peers who are tumbling down this path with me to do it on their own.
So: Perimenoblog. Because I knew more about birthing babies, which I do not actually have, than I did about what was about to happen to me in perimenopause, which I am actually in.
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Brilliant. Just, brilliant. When the world is telling us that we’ve become invisible, we can see each other here.
I love this candid and supportive discussion platform! Thank you. ❤
You’re the second person in 24 hours to bring up this issue of ‘oh well, I should just suck it…
Brilliant! I am so grateful you are doing this. It’s odd, because with my autoimmune disorder, I kept searching until…
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