Bring it.

Many of my daily diary entries lately are simply that word. Ugh. Sometimes I repeat it three times. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. I don’t go all maudlin. I don’t write it in all caps. It’s just a simple declaration of the truth. Ugh.

Waking up has never been easy for me. There are stories of how I had to be held when waking up from a nap as a toddler until I was ready to face the world again. I didn’t like the transition back to awake and would nuzzle my face into the curve of my dad’s neck and let myself be soothed for as long as it took. I still have this challenge. Perimenopause has only exacerbated something that was already there.

I’m aware now that it was 5 years ago that my symptoms first started. I would wake up and feel this stuffiness in the the middle of my forehead, right above my nose. There would be a dull headache and I would feel really agitated. As soon as I got up to move around, I would feel better. My head would clear, my sunny disposition would return.

My naturopath had me get a hypoallergenic pillowcase liner, told me to put an air purifier next to my head at night. We had some supplements thrown in there to help me sleep and keep sleeping since along with that feeling I felt drowsy and tired but could not for the life of me go back to sleep. Nothing worked and I continued to be frustrated that something was wrong with me.

My acupuncturist told me it was my adrenals—I was being nudged awake and there was a flood of energy moving up in my head. She gave me belt flow motions to do at home before bed to encourage the movement of energy down and away into the ground.

Nothing has helped. I still have that overwhelming stuffy-headed, agitated feeling in my head that also now makes it very hard to think. I’ll try and squeeze out some thoughts and it’s like pushing an elephant through a straw. I still will try and go back to sleep when it’s 5 and I don’t really need to be up until 7. But I eventually give up about 6 and just get up.

It never fails, once I start walking around, I feel better. I’m actually content with being up, hanging with cats, sipping some coffee, sitting and watching the world outside my window.

Every. Single. Time. I tell myself to remember this, how much I’m ok with it, even like it, when I wake up the next morning in a grumble. And still, I fight with it every morning. It’s the audacity of my body to do this to me, force me into this shape! I’m resentful and I get a little stubborn. I push back every single morning. “I just want to feel rested,” I say. “I just need sleep!” Just just just. It isn’t just. It’s not at all balanced. Nothing is balanced, my hormones, my moods, my outlook on life. It’s a caterwauling seesaw of a maelstrom. (The barrage of imagery makes my point well.)

And yet, I sit here and want to love it. Because I want to be happier. This is my revenge, this is how my stubbornness can be used for good. I’m transforming how I think about this, because I’m transforming, literally. It’s what’s required. And I hate being told, either on the down-low or outright, that I’m somehow less than because of being older. That this is the beginning of the end.

Fuck that. I will not go back to sleep now that I’m awake. I see clearly. The so-called symptoms are the harbinger of something more, something grander. I just had to say yes.

Yes. Ok! Yes. Let’s do this. There’s something rich here to be unearthed. And, I have a feeling it’s me. The me I’ve always wanted to become and known was there. I want to know her. I’m going to hold her close, love her, pat her, give her all that she needs until she’s ready to come out of her chrysalis and turn her beautiful, lined face to the world.

So bring it, perimenopause! I’ve got your number now. Shit’s. About. To. Get. Real.