An Open Letter: My thoughts about being a menopausal mother.

While I groaned audibly during our weekly lunch, my close friend asked out of concern. “What’s got you down, Abby?”

"I barely get any sleep now, compared to when I was dealing with 3 toddlers." I grovelled, between sobs. "I lie awake all night, soaked & half-boiled in a bed that's morphed into a wetland sauna. And then my kids wake and it's morning mayhem and it’s just...I'm just exhausted."

"You're in perimenopause," she said so surely, without batting an eyelid. She rubbed her chin, deep in thought, and with a soft pat on my back she said. "You and your 2 teenage daughters...this must be what hormonal hell looks like."

I looked at her blankly. "I’m in the what?"

"You should honestly be more informed about this Abby," she said, shoving her phone in my face, with an article about perimenopause. And yes, it was all there: hot flushes, emotional outbursts, insomnia, night sweats — courtesy of the hormonal turmoil happening in my body now. Bummer. But what about my two daughters - aged 17 and 15? It turns out their hormones are raging too.

Suddenly, it dawned on me. The door-slamming arguments we have, shouting, sobbing, swearing, threatening to leave — it was all because of the hormones! 

As we three hormonal females tear through the house leaving a trail of fury in our wake, my nine-year-old son seeks shelter by retreating to his bedroom and plugs himself into his computer. No wonder he's become obsessed with a perfectly calm digital world where he quietly builds wooden cabins and rears animals.

Another showing symptoms of perimenopause is a sharp decline in the nurturing, maternal instinct. I appear to have a rather serious case of this symptom and can frequently be heard shouting, "Why don't you all just get out?" Needless to say, I then collapse sobbing in a confused pile of guilt because, of course, I still love my family.

I’ve also explained to my dear husband that the reason I will henceforth no longer vacuum food crumbs out of the family car, organize his socks, or bake rainbow birthday cakes — is because my raging hormones are very clearly telling me this is my time (not his, the children's or the car's).

He looked at me, bewildered. And after an audible grunt of acknowledgement, he trudged off to hang out with my son — thereby managing to avoid my two screeching daughters, wailing about their zits, treacherous friends, misplaced phones and all the other dramas that constitute teenage life.

Don't misunderstand me, I love my family to bits. But there comes a time when my family has to realize that the “mother” they call for every single day (and take for granted) isn’t just a role. I am a person, with needs and feelings — not to mention hormones — of my own.

So, I sat my whole family down after dinner one day, and I told them all that I am going through a major bodily change that’s against my will, and that I will need my family to adapt and support me for a change. “If I act like a raving lunatic, please chalk it up to the hormones and be patient & understanding with me.”

Needless to say, there were quite a few tears shed after the meeting (and lots of hugs). But I did this because one day, they will be 40-something parents of their own, and I hope when that day comes my two daughters (and also my son) will be more prepared for this change than I am.

- Abigail S, 49

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