My boobs are on fire with an ache that feels like when I was pregnant. Only this time, I am not. I’m nearly 45 years old, day 22 of my cycle, and we just bumped my estrogen patch up. I fell asleep with a heating pad on my chest, melatonin mixed in with my nightly progesterone, and my “heat regulator” leg hanging out of the comforter last night.
Between melatonin, progesterone, and magnesium glycinate, I’m doing my best to support sleep instead of fighting my body. I actually just restarted the magnesium — ordered it on Amazon — and was talking with Emily about taking it together since she struggles with sleep too.
I can’t tell if my feelings are hormonal or legitimate right now, but as Evelyn would put it, “I’m having BIG feelings!!”
We’re in that weird in-between time. Christmas is over, but New Year’s Eve is tomorrow, and I’m not a partier. For me, it’s just another day — and I’m really not interested in starting January exhausted, especially when I’ll more than likely be awake anyway thanks to a hot flash.
The week of Christmas was full of commotion with Nick’s work, which put me in a constant state of standby. We weren’t sure if he was going to get paid — which he didn’t — then it was he is getting paid, but when? Eventually, it all worked out. He’s back to work this week, and there’s been no talk of future payroll concerns. So I guess no news is good news.
I finally made it back to the gym yesterday with Emily — my first time in about two months. Between illness and my mental fortitude being tested by Evelyn’s separation anxiety, I just haven’t had it in me. Right now, I’m coaxing Evelyn to eat her Cheerios and banana, offering a spoonful of whipped cream for every bite of cereal. Don’t worry — I balance it out with a chocolate FairLife protein drink mixed with milk so at least some nutrients are getting in.
I’m still on transportation duty for school activities, only now I’m managing everything around Evelyn’s nap time. Four trips to the school yesterday, because God forbid activities ever be scheduled at the same time.
Evelyn has been extra spicy these last couple of weeks. Nick has been home more, the girls are here all day, and we are completely out of routine. The estrogen bump happened because my middle-of-the-night hot flashes came back, along with the lack of sleep — which I’m positive contributes to my increasingly disgruntled nature.
I can’t tell if my lack of sex drive is hormones, exhaustion, annoyance, or all of the above. But it’s been known that someone would “like it more than twice a cycle,” and honestly… so would I. Instead, it gets mentally filed under things I should do better at, make more time for, or somehow find energy for — which feels unfair and exhausting in itself.
Evelyn just farted next to me, and I swear it felt like she shit directly on my face.
Explaining this mental state — or overall body feeling — is nearly impossible for anyone who hasn’t experienced it. Snow is coming (we think… tonight into tomorrow, possibly). I’m oddly enjoying the lower-ab discomfort when I cough. It reminds me that I did something right at the gym yesterday.
I’m a planner by nature. Proactive, not reactive. Somewhere along the line in childhood, that became a necessity — a way to maintain safety, predictability, and control when things around me weren’t consistent. Planning isn’t about rigidity for me; it’s about regulation. About knowing where the edges are so I don’t fall apart inside them.
Which is probably why certain things hit harder than they should.
Like being sent a gift in the mail from my dad who lives forty minutes away, followed by a message asking if someone in my family happened to be working at the hospital ten minutes away because he didn’t feel like making the trip to bring Evelyn a gift from my grandmother.
Or the quiet rage that built on Christmas Day when it was almost 1 p.m. and my daughters still hadn’t arrived from their father’s house — when they were due at noon — only to find out the delay was because his girlfriend (if that’s what she is now) showed up with her kids and brought gifts for them.
It’s not about the gifts. It’s about being an afterthought. It’s about having my time, my role, and my emotional labor treated as flexible and optional. I am their mother. I don’t wait for booty calls to arrive.
What I’m realizing is that I am exhausted to my core from processing not just my own feelings, but everyone else’s. The offloading of mental energy. The constant questions. The assumption that I will hold the plan, the timing, the emotional temperature of the room.
Asking me where things go because thinking feels like too much work.
It’s crushing.
And I don’t want to carry it anymore.
Nick bought two tickets to see Florence and the Machine in April. Chicago, here I come!! My sister and I will have that experience together, and for once, I’m taking her to see someone she’s never seen before. It’s going to be magical.
I booked Nick and me a weekend away near Tupper Lake. I’ve been wanting to see the Wild Lights, and I’m in dire need of reconnecting with who I am as a woman — not a wife, not a mother, not a planner or emotional regulator. Just me. The person I was before life layered itself on top. I want a place where phone usage is scarce, outside time is right there, and wonder can exist.
I’m contemplating leaving the Christmas lights up around the windows. There’s something calming about that warm morning glow — softer than the harshness of everything fully lit. It feels like candlelight.
My favorite song this week is “Sympathy” by Vampire Weekend. Something about the sound makes me want to flail around like one of those wacky inflatable tube people you see on the side of the road. That feels like my body asking for release.
I was asked a question mid-sentence earlier and had to stop, take a breath, and answer with my first response that wasn’t snarky. That felt like progress.
I’m always thinking, planning, moving forward — even down to when I might best enjoy a cup of tea. Is it better while writing? Or knitting? But if I’m knitting, I can’t sip very often. And do the English drink their tea quickly? Because it cools fast, and I’m not sure that’s enjoyable either.
I want to slow down. I want a gentler pace.
Not by giving more of myself away —
but by choosing where my energy actually belongs.
For now, that looks like soft light, warmer boundaries, and letting some things cool without guilt. And maybe, just maybe, trusting that I don’t have to hold everything for everyone in order to be okay.
Before I close this out, I want to say thank you. Last week’s post unexpectedly reached thousands (9,946 to be exact!!!!!) of you, and I’m still wrapping my head around that. It told me something important — that these words are landing, that this space is doing what I hoped it would do: make people feel less alone in the middle of it all, including myself.
If you’ve been reading quietly, thank you for being here. If you’re new, I’m really glad you found your way in.
If this kind of writing resonates with you — the honesty, the humor, the messy middle — you’re welcome to subscribe so you don’t miss future posts. No pressure, no noise. Just a note when something new is here, waiting for you.
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