Where I've Been...

“Do you remember how they finally defeated the Wicked Witch?” my mom whispered, running her fingers through my hair.

I was six. I’d just woken her up, shaken out of sleep by a nightmare: witches, shadows, and panic courtesy of a recent viewing of The Wizard of Oz.

“They threw water on her!”

My mom’s face lit up. “Exactly. So, the next time you see a witch in your dreams, what are you going to do?” 

“Throw water on her!” 

Now, before you all cancel me because “witches are people, too!”, I know. I have, believe it or not, grown since I was six. Included in that growth was my understanding that a witch is a member of a real religion and if I’m being brutally honest, I’ve never in my life met a witch I didn’t like. So, I’ve set aside my buckets of water. Ok? 

I didn’t tell you this story to set myself up as a badass witch-slayer, though. I told you this story because it illustrates one of the many ways I was taught at an early age to redirect my negative thoughts and as a result, I got quite good at it. 

I’ve spent most of my life emotionally stable, able to exist in a pleasant middle ground where I’m not depressed or down but I’m also not the happiest person on earth, you know? I was happy. Just not happy. But I was stable, and that’s the part that counts. 

Because recently my body has descended into the churning pits of perimenopause hell and I would kill for that stability back.

Out. Of. Nowhere. My ability to control my emotions and my thoughts has been ripped from me. I’m thinking the darkest things, grieving the dumbest shit, sobbing about everything. 

Add to that the fact that Facebook demonetized my page, which, if I’m being honest, was about half of my entire income at this point. As well, the overall state of the world... ugh.

Faced with Christmas looming, a significant loss of money, fears of war and my complete inability to control my emotions, and you can imagine what might have ensued. 

Oh, and when we moved my son downstairs for more space suitable for a teen, all the emotions from when my daughter moved out resurfaced and I think I started to experience empty nest syndrome. It had always sounded so unthreatening to me, "Empty Nest Syndrome." Christ, it hurts more than childbirth. And that's about as far as I'll go explaining that before I'm a puddle of sobs again.

My friends, I was in such a state, I couldn’t even look at my phone for two weeks. I had to get higher than Snoop Dogg has ever been to get through all the Christmas activities. I think this is the first year since starting Godless Mom that I haven’t posted pictures from our Christmas festivities! I couldn’t touch my computer. I couldn’t answer calls. I would have been catatonic if I wasn’t crying all the time. 

I am higher than Cheech and Chong combined (Me, my beautiful son, my loving husband)

Between you and me, the only reason I’m not right now is because I’m high as balls.

Of course, being an atheist and priding myself on rational thought, and believing in evidence-based medicine, I knew that all of this was perimenopause. I knew that this emotional rollercoaster was just hormones flooding my body in ways I wasn’t used to. I knew it was treatable and I had to get some help. 

So, I have a counsellor, and about twenty doctor’s appointments at the moment, and we’re going to figure this thing out. I’m going to be looking into SSRIs, HRT as well as changing many things about my lifestyle to make sure that I’m okay. 

I wanted to tell you folks where I was, because I know how genuinely caring so many of you are and I don’t want anyone to worry. I am safe. I am being cared for. I have a very solid support system. I may not need any buckets of water, but I am taking some time off. It hurts me to say that, but I have to right now. I promise, I will be back as things get better. In the meantime, I'm going to share some old content again so you have something to enjoy.

If you’d like to support me and help relieve at least my rational anxiety, you can: 

• Buy my book

• Chip in

• Join my Patreon