The other day, a desperate SOS about estrogen patches lit up the group chat I share with my three best friends. As I read the message, I was instantly taken back to just weeks earlier—when, in a hormonal fit of emotion, I ripped off my own patch mid-meltdown. The estrogen had made me quite weepy. So there I was, sobbing over the sight of a baby rabbit, when I finally snapped and decided I’d had enough.
Now, I’m trying progesterone, and am happy to report that I have felt rather annoyed at the sight of all the baby rabbits in our yard lately.
The point is: If you’d have told me a few years back that my friends and I would be chatting nonchalantly about hormones, I’d have called you nuts. But what I love about our text thread is that something that once would have sounded like an unhinged cry for help now feels like part of a healthy, ongoing conversation about women’s health.
Perimenopause and menopause seem a lot like the female orgasm: the path to victory is a little different for everyone. Anecdotally, it is almost like no two women have the same set of symptoms. For example, where I’m often anxious and irritable, a friend of mine can’t sleep and gets hot flashes. Another one is struggling with libido and vaginal dryness, and others have a little of everything.
Admittedly, it is overwhelming trying to tackle hormonal shifts. Honestly, who among us hasn’t considered burning the house down over 18 pairs of shoes by the door—or walked into a room and immediately forgotten why we went in there?
Seriously, the brain fog. If I don’t write down a thought the moment it pops into my head, you might as well put it on a milk carton—it’s missing. Even when I do write things down, I’ll often just use a keyword thinking I will later recall what I’d hoped to remember. My notes app is full of cryptic entries like “pancakes,” “cash,” and “1.5.” Not exactly helpful. But I digress.
What was I talking about again? Ah, yes, I am in love with the fact that all of my friends are talking about perimenopause. Not only is it wonderfully validating to know that so many of us are experiencing the wrath of this hormonal rollercoaster, but it is also through this camaraderie that we are opening each other’s eyes to the amazing options out there to feel our best again.
My friend with the libido and vaginal dryness, for instance, found a great provider and was prescribed some estrogen cream—which has basically turned her into a new woman. All she had to do was smear some estrogen cream on her lady parts and—boom—like putting fresh oil in a motor, her engine was running again. I, on the other hand, lean heavily on movement when my mood gets out of whack. I blast loud music, grab something like a wooden spoon or turkey baster as a microphone, and flail around the kitchen until I start to like my kids again. Simply put: this is not a one-size-fits-all equation.
Perimenopausal women are so much more than the sweaty lunatics we’ve been made out to be. As a kid, I heard jokes about older women "going crazy." The way to avoid it was to be quiet, composed, ladylike. What a crock.
Now? I cry over kittens. I scream into spatulas. I’m not holding it together—I’m letting it out. And somehow, in the chaos, I feel more seen than ever. We’re not white-knuckling it anymore. We’re laughing, dancing, and venting in group chats—and doing it all together.
