According to my doctor, I’ve entered “perimenopause”, and that news has sent me in a whirlwind of emotions, and taken a serious toll on my mental health. “What? ME! Perimenopausal? What do you mean? I’m still 19 in my mind!!! How can this be!?”

I know, it was bound to happen sooner or later, but I didn’t take too kindly to this new normal. There was enough new normal happening already with the pandemic, I really didn’t need more changes in my life. Especially not the downhill kind!

In addition to masks and lockdowns, now, there are the irregular periods and constant spotting. My breasts are permanently tender and I have a persistent headaches. My skin is going downhill too! Then, there’s the fact that have more pimples than my 16 year old. My face is in a constant breakout state that no amount of Clearasil seem to improve. Every day, I have a few new zits that I have to fight the urge of popping.

I find myself no longer wanting to tolerate idiocy and have thrown away the white gloves I used to wear when dealing with people. I don’t have time for stupidity.

My focus is not all there and I forget things. A lot. Of course, I’m in denial and I brush it off as just my head being too full of ideas, but realistically, I’m getting older, plain and simple.

I have to keep the Air Conditioner at the very maximum of 67. This creates a lot of conflict with the rest of the household members, who usually like their home to be at around 72.

My eyesight, or lack thereof, just doesn’t quite cut it anymore. Things aren’t “sharp”. I was told a few years back that I should move to progressive lenses, but my pride got in the way. I refuse to do that. It would be admitting that years are catching up to me, even it bifocals are no longer obvious nowadays. Maybe you wouldn’t know, but I would know! At least the gray hair, I can hide, even from myself.

I guess the upside of the poor eyesight is that I don’t see how bad my wrinkles are really getting.

Even though they suck, these minor annoyances, I can tolerate. The hardest pill to swallow for me is to know that my child bearing days are over. It feels like my body is betraying me. I feel “less than”. I was blessed beyond words to be able to carry to term 5 beautiful children. I’m also thankful that medicine is so advanced that it allowed me to do so, even if it meant having 5 c-sections. But I wish I could have more. Instead, I am witnessing the slow death of my womb. I can feel it shriveling. I can picture my ovaries drying up. How will I ever survive this? Well, theoretically I won’t, as old age always ultimately leads to death, but if I have to live in the mean time, how do I do it?

I have utter admiration for women who embrace their seasoned selves and seem happy. They enjoy this period in their lives where they slow down and relax. Why do I have such a hard time accepting it? Maybe it’s because my mind IS full of ideas and I feel like I’ve done but a fraction of what I am meant to do? Maybe, as a person so passionate about life,I have a difficulty to accept that this is the beginning of the end? I guess I will just have to change my mindset and stop referring to it as getting older. I’ll see it as getting Better. But how do I do that?

Give me your tips below…

“If you’re not getting older, you’re dead.”—Tom Petty