I have become the person who carries a neck fan and a paper fan in her purse. Why? Because my body runs at 105 degrees Fahrenheit ALL. THE. TIME. I hate it.
Last spring, I joined a women’s golf club that ran into fall. Every Friday, we would meet at 6 PM for practice. Practice was at a facility that was both indoor and outdoor. I stayed mostly indoors because I would melt, but that didn’t matter.
I had a coach (who is male) who would point out my excessive amount of sweat out loud and chuckle like it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. I plotted his murder in my mind. He would run bottles of water to me despite my gigantic emotional support water jug sitting right next to me. He thought I was suffering… and I was, but I would’ve preferred to silently suffer like the pink elephant in the room.
I never understood why I was sweating so much. I just assumed maybe it was a “me” issue, even though the issue was new.
Spring turned into summer and I became a human garbage disposal. Yes, exactly how it sounds. I ate until there was no tomorrow. The off button in my brain that signaled to my stomach that I was full was broken, and I couldn’t stop eating.
Along with that, I gained 10 pounds in what felt like a week. My clothes weren’t fitting, my boobs were enormous, and my confidence level was dwindling.
What the hell was wrong with me?
One minute, I was stressed from daily life as a mom and W-2 employee working for the man. The next, I was confused, rage-filled, and overheating like a car radiator. If I was going down, everyone was coming with me.
At times, dressing almost naked made perfect sense, but not when it was 60 degrees outside.
Not only that, my clothes were fitting so tight that the only things I could tolerate were oversized shirts and biker shorts. I might as well have been wearing a snow outfit with that many layers. I also refused to buy new clothes. I was not accepting this new chapter in life where gravity seemed to be pulling a little harder on certain parts of my body.
I even considered GLP-1 medication until I finally asked my doctor what was wrong with me.
She said, “Perimenopause.”
Though, she ran tests first to confirm that was, in fact, the cause.
Oh, how my age had officially caught up with my body.
How dare it.
Without any warning.
Though now I know this wasn’t technically a “me” issue. It was a hormone issue.
I spent the majority of that time blaming myself, which only contributed to my depression. For months, I thought I was lazy, undisciplined, emotional, and somehow failing at things that used to come naturally.
It turns out my body was trying to tell me something.
I just didn’t know how to listen yet.
Hormone Replacement Therapy.
God bless you.
More Than Shower Thoughts 
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