Losing it all in perimenopause

The new normal: Car naps, lost keys, hormone adjustments and crying in public.

Hey friends! I’m sharing a piece I wrote out of frustration last week. Or was it the week before?!? With all of the brain fog and emotional meltdowns, I’m no longer sure … this piece is all about the ups and downs of perimenopause.

This has been a terrible, no-good, very-bad week in my perimenopause journey. I lost my wallet, like flat-out, absolutely no clue lost it. I’ve turned over the house, searched the cars, my purses, my pockets, and revisited or contacted every place I remember being leading up to the losing. I’ve put a hold on the credit cards, but there was no activity on them, confirming my suspicion that the wallet hasn’t fallen into the wrong hands. No hands is more like it. My latest theory is that the wallet must have somehow ended up in a bag that went out with the trash. It’s been over a week, and there’s been no sight of it. If that wasn’t bad enough, I also lost the mailbox key. And here’s the kicker: I have a vague memory of thinking, “I should remember where I’m putting this…” And now—poof!—it’s gone.*

On top of the lost items, my emotions have been a rollercoaster. I burst into tears in a Starbucks drive-through while telling my daughter how happy I was to have her home from college. This doesn’t sound all the dramatic except if you knew me in my previous life, when my emotions were as tightly corked as a bottle of aged wine, you'd know this is way out of character. I went years without tears. I couldn’t get them to come, even when I tried to summoned them. Now, it’s like the dam has broken inside me—frustration, anger, sadness—it all comes pouring out, and it always seems to be when I’m in public, so I can’t even keep up the appearance of trying to keep it together.

I had heard perimenopause could make you angry; I wasn’t prepared for the waterworks.

“I don’t even know who this person is,” I whispered to my husband in the darkened car ride home after a recent evening out, almost afraid what would happen if I said it aloud. Out of body is the only way to describe it. Lately, it feels like I’m inhabiting the body of someone I don’t even recognize.

A few weeks ago, I had drafted a post outlining all the steps I’d taken to manage my brain fog since being diagnosed with inattentive ADHD earlier this summer—though I’ve pretty much rejected that diagnosis and come to believe my symptoms are tied to perimenopause. But these recent lapses had me rethinking it all. Who am I to be giving advice??? I don’t have a secret formula for battling brain fog, managing emotions, or magically finding my wallet (though I’m all ears if you have tips on that last one).

It’s not that I had everything figured out, but it felt like I was finally on the right path, especially after starting hormone therapy. Then I started losing things again, which sent me into an emotional spiral. I was right back at step one, all the progress I’d made down the toilet. It was all so overwhelming, the emotion I’ve come to associate most with my “new normal,” the one that’s the precursor to tears.

It wasn’t the actual losing of the items that was so bad. To be sure, they are an inconvenience to replace, but they can be replaced. My mind, though, there is no replacing that one.

When I calmed down (I do eventually calm down), I took a step back to assess the situation. What was the most likely explanation for what was going on? Where was I in my cycle? Could it be hormones? I lost it all the week before I was supposed to be starting my period, when my estrogen levels would have naturally been at their lowest. Given that I was on a starter dose of hormones, it seems most likely I needed to up my estrogen dosage, so that’s one of the things I did.

The other was to pull back—or power down, depending on how you look at it.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned the past few years is the power of not pushing through. Yes, I said not pushing through, which flies in the face of the hustle culture so many of us are trapped in. These little lapses are like my body’s check engine light coming on, signaling me to slow down, reassess and take more care of myself. In my old life, I would’ve powered through the chaos, ignoring the signals and pushing myself even harder. But now, I’m learning to give myself the rest, space and grace I need to navigate these moments.

Some of this sensitivity feels like a necessity. I’ve become so much more attuned to sleep disturbances, and while hormones have helped ease the 3:30 a.m. anxiety that plagued me over the past couple of years, a bad night’s sleep still hits hard. When I don’t get enough rest, my brain feels like it’s short-circuiting—concentrating is hard, and my emotions are all over the place.

On those days, I adjust. I skip the intense mountain bike ride (which really requires paying attention!) in favor of a walk. If I can, I nap—even if it’s just a 20-minute “car nap” while waiting to pick up my daughter from school. And if napping isn’t an option, I meditate or carve out 10 minutes to cuddle with the cat. I view these small acts of self-care as necessities, helping me navigate the unpredictability of it all.

Because progress isn’t linear—I’ve learned this the hard way, and I’m still having to remind myself of it every day. What I do know is that treating myself with kindness makes it all a little easier. It doesn’t fix the brain fog, the lost items, or the emotional rollercoaster, but it softens the edges and reminds me that I don’t have to have it all figured out.

This week, the kindest thing I could do was recognize the signs, adjust my hormones, and ease up on the expectations I set for myself. Not everything has to get done. Not everything has to be perfect. And not everything has to feel under control. Sometimes, just showing up for myself—mess and all—is enough.

As I’ve shared before, I think our outlook on life drives our outcomes, especially in menopause. I’m not putting rose colored glasses on over the last few months. But I’m taking them in stride. I’m going through changes. I don’t have the answers to everything. It’s tough. It’s time for more tenderness and love.

If you’ve ever found yourself crying in a Starbucks drive-through or turning your house upside down looking for something you’re sure you’ll never find, you’re not alone. This phase of life feels messy and unfamiliar, but it’s also a chance to learn a new way of caring for ourselves.

*A neighbor brought me my mail key and told me it was left in our mailbox. I’m still hoping I find my wallet.

Now it’s your turn …

• Have you found yourself losing items or your emotions—what’s been your “I don’t even know who this person is” moment lately?

• How do you practice kindness toward yourself when everything feels like it's spiraling out of control?

• Have you noticed certain times in your cycle (or life) when you feel more prone to losing things—or your patience? How do you manage those moments?