I don’t want to open my eyes because it’s 4:15 AM. I’ve been waking up this early for months. My mind starts racing through my to-do list, and my eyes aren’t even open yet: I’ve got to remember to pay that bill, get my kid signed up for soccer, and donate that bag of old clothes sitting in my trunk. I can’t get up and clean because I’ll wake up my husband, who has been crashing on the sofa for six months, because he says I snore.
I run through my list again, noting all the tasks. I think I’m using this time before sunrise to get organized, but really, my mind racing is just making me feel more anxious. And then I recall this Reel from Big Time Adulting, about her internal mom monologue in the middle of the night… I wonder if she’s awake too? I finally fall back asleep, and suddenly, it’s 7 AM. Now I’m late and need to get the kids up for school, ASAP.
I grudgingly get up. I put my feet on the floor and mumble to myself, “Here we go again.” I pull on a pair of jeans I’ve worn for years, and suddenly, they feel tight. Screw it. I’ll wear my yoga pants even though I have no plans to work out today.
Oh, and gross, I smell like onions. I glimpse myself in the mirror, and my face looks puffy and tired, with dark circles under my eyes. I try to stay positive. As I walk down the stairs, my knees are stiff, and my shoulder hurts. My boobs feel huge, like HUMONGOUS, and I am nowhere near getting my period. My body makes no sense; there’s no rhyme or reason for feeling this way.
A cup of coffee will snap me out of this funk, hopefully. I’m exhausted but slept at least nine hours, and I’ve felt this slog for months. But this is motherhood, and I should be tired, right? My brain is foggy, and I no longer feel refreshed or excited about anything.
And to add to the mix, I can’t stop thinking about the conversation I had with friends a few nights ago. I came in hot. I’m opinionated, but I think I veered into being unhinged. I offered my hot take on everything and monopolized the conversation. I am completely embarrassed. Why did I say those things, and why was I so judgmental of other moms? I tried to back pedal, but the damage was done, and I feel super ashamed that I let my mouth get out of control.
But this is supposed to happen. You stop caring about what other people think when you hit 40. You shed the bullshit. This should feel freeing. But I can’t shake that this doesn’t feel like me. I have opinions, but typically, I have the emotional maturity to filter myself. Instead of feeling liberated by age, it’s like I don’t recognize myself anymore.
So what is this new(ish) stage? Is it a funk or is it perimenopause? And of course, at the same time that I’m dealing with the sleepless nights, weird body issues, and general brain fog, my 11-year-old is a sullen teenager already. She comes down the stairs looking like she hasn’t slept in a week, with dark circles under her eyes and her forehead breaking out in zits. She snaps at me, as she’s prone to do these days. I’ve learned quickly to just ignore the outbursts.
And I realize she’s at the beginning of this hormonal roller coaster and I am at the end. We mirror each other — tiredness, fog, rage. Like when I was tween, I felt utterly unprepared for this life transition stumbling through it trying to make sense of it all. In a weird way, it’s almost comforting, or at least mitigating. There’s something very endearing — and awful — about going through a major hormonal shift alongside your kid. I try to cut her slack when she’s moody because I can’t be a total bitch too. I talk to her about what’s going on with her body and how our hormones can just make us both act a little bonkers. And I hope going through this experience together —talking and laughing — we are both a little more prepared to what comes next.
Katy Elliott is the Personal Stories Editor at Scary Mommy. She loves to cook, garden and chat with people about anything from your how much you love your kids to how much your kids drive you nuts. She’s a mom to two kids and lives in Marblehead, Massachusetts.
