An Open Letter to Perimenopause

Dear Perimenopause,

Hey, girl. We need to talk. I was wholly unprepared for you to show up on my doorstep with your dry, cracked, leather suitcase, smelling like lavender essential oil and desperation. When I opened the door, I was greeted by a blast of hot, humid air. You reached out your clammy hand and took mine. I immediately broke out in a sweat.

Listen. I think you got your wires crossed or something. I wasn’t expecting you to show up for, like, another decade. How long are you planning on staying? And do you really have to sleep in my bed with me? No offense, but you make it virtually impossible for me to get any rest. You remind me all night long of the things I didn’t get crossed off my to-do list; you bring up embarrassing stories from decades ago and insist I overanalyze them, and you fret over my future plans, finances, health, and relationships. I finally fall asleep, only to be awakened by my bed drenched from your night sweats.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but I’ve really not been firing on all cylinders since you got here. I can be minding my own business, wiping the kitchen counters down, or watering my plants when, whap, out of nowhere, I’m sobbing over a Publix commercial or an Instagram reel of baby ducklings crossing the road or a college kicker missing a field goal. I swear, I cry at the drop of a hat ever since you’ve been here! Not to mention, I keep forgetting why I walked into a room. I stand there looking around, feeling like my laptop buffering, wondering, why am I in here?

I also suspect you’ve been playing pranks on me. Did you break my bathroom scale and shrink all my clothes? Surely, I haven’t put on this much weight since you’ve been visiting. I intermittent fast. I drink green juice and bone broth. I count grams of protein and fiber, calories, and carbs. I try to get my 10,000 steps a day. Something must be wrong with my scale.

Listen, lady. I genuinely want to be respectful of you and to honor our relationship. You are a natural part of life, an inevitable guest. We might as well make peace with each other. So, I’ll sip some lemon balm and ashwagandha tea and do some deep breathing exercises. I’ll write in my gratitude journal. I’ll invest in a “chillow” to help cool us down at night. Perhaps you’ll teach me some new things about myself. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I know I have not been the most gracious host. So, let’s start over, okay? Welcome, friend. Come on in. Let’s get to know each other.

Warm (well, hot, actually) Regards,

Emily Woodall