Chaos, Tears, Self-Imposed ‘Shoulds and The Unwelcome Return of Auntie Flo

Last week, I ended my post by saying I was going to start focusing on what I could control. Someone was definitely having a laugh with me that night. I got a grand total of 2 hours and 1 minute of sleep.

At 3:45 a.m., I gave up and went downstairs. I cleaned the kitchen, had a bit of a tidy and then sat with a cup of tea watching Vanderpump Rules, hoping sleep would return.

As much as I wanted to get out for a walk, I knew it would be unlikely, and I had to stop beating myself up about it. I wasn’t being lazy; I was bloody exhausted, and going out for a 3-mile walk wouldn’t help that.

Fortunately, I had no plans to leave the house, so I somehow managed to scrape through the day, and as the evening drew in, I actually had some energy.

The following day, I was up early, and more doctors—this time for an ECG, which the doctor requested because of my blood pressure results. I was meeting my brother for breakfast beforehand and then popping in to see my parents.

My mood was significantly improved, and whilst doing my 750 words that morning, I came to some interesting realisations about how I had been feeling.

This seemingly constant stress I had been under since coming back from my holiday had really taken its toll. Some of the things probably didn’t need to cause me as much stress as they did, but for me, stress seems to have a domino effect, and it can get to the point where leaving the house gives me severe anxiety. Thankfully, I’m not there yet.

I was talking to a girl I used to go to school with who works on reception at the doctor’s, and she was saying she is having all the symptoms, but her doctor, who is at a different surgery, has told her that “her levels aren’t quite there yet” I tell her in an angry shouty whisper that that is utter bullshit, before the nurse calls me in.

My ECG is OK, and the nurse is so lovely. We spent ages chatting about my new favourite subject: perimenopause. I talk about all the things I have learned, some of which she isn’t even aware of, and I leave with a feeling of relief.

The husband and I have a lovely chilled evening in front of the TV, and it feels nice not to have to be anywhere or worry about anything. The only mar on the day is Auntie Flo returning. She only left last week, but I am guessing this is because I’ve stopped the progesterone tablets. Hopefully, she won’t stay too long.

I met my friend for lunch at Lakeside on Saturday, stuck in glorious traffic on the way there and back, but the catch-up carbs and cheesecake were worth the trip. The husband has gone to a football match, and we were planning on having a date night out tonight, but my lack of sleep seems to have caught up with me. When he comes home, I tell him I don’t mind if we stay in and that, in fact, I would prefer to do that. So, takeaway and a bottle of wine it is.

My plan for Sunday was simple: chill out. So, can someone please tell me why I couldn’t? I had given myself a huge to-do list. Nothing physical, but a lot of admin, life admin, business admin, article reading, research. I didn’t need to do it, but the thought of a relatively empty day was clearly too much for my stress-addicted brain.

No sooner had the husband returned from watching his son play football than I was in tears, crying about anything and everything. I was quite simply overwhelmed by my own overloading of my brain.

I tried to chill out, but I found that I was telling myself that “I should be” a lot. The only thing I “should” be doing is stop giving myself unnecessary shit to do.

One thing you can’t say about me, though, is that I give up. After what seemed like weeks, I finally managed to get my arse up and out on a morning walk, and I even enjoyed it. I still tried to multi-task by updating my to-do list and writing some notes for my blog posts, but I did it. I slept, and I got up, and I got out.

Now, if I could only stop and congratulate myself for this instead of telling myself to now drink 3 litres of water, eat fruit and veg, meditate and become teetotal and thinking that doing any less than makes me a failure.

So far, so good. Wednesday had arrived, and after a brief mini meltdown yesterday after not being able to remember where I had put the back door key only minutes after locking it – that feeling was pretty scary – I was starting to feel normal again, and Auntie Flo had finally departed (again)

I had my final schlep to Essex for tests, this time for blood tests. For some reason, I had woken up exhausted. I needed to snooze my alarm twice because I couldn’t get myself out of bed, but I eventually did, still giving myself plenty of time.

I was thankful to be seen so quickly and was soon back home to my laptop, working the afternoon away. I was excited not to have any plans the following day and that all these visits to the doctor were over for the time being. I just hoped that my blood tests came back okay.

I received a text from the doctor a couple of days later saying to watch my cholesterol. When I looked up the results given, I was 0.1 over, so I wasn’t concerned.

I went to my friends for a catch-up on Friday night and had the entire weekend to chill. I spent Saturday writing, and Sunday was spent watching crap on TV and scrolling social media all at the same time.

When Monday came, I went for a short morning work, did my self-reflection and had fruit and yoghurt. I was winning so far!

But when I finished my work for the morning, I hit a wall. My mind was racing, and I just felt like I needed to be doing so much, but I, of course, ended up doing nothing.

I felt a bit low. Why couldn’t I keep up the momentum? Is there something wrong with me? Maybe it’s not Perimenopause? Maybe I am bipolar? Maybe I have ADHD?

To calm my mind, I have a nice long soak in the bath, but as soon as I am out, I am itching to be “doing” again, so I clean the kitchen. What I really want to do is to sit and relax both my body and my mind, but I can’t remember the last time my mind was quiet.

2023-10-19 12:13:00

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