Last year I moved 7 hours away from the town where I had lived for the past 20 years. I leave behind decades-long friendships that have carried me through new motherhood, divorce, and everything. I left behind someone I loved. I was convinced it was the right decision because I sold almost everything I owned. Even though I cried in my car the entire seven-hour drive to my new apartment, there were positives. I told myself that this was the right decision, it was time for a change and I wanted everything new. New life, new friends, new furniture, new apartment. Maybe even a new person.
If this is indeed a decision that I’m actually making in my real brain, then that’s all fine. I now know that’s not the case. I had yet to learn to play the little game that is now so familiar to me at 52 years old, “Is it me, or is it menopause?”
It turns out I may not always be the driver of the decision-making bus in my brain these days. It’s kind of funny when it comes to little things like eating three tacos on the sink before bed, like I’m in some kind of fugue state. I don’t remember making the tortillas, nor do I remember eating the first two. I seemed to join the party after taking the last two or three bites of the tacos, and had to do some crime scene investigation to discover that my body had indeed made and consumed these tacos. This isn’t a big deal since both versions of me, normal and perimenopausal, love spicy cauliflower tacos.
What scares me are the bigger decisions—the ones that make me uproot my life, sell all my possessions, or turn my hair an unfortunate reddish-orange color that do nothing for my rosacea effect. Because in the beginning, I really didn’t think my brain had changed at all. I was stuck in the early stages of perimenopause. I’ve heard about hot flashes, sleepless nights, weight gain, and hormonal changes that I should expect. But at the end of the rainbow, I’ll stop menstruating, and honestly, that’s the only part of menopause that grabs my attention. Goodbye tampons!
What I didn’t know was that for a long time I didn’t feel like myself at all. I’m talking long days and even weeks of feeling almost completely checked out. It was like I handed someone my car keys and sat in the back seat with my headphones on, listening to music while the driver decided where we were going.
The worst part was I didn’t even know to ask who was driving. I thought it was still me. I didn’t want to talk to my friends or my doctor because I didn’t think there was anything wrong. Physically I’m the same way. So I packed up my car and dyed my hair reddish-orange like I knew everything. My boyfriend stood in the driveway watching me drive away for seven hours and I felt helpless. He tried to talk to me, tried to point out that I was moving away from a life I had spent years building, but it made no difference.
After I moved out and unpacked my few possessions in my very white apartment, it took me about four months to understand that I had made this decision…but not quite. After a few days of walking alone in my lonely new life, I realized I wasn’t where I wanted to be. That reddish-orange hair wasn’t the edgiest look I’d convinced myself would be possible. Taking swing dance classes doesn’t make me a new person. Yes, my periods were still as regular as clockwork, but my brain was already starting to go through the early stages of perimenopause. I talked to friends, I talked to my mom, I talked to my doctor and found out this is not uncommon. For a while they both felt like another person. Or start forgetting things. Or cry more. Or cry less. Or it just feels different.
I start the beat. Ask yourself “Is it me or is it menopause?” when I thought selling my car and buying a Vespa would be a really good idea. Or go back to school and become a full-time baker, even though I only know how to bake three types of cookies. Or buy Count Chocula and wear a striped rugby shirt, even though my shoulders don’t lend themselves to rugby shirts.
I’ll take a break now. I breathe. I will consider my decision. If it turns out I’m sitting in the backseat with headphones on and menopause is deciding where we’re going, I’m going to pull out one and say “Hold on now.”
I’m home now. Hire a moving truck, keep some furniture, and get back to the man I love. I also eat tortillas on the sink. Fix my life. That’s enough for now.
Jane McGuire is a contributing writer for Romper and Scary Mommy. She lives in Canada with her four boys and teaches life writing workshops where someone cries in every class. When she’s not traveling as much, she tries to organize pie parties and outdoor karaoke with her neighbors. She will sing Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” at least once, but she’s open to requests.
