Tag Archives: Health / Aging

Perimenopause or a Challenging Life? Sometimes It’s Hard to Know

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Is it my hormones changing or is life simply challenging? Seriously. I’m tired of the narrative that everything is perimenopause, or even menopause. Yes, a lot of women are struggling with the reality of perimenopause and menopause. I am far from dismissing that. I mean shoot, I’m one of them. The brain fog is real. And brain fog is an understatement. I forgot my son’s best friend’s name the other day. A kid I’ve known since second grade.

Hello perimenopause symptoms! And the song lyrics, “Cause you’re hot then you’re cold / You’re ‘Yes’ then you’re ‘No’” Well Katy Perry wrote my theme song. And probably millions of other women my age. And while it is great that perimenopause is finally having its time in the spotlight and women are getting the support we need, I hate to say it, but it is being used as a crutch in places. A place to put blame. A way to dismiss reality, real feelings.

An easy out for a woman who is truly struggling because her life is actually, truly DIFFICULT. One professional, “Oh it’s *just* perimenopause. You’re simply extra emotional.” And what if it isn’t? What if sometimes life is just hard because, wait for it…it just is?

And the hormones are making it worse but aren’t the culprit? This is a question and a debate I’ve had with my therapist and my doctor for a while now. I got on the computer for my virtual doctor’s appointment last week and got right to the point. “Listen. I know I’m in perimenopause. I know my changing hormones aren’t helping AND ALSO… I feel like I’m going to cry every afternoon. I have more panic attacks than I ever have.

My exhaustion and sense of overwhelm some days is new, next level. And I don’t think it is just because of the hormones. My life is simply hard. Harder than it has been in a long time. The hormones aren’t helping.” And then I do what I do. I spoke in metaphors;) “Picture an ice cream sundae.” She smiled at this one. “My life is a five scoop ice cream sundae. It’s being eaten outside on a 90 degree day. I’m one scoop, each kid is a scoop I’m taking care of. We are already naturally melting from the heat of life. The hot fudge is perimenopause. It’s simply expediting the meltdown.”

I continued. “Point being. I’m melting. Something needs to change. My medication isn’t fully working anymore and hormones? Sure, adding them might help, but it isn’t the full solution because perimenopause isn’t the only problem.”

My doctor looked at me. And simply said, “I get it. It’s all too much. Just too much. Here’s the plan. We’re adding this medication. Take it in case of emergency. When the sense of overwhelm hits hard. You might need it, you might not. The season you are in is temporary.”

I said thank you. Closed the computer and sighed a sigh of relief. It has taken me months to admit I needed to change medication. I just keep telling myself, strike that, blaming myself. Blaming myself for not managing well enough. For not handling the stress well enough.

“Just try harder. Take more deep breaths. Exercise more. Rest more. Laugh more.” Yada. Yada. Yada. Yes. All those things might and will help AND ALSO, my life is heavy right now. It is wonderful and I am grateful AND it is heavy and challenging. There comes a point where part of the solution is asking, what other kind of support do I need? The medicine she added, my addition to my bag of tricks for supporting myself during this season?

The last time it was in my repertoire was 2016 when my divorce began. When I had days I couldn’t breathe. When it all felt “just too much,” as she said. I got through those days. It’s 10 years later. I never thought I would need that medication again.

But life happens. Gray happens. It isn’t a reflection of me, of my lack of ability to manage stress or the challenges that come my way. It is just a reflection of the reality I’m living right now. Life can be very hard. And sometimes people hold that very close to their chest because they have no choice but to do so. That just makes it heavier, doesn’t it? Perimenopause doesn’t pause any of that from happening. It just makes it worse.

But what truly makes it all worse is using perimenopause as a scapegoat for real, heavy emotional feelings people are experiencing. Gray happens.

And it can hit hard and heavy. Admitting it, acknowledging it? Not a scapegoat. Figuring out support isn’t a scapegoat either. These are all the ways orange begins to make the gray lighter.

Sending my warmth to you today, especially if any part of this post resonated a little too close. Trust me, it isn’t just you and me feeling this way.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

When Parenting Overwhelm Makes You Want to Escape: What Helped Me Stay Sober

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Here’s the thing: I was so livid after what I heard that I wanted to break something. I wanted to scream louder than I ever have.

But I had eight teenage eyes watching me. My brain decided that the little-bit-better solution would be a stiff gin and tonic. I mean a beverage is better than broken pieces, right?!

Except it had been 549 days without one. I could smell the lime being squeezed. I could taste the gin hitting my tongue. I could feel the instant relaxation going down my throat, sip by sip by sip.

And I could see what would come moments later: an empty glass held by a person filled with disappointment, shame, and regret that she had let herself down. That she hadn’t kept her promise not to drink.

So I didn’t make the drink. The decision Was. Not. Easy. One would think that going 549 days without alcohol would make it easier. Kinda like how people say to parents with young kids, “Don’t worry, it will get easier!” As a parent to teens, 20 years later, I can assure you…it has NOT gotten easier. It has simply changed. Some days are easier than they used to be. Some days are harder. The same goes for my journey not to drink.

I can go weeks or months without thinking twice about alcohol, and then BAM—the struggle is so real it hurts. The double hurt is that in those moments, when I feel so crappy that a drink seems like it will wash away all my pain and bring me back to a better place—it won’t—it becomes abundantly clear that I’m doing the right thing by choosing not to drink. It becomes as clear as gin that my relationship with alcohol is no good.

And I didn’t even drink *that* much. But I saw the intake creeping up. I saw the craving increasing. I saw my desire, my enjoyment of one drink… become a need for one drink.

And that is very hard to swallow. Because it means this journey is about more than making it through the day. It means making this choice every day for years and years to come. And I’m not gonna lie. I miss alcohol. I miss the taste and the rituals (not what alcohol supposedly did for me, I’ve found good enough substitutions).

But oh how I love a good margarita by the pool. A glass of red wine by the fire at Christmas. Champagne to celebrate. The substitutions for these just aren’t the same or even good enough.

And I know me. Sips of the real thing won’t stay sips. So I will keep doing what I did that day when I wanted to break something, but pouring a stiff drink wasn’t a choice I was willing to make either. I’ll ask myself: What do I really want to feel? What feeling am I chasing? What need do I have? That day, I put on my sneakers and went for a walk around my neighborhood. In my wet bathing suit. If you want to know whether it was an awesome look, the answer is totally not.

Rest assured though, it was a skirt bottom so it wasn’t totally awful. And I felt less awful afterward. I called a friend while I walked. I shared my frustration about life. Then I did a second lap.

And I got back to life. I made it to bedtime without a drink. Today is day 559. The last ten days have had their moments too—moments when gin told me it would make life better. That it would be the sugar to make the medicine go down, so to speak. I didn’t listen. I found other orange to help me carry the gray. If there is one thing that has become even more clear during my journey of not drinking—and during The Orange Rhino Journey Part 2—it is this: When gray happens, which it will, it doesn’t just poof! disappear.

Drinking certainly didn’t make it go away. It usually made it heavier. Not drinking doesn’t magically make the gray lighter either.

But it makes it easier for me to manage. So does acknowledging the gray. It keeps it from taking up every inch of space in my mind. I can’t make the gray disappear.

And I don’t think carrying it will magically become easy. But every day I don’t drink, I get a little better at carrying it without adding more weight. And isn’t that what so many of us are doing? The heavy, non-disappearing, perhaps permanent gray may not get lighter.

But we get better. And somehow, that makes it feel lighter to carry. Sending warmth to you today, especially if this post hit too close to home. Solidarity my friend.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino

Don’t Let a Disability Tell You What You’re Capable Of

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There is no polite way for me to write this post. I’ve actually waited a few days (and months) so I could be “cool, calm, and collected.” Truth? I’m not sure I will ever be entirely cool, calm, and collected about this. This post is for any parent, child, or person who has ever been told they weren’t good enough because they have a disability. Or because they learn differently. Or because they learn more slowly. Do not, I repeat, do not, let anyone tell you that you are not good enough to become what you want to become.

I have four sons. I’m sharing this with permission. One of my sons has severe ADHD, auditory processing and other learning challenges. He was bullied by students and teacher aides alike. In 6th grade, an aide said to him, “You will never go to college or succeed.” Imagine if he had listened?!

Well, he didn’t. Instead, he basically said, “Oh yeah? Watch me.” He is now at a top college, on scholarship, getting good grades, and studying to become a special education teacher. Because he had a few of us rooting for him, pointing out to him the good we saw in him; his strengths, his opportunities. We believed in him until he could for himself.

Another one of my sons has struggled since kindergarten. In 3rd grade, his teacher told him, “We don’t have books at your reading level in this classroom. You’re a big kid now. You need to try harder. Stop being lazy.” Lazy? I told her to look at the facts. To look at everything else he could do; how hard he worked, how hard he was trying to find ways to help himself read! I said, “He is not lazy. He is struggling to read. There is something we are missing. Help.”

Fast forward two years. I asked the elementary school principal for extra support going into middle school. “We don’t proactively add support.” Right…

Middle school was a challenge. His mental health took a hit; his homework, tests, quizzes, you name it, took a hit. A child who used to love learning, who tried so hard, slowly stopped trying. I pushed again for help. And I was asked, “Are you sure you’re not being a helicopter parent? Overbearing? Maybe trying to get him extra help just so he gets A’s? We see that a lot in this town.”

The fact that I stayed polite at that moment?

Honestly, a true Orange Rhino® moment. Because no. That was not it. I said, “He is masking. He is truly struggling. You’re missing it. I need you to trust me.” They didn’t. They kept insisting he needed to try harder.

And now? That child has an IEP because one person finally listened to me. One person took the time to look beyond the struggles to see the strengths. My son has a learning disability, including a form of dyslexia.

And the testing showed it is not mild. Cue the tears. Cue my rage. Cue the heartbreak of knowing I was right and that it took years to get him all of the support he needed. (I had gotten him other support but what he needed most was in school.) But here is what I need people to understand: A child (anyone really) who learns differently should not be written off. Different pace. Different path. Different strengths.

Still capable. Still worthy. Still full of potential. My boys are proof of that. Their struggles have built empathy. Determination. Resilience. Leadership qualities. Yes, I wish parts of their journey had been easier. Of course I do.

And I know they feel the same. But who they have become because they kept going? Because they had to try harder to learn and to (sadly) prove themselves to the world and sometimes to themselves? I would not change who they have become for the world. Who they are in heart, grit, perspective, and character is second to none.

So let me say this loudly: Let’s stop confusing disability with inability. A disability is not a disqualification. And different does not mean less. (argh!) Sending my warmth and a little extra oomph to you all today and always, and an extra amount of love and support to any parent who knows and feels this post all too well.

xoxo, Sheila

🧡 The Orange Rhino