That one time I lost my shit...

Laughing at "that one time..." part.

This past week, I lost all of my sh*t in the middle of a Wednesday evening on day three of my menstrual cycle. I used to even out on day three, but not these perimeno- days. That timing is now the exact ramp up and the crush and the crash and it takes me out and down, down, down the spiral.

I texted my husband these exact words from the darkness of my daughter’s room as I put her to sleep with a streaming meditation about a cotton candy mountain:

I am going to take a bath. Please do not speak to me the rest of the evening.

And he didn’t.

He didn’t even answer the text.

He gave me space.

And silence.

And somehow, non-judgment.

On the other side and as the spiral evens out, I am really proud of myself for being so emotional and dare I say, dramatic. I actually am a dramatic person, did you know this or have I hid that, too in any attempt to be ‘chill’ or ‘low maintenance’? The requested silent treatment was connected to rage, yes, and it was so connected to love. Anything that would have come out of my mouth that night would have been vitriol. I would have been so unkind. I celebrate the foresight I had to be with my spiraling self that evening. To ask for space and especially for my overthinking and over-speaking self, to take it - gives me a nod to my growth.

If you are anything like me, you perhaps have a tendency to people please and want to keep a semblance of peace. I am sure people like that about you. As I know some people have liked that about me.