Today a friend forwarded to me an article entitled "The Bitch Factor: Irritability in Perimenopause." My first thought was, "Geez, have I become such a bitch that my friends feel impelled to address it via email?" But I quickly cast that uncomfortable notion aside and instead sat and pondered the meaning of menopausal bitchiness. I wonder if it's all really about hormones. Couldn't it be, instead--or perhaps in addition-- the result of a new sense of urgency? Turning 50, I've realized I probably have less time left on this earth than I've already lived and that, unless I'm extraordinarily lucky, a good chunk of my remaining earth time will be spent in an increasingly physically and (gulp) mentally limited state. I gotta get moving here. So much to finish and to start and to try and to see and to eat and to share and to buy and to read. . . so, dammit, wouldya shut up and just get the fuck out of my way?
And then, of course, there's always the possibility that actually I've always been this bitchy, deep down inside, but menopause just gives me the excuse to shrug off any self-censorship and give the Inner Bitch total control.
Whatever. She's out now. It's best to kneel and pay homage.
Love this! I remember this stage -- as I'm sure my beloved and amazingly patient husband does in even more vivid detail. At one point, I asked my GYN if it was time to start hormone therapy, and she said, "Come back when you feel like killing somebody." The next year, I reminded her what she'd advised and told her, "I'm there!"
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