An anonymous poster here recently said that exposing so much of myself is detrimental to my children. My mother occasionally says the same thing. That I share too much. That there are things I should keep private. That words I post here can and will be held against me (or something along those lines).
I've been thinking about why I don't just delete the negative and move on. To be honest, those comments make me think. Am I a narcissist? Am I harming my kids? Is there a bright line between appropriate and too much? It never hurts to stand back and look at what I put out into the world from a more objective point of view.
I woke up this morning wanting to write about my body. And after mulling about it for a couple of hours, analyzing possible ramifications, projecting what my family might think or feel . . . I'm writing about my body. I put a book out into the world about menstruation and in my house we talk. We discuss. We know. Is this better than the silence I grew up with?
I don't know. Time will tell.
But for today I'm talking periods again. Specifically mine. For years, ever since having kids, it's pretty pretty damn regular. No surprises. Late every once in awhile. Less cramps than when I was younger. I'm happy to get it. I know my body's working the way it's supposed to.
While I was working on FLOW (and no, I don't think it's a coincidence), my period sped up. It now appears every 23 or 24 days, the first day bringing mind-blowing, double-me-over a hot water bottle cramps, crazy heavy flow for 24 hours and then it tapers off quickly.
But then, last month, it was a week early. That meant it was just over two weeks since my last one. And it was intense. Heavy for 4 days. In fact, it freaked me out a bit. This month? It barely started and then disappeared. I went through my monthly craving for sweets, the teeth-gritting bad mood, feeling bloated and cranky. I spent the past 3 days waiting for it to kick into gear and do its thing, but that seems to not be happening.
My body is changing.
I "know" this stuff. I researched it. Wrote it. Mulled it over. But it wasn't about me.
Now it is.
I don't like change. Even more, I can't stand the unknown. And, at least as it relates to my body, unknown is going to be a buzzword for the next few years.
I suppose though, it's not just about my period. It's about life. Life is one giant unknown, no matter how much I, we, think we can control it. It's in the learning to let go that I find freedom and strength. Growth. Joy.
So. Maybe this perimenopause thing will be a time to stretch and learn more about myself.
(I'm not holding my breath about that one).