I thought you were having a nervous breakdown

and other things men have said to me

It was exceedingly difficult to wake up this past Monday. Part of why I get up so early is that I only sleep for four to six hours stretches and I wake up raring to go regardless of what time it is. If it’s 2 in the morning I can negotiate myself back to sleep, but if I wake up around 4 AM with a racing mind and an onslaught of creative ideas, I’ve found it best to carry my tired body to a yoga mat where I can let my body rest, while my mind settles itself into a manageable cadence through meditation and breathwork. 

But this Monday felt different.

Everytime I woke up from a sleep stretch, my eyes were covered in cotton. My body was heavy, almost like I had taken sleeping pills the night before (I had not). And every time I looked for my phone to try and see what time it was, it felt like it was getting further and further away from me.

I finally peeled myself out of bed around 6:30 AM. There was just enough time to do a short meditation, before the kids needed to get up, but without my usual hours of alone time and creative idea funneling, I was out of sorts by the time they started screaming for me. Or were they screaming at me? 

My husband was definitely mad at me. He wasn’t awake yet, but I was sure of it. The dog seemed disappointed in me too.

I had an elephant of anxiety sitting on my chest that made me want to flail. It was completely contradictory to the strong desire to just get horizontal. It’s always hard to navigate feeling simultaneously anxious and depressed. You would think they cancel each other out. Instead I am bogged down by the tangle of sensations in my solar plexus.

Driving the kids to school, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something awful was going to happen. Every intersection was a danger zone. Maybe we should all just skip life today and stay home? But their energy was much higher than mine and that would have backfired immediately. 

You would think they would just sit still and let you cuddle them all day. Don’t they realize how limited this time is?

After I dropped my eldest, I threw on some yogic chants and belted them out which helped me feel better. I was using every vagal nerve trick in the book. My youngest was in the back attempting to sing along. He even held his hands up in a lotus mudra at one point, mimicking me, which made me laugh with so much joy, tears rolled out the corners of my eyes.

It was hard dropping him off and I held him a few seconds longer and a few millimeters tighter before he ran off to play with his friends. 

I attempted to grocery shop for the family, but it was Monday and Tuesday is their day to restock, so most of the shelves were empty. I started to get so overwhelmed by the lack of options that I gave up and went to check out.

What was wrong with me??? 

Photo by Christopher Ott on Unsplash

Once I got into the car, I took a full breath in and out. That is when it hit me: I had just started a very heavy period.

There isn’t anything wrong with me. 

What is wrong is the societal expectation that we need to show up to our lives every single day with the same amount of energy, regardless of what personal experiences we are having.

What is wrong is that women are labeled “hormonal” (a term I’ve been accused of by men, my father included, more times than I can count). As if it’s a bad thing to experience the very real swing of emotions and energy that accompanies our human body’s natural changes week to week or with major life changes, like having a baby.

What is wrong is that it took me almost four hours to think, “Oh duh, I’m on my cycle!” before giving myself a break, because we live in a culture that says, “Hide your disgusting menstruation, you dirty woman!”. A culture that says, “Produce at all costs!”

I made a reel about my revelation on Instagram and was both surprised and not surprised to hear from hundreds of women who understood what I was feeling and how challenging it is when our bodies are telling us one thing, “Rest, be gentle, stay inward”, while the world says another, “Produce! Work! Make money!”.

Then I shared the video on Facebook, where I received a concerned message from a man I knew from high school telling me to go on vacation and not give up on life. I told him to send my post to his wife and reiterated (since people apparently don’t watch full videos or read full captions, before sending messages or making comments anymore) that I was having a very NORMAL energy swing and mood shift due to hormone fluctuations. 

I also explained that hormones are not reserved for PMS’ing or menopausal women. All humans have hormonal fluctuations—hormones run our entire endocrine system. Meaning men can and are also “hormonal.”

“I thought you were having a nervous breakdown,” he replied.

It reminded me of the backlash after my brilliant friend Laura Hilgers’ New York Times article, “The Ridiculous Fantasy of a ‘No Drama’ Relationship”. She shared about her recent online dating experiences and how many men have “no drama” written on their profile. Her thesis is that there is no such thing as “no drama” if you are dating a human being with feelings and needs. Most men disagree.

A yelling man is a leader, a yelling woman is hysterical. A powerful man is CEO. A powerful woman is burned at the stake as a witch.

So yes, Mr. High School Friend, maybe I am having a breakdown.

But it’s not a nervous one. It’s one where I plan to stop holding myself together to make other people comfortable and to keep up with the manmade rat race we’re all trapped in here in the West.

It’s a breakdown where I am going to honestly say to someone, “I feel weepy and anxious today,” instead of plastering a smile on when asked “How are you?.”

I will no longer say “I’m feeling hormonal” as a judgment upon myself for being born broken with women's parts.

I will say “I’m feeling hormonal,” matter of factly and as a way to honor my body's ebbing and flowing energies and needs.

I will no longer say “I’m feeling sensitive” as an admission of embarrassment or expression of shame for feeling an emotion that isn’t happiness. 

I will say, “I’m feeling sensitive,” as a warning to the people I’m interacting with. As a way of saying, “I can read through your facade, so if you don’t want me to know your truth, we better reconvene in a few days when I’m less witchy.” I will protect my energy through my choices. 

My breakdown is a breakthrough.

My hormones are not a thing to be ashamed of, and neither are yours. 

Our hormones are our superpowers. 

Photo by ActionVance on Unsplash