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This Is Us
Holding the Phases: On Moons, Moods, and (Peri)Menopause
Maybe menopause is our body’s way of remembering who we used to be
Waning gibbous: the moon phase between full moon and third-quarter moon. A diminishment of light.
The worst part of perimenopause is the rage.
It starts as a slight edge, a bite that creeps into my voice. An irritated tone, a generalized impatience with my kids. I check the app on my phone with the little pink flower on it. Sure enough, it’s somewhere between 10 and 12 days until my next period is due.
I trade jokey texts with friends about my desire to build a PMS pod. A modern-day version of the red tent — where hormonal women can huddle to await menstruation, removed from society, free from the pestering of children and men. A soothing oasis, stocked with Netflix, sweet and salty snacks, and the softest of sweatpants.
After the rage comes a few days of gray-tinted depression. Weeping and lethargy ensue.
I joke, but it’s not very funny. Some months, the rage roars for days, snowballing and ceaseless, until I can barely stand myself. Those months, I beg for the blood, for the release, for the slow slide back to whoever I am beneath the jolting hormones.
