As if I had a choice! PERIMENOPAUSE! Nuf said! This rollercoaster has hijacked me — and my sweat glands. Not the amazing glistening ones from the gym, but the ones that warm your insides until they burst through on the outside. Did you ever see that video of the woman at an arena with steam rising from her head during a hot flash? Those are mine. They hit out of nowhere — sometimes one, sometimes ten in a row. Fans everywhere in my house combat these bastards! My boys, aged 20 and 18, look at me standing in the doorway mid-winter while I’m in a tank top and shorts, shrug their shoulders: “Hot flash?” Um, no. I love getting frostbite on my ass. OF COURSE!
Done with kids 18 years ago, yet ovulating at 54! Why? As cycles slow, the real fun erupts: hair (ugh, not on my head!), sweat, aches, pains, sleep? Ha. And don’t get me started on the uterine roulette or brain-melt moments that leave me googling basic words that used to actually sit in my head.
The Symptom Hit List
• Chin hairs: Prickly grey spiky knives. Tweezers? No chance against these fuckers. Laser hair removal on my chin? Those jerks poke back with friends!
• Sweat apocalypse: Gross, crevice-soaking, non-exercise floods. Moisture-wicking PJs? Lies. Cooling bedsheets? Lies. Fan on all year? Yes! Arctic chills follow the sweat deluge.
• Aches from nowhere: Turn wrong in bed, hobble like an 80-year-old for a week — despite fractured pelvis, C-section, spinal surgery, gallbladder surgery, thyroid surgery, and a previously broken arm. Hard-core workouts leave me strong, yet one midnight twist seizes my back. Proper squats and lifts? Check. Traction at the chiropractor after turning wrong in bed! My weekly reality.
• Sleep sabotage: Awake-asleep 50/50. Exhausted, body says no. Tracking shows 4-hour nights + 3.5-hour wakes. Not in my 20s anymore.
• Hot flashes & brain fog: Volcano eruptions mid-4 a.m., then poof — can’t name primary words such as a pencil or the sky. Feel so stupid: crafting complex Excel formulas for work, but “thing inside tire”? Hubcap? Google, save me! Fog rolls in like a perimenopause prank — estrogen dips scramble focus, memory tanks.
• Uterus roulette: Gas pains? Cramping? Period or not? Blood or bust? Bathroom sprints: “Is it here? Nope, just gas!” How long? HOW AM I STILL OVULATING AT 54?! These old-ass eggs would do no one good. Please. Go. Away!
Midnight Hair Horror
Bedtime ritual: Wake to pee (not sleep), roll in sheet wars, numb-hand fixes. Boom — a new grey spiky asshole erupts on my neck, poking like it’ll pierce through. Not even my hair colour! What the F?!
Those little fuckers turn up even after you got rid of them — or so you thought. Tweezers? Laser? Useless. They regenerate like weeds in a drought. Zoom calls and the lighting? Oh my goodness… I’m sitting in a meeting, minding my own business, watching myself on camera, when I spot it. Not a grey prickly spike, but a pure white one, attached to my chin with greater force than a weed holding onto dirt mid-summer! I cannot not see it. My brain short-circuits — all I think about is who else notices me turning into a witch mid-meeting. Mute and pluck? Scratch? Nah, it waves like a flag. Estrogen crashes, testosterone parties — chin’s a mad lab!
Pain vs. Peak Shape
I’m in excellent shape: 4 a.m. wake-ups, vegan vigilance, cardio/weights after Pilates marathons, 6–10 km walks. Yet one twist wrecks me? Perimenopause ignores PRs and plant-based precision. L5-S1 fusion scar tissue flares with estrogen dips — inflammation rises, joints dry out. Morning stiffness? Brutal. One wrong bed roll? A week in traction. Brain fog on top? Excel wizard one minute, hubcap illiterate the next.
Craving Real Sleep
Remember sleep? Faintly. Not wanting it; can’t have it. After 40 ovulation years, the send-off should be cozy mattress, steady thermostat, eight hours of blissful sleep. Nope: Hot-flash Ferris wheel, uterine cramps mimicking periods, tweezers, fan, traitorous PJs. Old eggs ovulating? Body’s cruelest joke. Gas or blood? Endless bathroom checks kill rest.
Ladies in the trenches: You’re not alone. Rant on, tweak routines (sage tea for flashes?), demand docs listen. Track cramps, fog episodes — HRT chat time? And we know, if this were a man’s issue, it wouldn’t be!
This shit ends — someday.
Sheli Stark is a 54-year-old mom to two young adults who balances a career in social services with her work as a certified personal trainer. Fitness is part of her daily life, along with treasured time as an auntie, loving on her dog and cat, and living a vegan lifestyle. When she’s not out walking the dog, she’s usually working on the novel she’s been writing (and rewriting) for the past six years. Find on Instagram.
