The Mess (Part 2 of 3)

If Part 1 was about the rage, this one is about what happens after.

Because when the storm passes, I’m left standing in the wreckage of my own outbursts. And that’s where the real mess lives.

The Fallout

I slam the door. I scream. I say things I don’t mean. And then… silence.

It’s in that silence where the guilt creeps in.

Where I sit alone, tears streaming down my face, thinking

What the hell is wrong with me?

I hate the sound of my own voice when I replay it in my head.

The sharpness.

The bite.

The way I watch my kids’ faces drop when my tone slices through the room.

That’s the part that guts me.

Because the truth is, I don’t want to be this mom. I don’t want to be this partner. I don’t want to be this version of myself.

But during this hormonal week, no amount of breathing exercises or positive affirmations can stop it. And afterwards, I’m left with the wreckage

• hurt feelings,

• slammed doors,

• tears (mine and theirs),

• and the gnawing shame spiral of “I should be better than this.”

But I Do Everything “Right”

Here’s where it gets even messier.......on paper, I’m doing everything you’re “supposed” to do.

• I’ve done my trauma work.

• I take the supplements.

• I sleep 8 hours a night.

• I move my body.

• I limit my stress.

• I have beautiful, supportive relationships.

• I genuinely love my work.

  
  

I am, quite literally, the poster child for doing perimenopause “right.”

And yet here I am, crying in the bathroom because I lost my shit when my workout got interrupted.

It makes me want to scream louder, honestly.

Because if I’m doing everything right and I still feel like this… then what’s the point?

The Comparison Trap

This is why I share.

Because women are drowning in comparison.

We look at other women who seem to “have it all together”

and think, if I just do what she’s doing, then I’ll FINALLY feel better.

We convince ourselves that if we eat clean enough,

sleep enough,

heal enough,

meditate enough,

enough enough enough—then the mess will disappear.

But here’s the truth I’ve had to face: sometimes, no matter how much work you’ve done, you will still fall apart.

Because this isn’t about willpower.

This isn’t about failing.

This is about hormones.

And hormones don’t give a shit about your green smoothies or your meditation practice.

The Repair

So what do you do when you’ve lost it?

You repair.

You sit down with your people.

You say, “Hey, I was out of line. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry.”

And you patch up the cracks that showed up during the storm.

Is it fun? No.

Is it humbling? Yes.

Is it necessary? Absolutely.

Because the mess isn’t just in the rage.

The mess is in the mending.

The awkward apologies.

The admitting you were wrong.

The sitting in discomfort while you repair what was broken.

It’s not easy. But it’s real.

And it’s what keeps us human.

The Hard Truth

Here’s the part I’m still learning: the mess is unavoidable.

You can’t meditate your way out of perimenopause.

You can’t supplement your way out of hormonal shifts.

You can’t “perfect” your way into never losing your shit.

Sometimes, despite doing everything “right,” the mess still shows up.

And that doesn’t make you a bad woman, a bad mom, or a failure.

It makes you human.

Next Up: The Becoming

If rage is the storm and the mess is the wreckage, then Part 3 is about what comes after The Becoming.

Because here’s the twist: as estrogen leaves, so do a whole lot of my fucks.

And while some of that shows up as rage, some of it also shows up as something else entirely.

Freedom.

Clarity.

Power.

A new voice that refuses to be silenced.

And I don’t just hate that part. I kinda fucking love it.

👉 Stay tuned for Part 3: The Becoming.

Just like last time let's get a conversation rolling here in the comments. Share on FB and let's help each other to feel a little bit less bat shit crazy shall we?