I really am a firm believer in that what you place your intentions on, is what you manifest into your life. I know this because that is how many of my life experiences have came to be. I try to keep mine centered in positivity and gratitude in any given moment.
There is, however, one minor glitch.
They are called ovaries.
This might be an uncomfortable subject for some (mostly men), but the operating system I am currently working on is ‘Don’t Care 0.0′.
Included in this PMS inspired rant, are things important to note – pretty much ALL THE TIME. Grab your pens, men. And a pad (of paper).
(Yes, I said ‘pens’.. there is no extra letter in there, I triple checked.)
Kudos to the women that handle PMS with grace and elegance. I certainly do not. It’s pretty hard to do so, when the walls of your insides are being torn down, forced out and you are still expected to put on a smile. During this time, it is also hard to believe that you were created from any kind of unconditionally loving energy when your guts are transformed into a grisly murder scene once a month. Whoever was responsible for creating women obviously had a vendetta to fulfill.
During this period (no pun intended) of time , every ounce of positive programming I’ve instilled into my psyche goes to shit.
Let me give you the lowdown. This may not be accurate in terms of all women (some are lucky to experience little effects), but for the most part, I think it speaks for many.
It’s a regular day. I feel happy and alive and even though I am not even remotely close to where I want to be in life, I am grateful for my many blessings. It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey. Happy happy, joy joy. La la la la la life is good.
(Repeat the above every day for about two weeks. As you get about ten days in, start shaving off roughly 10% of the positivity every day.
Still, not too bad.
Enter PMS. Roughly day 16 or so. No, this is not the real thing. It’s only PMS. Pre shark week. More like week of the killer whale – because that is what you feel like. A whale. With killer instincts. Swimming though a sea of Hormone Hell.
I’m getting moodier by the minute. Don’t worry, it only lasts for just under a week. Small potatoes.
Mmmm. Potatoes. Finely chopped into salty golden French fries, covered in gravy and cheese and more cheese and bacon anything else that’s horrible for me. I’d also like a side of an ENTIRE pizza to myself, Cheetos, Taco Time Mexi Fries (so good) and a tub of chocolate.
Oh, right. Back to the moods. They like to jump around a bit.
Not only have I been bloated for the last week from all the water retention PMS creates, but now all the exercise I’ve done in the past month has effectively gone out the window along with my good intentions. My elastic waistline pants don’t even fit because I’ve just gained seven pounds in one miserable sitting. It’s one thing to put on your skinny pants – it’s another to peel off your fat pants.
But wait, it’s not just a mild sadness – it’s a full on blah fest. I am now a 30 year old baby throwing tantrums at the drop of a hat. Give me a bottle to suck on. Filled with white wine.
The wine only causes a numbing effect – it doesn’t, however, erase the fact that every single problem in your life is magnified by a BILLION during this time.
What problems you may ask? Anything. During PMS, NOTHING goes right and EVERYTHING becomes a problem. Even the things that are actually good in life are now seen as epic disasters. Ie:
My once happy thoughts of being single and not settling are now turning into sheer misery because I’m in my prime, and I haven’t had a date in seven years – and after deciding to put myself out there again after too many horrific online dating experience, the first person I connect with turns out to be a total creep and sends me a picture of his junk after having my number for one day. I just made the best meal and I’m eating alone again. Damn that happy couple that just walked by! The universe wants me to be alone forever and no one will ever love me! Ever! Wahhhh!
The cost of living is through the roof, my only decent pair of winter boots are falling apart and I can’t afford new ones and wah! Life is a total failure! Forever! Why do I even bother anymore! I want to disappear!!! Wahh!!!
Screw all the accomplishments I’ve ever made – I’m not where I want to be in life, I don’t know where I am supposed to be, winter is too long, nothing is going right, someone cut me off on the way home from work and.. and.. and… I’m crying so hard I can’t breathe. Wahhhh!!
Everything is a sob fest. EVERYTHING.
Oh, but all is not lost!
There is a light in the dark! With the flick of a light switch, the tears have dried and I have now transformed into a hybrid between a preying mantis and a black widow spider and have all the powers of CARRIE. The Grim Reaper hath risen. Katie Kaboom is in the house.
Did you just look at me the wrong way?
That’s just the emotional part.
While your body is preparing for a full on volcanic eruption – you get pre cramps. They aren’t quite like the regular cramps – they have a different sensation, but are equally as uncomfortable. Your ovaries are throbbing. Wearing a bra is like walking around in chain link armor. Migraines, nausea, fever, fatigue. Maybe even a cold, too. The water retention makes everything feel swollen. You can no longer make sound decisions because your emotions have just been through the ringer.
And the real fun hasn’t even started yet.
It is now day 20 or so and the calm before the storm sets in.
Enter, stage left. A random glimpse of happiness.
Now it’s over.
And usually at the most inconvenient time – like in the middle of your sleep on a Sunday night, right before you have a Monday full of meetings.
You jolt yourself out of bed – awakened by the feeling of a rusty dagger that’s been sitting on a mound of hot charcoal – now being driven through your guts, twisting, turning and burning.
SHARK WEEK HAS ARRIVED.
The moods have subsided because the only thing you can think of is possibly performing a hysterectomy on yourself at this very moment. However, that would be dangerous and slightly irrational – so you fill up a hot bath instead – which you never really make it to, because you can’t move from the fetal position you are lying in. You are sweating through the pain, cursing your creator and praying for mercy at the same time.
Half a bottle of Tylenol 3’s and four hours later, you have finally fallen back to sleep – only for the alarm clock to go off five minutes later.
But it’s something men have never experienced, and women have always just ‘dealt’ with since the beginning of time, so skipping out on life for a day on account of your ovaries exploding doesn’t cut it. Get dressed, and prepare to be chronically tired for the next three days. (Day two is the worst). You will also need to budget time for a trip to the Ladies Room approximately every half hour. Don’t forget to put on a smile!
By day three or four you are now physically and emotionally wiped out. And it gets worse as you get older. Not to mention that, the amount of money you’ve spent on feminine products, wine, cravings, and medication up until now is almost enough to eradicate world hunger.
So, what can men do to reduce the effects of PMS?
Nothing. In fact, every time a man says they also experience PMS, a small puppy dies. It’s probably the worst thing you can say. If you really want to experience the wrath, downing rat poison has similar side effects, although I would not recommend it.
Yes, our moods can put men through the ringer. We feel bad about it. Walking on eggshells and having everything be your fault probably isn’t easy. We don’t mean it. But, on a bright note – you can escape the emotional roller coaster to a degree. (Only at the precise right time, of course. Don’t forget, we have PMS and likely a GPS – meaning, we WILL find you.) But, we can not escape the marathon of emotions. For those that come along for the ride – thank you.
And then, just like that – it’s over. Hallelujah! Rejoice! The sun has risen and the sea has settled. All is calm. I feel like a brand new woman! Life is wonderful!
Cash in on this wondrous, miraculous moment of time – because it will come to a crashing halt in approximately two weeks.
At the end of the day, embracing the flow is the best option. I hear menopause is a thousand times worse. Awesome! But I am sure I will still be dining for one by then (wahhh!!!) and no man will have to deal with it.
If you are not in the ‘flow’ – something is probably wrong. This is also a metaphor for life. Understanding and being aware and in tune with it all tells you that you are healthy – emotionally and physically. Period.
Who took my chocolate?!?!?