Monday Notes: Control in the Midst of Too Much

Sometimes life is too much, like last month.

There was too much to accept.

Too much estrogen and not enough progesterone means I have a menstruation cycle every other week…sometimes. Other months, I have no period at all.

After showing me two ultrasounds of my “perfect” uterus and peering at my chart to check my age, two gynecologists assured me this is natural.

“It’s perimenopause,” they’ve both said, while shrugging their shoulders and pursing their lips into a doctor smirk, as if to say, buckle up.

The media makes it seem as if this phase of a woman’s life is all about hot flashes and moodiness. No one mentioned rogue periods.

Last month, I had too much to accept.

I wanted my oldest daughter to live her life partially on my terms: go to college, find a trade, whatever. Just be a productive citizen independent of her father and me. Guess what she’s done? Whatever she wants. Thus far, her life has consisted of bad decisions that, every now and then, cause me to ponder and fear for her wellbeing. Her life is made up of Tyler Perry tropes and Lifetime movie narratives. Lifetime used to be fun to watch on lazy Sundays. I remember stuffing my face with some snack, while analyzing how silly each woman seemed. It’s less entertaining when it’s your daughter.

Last month, I had too much to accept.

I finally felt COVID-19’s thievery. The pandemic had successfully snatched the type of life I’d carefully crafted and turned it into a sort of dull loop. This probably seems like no big deal to those who’ve suffered job or health loss. But I’m not really into comparing losses right now. This current way of life is not what I desire. I wanted to go to a movie, regret eating too much popcorn, and lose myself in someone else’s conflict for two hours. I wanted to visit my friends. I wanted to do more than shower and log on to our college’s learning management system.

But I couldn’t. I can’t.

I just have to accept what is. I have to accept what I can’t control and begin to control what I can.

Biologically, my body is going to do what women’s bodies do. The process is out of my hands. Sure, I can drink some herbal tea, but I can’t control perimenopause any more than I can control my eyes blinking. I can, however, properly exercise for my age and eat foods that work for my current body.

My twenty-one-year-old daughter unconsciously lives life on the edge and doesn’t notice when she’s about to lose her footing. Though it’s distressful, I can’t control this. She is not a child whom I can punish for two weeks. However, I can establish new physical and emotional boundaries for our relationship, which stem from love, yet also protect me from being swept up in her maelstrom. I like to watch suspenseful movies, not be a part of them.

Finally, COVID-19 is here to stay. The disease and our president’s lack of leadership is out of my control; however, I can determine what type of pandemic life I’m going to live. Sometimes I make a traditional Saturday breakfast during the middle of the week to shake things up. I’ve also begun taking random trips within my city to photograph inspirational moments. In a couple weeks, Dwight and I will travel to Michigan to attend our cousin’s wedding. According to the invite, social distancing rules will be in effect. This should be interesting.

I still have a lot to accept that I’ve left unsaid. But I’m getting better at focusing on what I can control. It’s been a helpful way to exist these days.   

~kg 8/26/20