A Day in the Life of a Perimenopausal Working Mom

My alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m., but let’s be honest, I’m not waking up. I’m lying there in a puddle of existential sweat, petting my dogs and negotiating with my body like it’s a union rep. “We’ll get up at seven,” I whisper, “but only if my knees cooperate and my back can manage.”

By 7:00, I’m up, disoriented, and already questioning whether I slept at all or just blinked aggressively for six hours. The mirror greets me with a puffed, blotchy face and hair that looks like I survived a Category 5 dream sequence.

Cue the first spin of the Symptoms Roulette Wheel. Click click click… this morning’s winner is: Incontinence! Sure, you’re dangerously dehydrated, yet still somehow you’re about to piss yourself!

I make coffee strong enough to peel paint and pray to the caffeine gods. My teenagers stagger downstairs, communicating exclusively in eye rolls and aggressive backpack zippering. I try to say something motherly and wise, but my brain just buffers.

Cue the Symptoms Roulette Wheel… Brain Fog.

Instead, I blurt, “have a day!” They stare. I sip. And off they go.

Driving to work, I practice deep breathing. Not because I’m enlightened, but because I’ve forgotten how seatbelts and underwire bras coexist. By the time I reach the office, I’ve already lived five emotional lives and one minor identity crisis.

Cue another spin of the Symptoms Roulette Wheel. Click click click… Irritability and Inability to Multitask, bonus!

Email opens. Brain closes. A coworker says, “did you respond to that email,” which triggers Mood Swing Mode: unlocked and fully operational.

Fun Fact About My Body I Didn’t Ask For #1: My hormones now generate more mood shifts per minute than a stock market ticker.

Around 10:15, I’m both freezing and sweating, the classic Temperature Dysmorphia combo platter. My internal thermostat is run by drunk raccoons. I’m wearing a cardigan, removing it, then putting it back on so often that HR probably thinks I’m filming a montage.

Roulette Wheel lands on Hot Flash and then jumps to Cold Sweats, excellent.

Launch apps. Work on programs. Lose focus. Surf internet. Open a file. Create an update. Close file. Forgetting to save. Open another file. Write an email. Forget to attach file. Open a file. Bathroom!

Roulette Wheel spin… Digestive Issues! And lucky for me, there’s a shared bathroom where at least one other patron is present and speaking on the telephone to their doctor from the next stall.

Back to my office. Another file. Another app. Another bout of Brain Fog. Another email. Another forgotten attachment. Another phone call. Another Word-Finding gymnastics. Another Anxiety Attack. Another round of Difficulty Concentrating. Another file. Another email. Another Headache. Another mindless Wilfing.

By noon, I’m starving, but my digestive system is holding a protest. I debate between the salad that will betray me with heartburn, and the sandwich that will gaslight me with more bloating. I choose both because I’m an optimist with trust issues and my metabolism is in the Witness Protection Program, last seen around 2024, possibly living under a fake name in Wisconsin.

Cue another spin of the Symptoms Roulette Wheel. Click click click… Bloating and Body Aches! Jackpot! My pants feel like they’re in a committed relationship with my organs, and my spine just filed for separation. I try stretching at my desk, but it looks less like yoga and more like an exorcism.

Fun Fact About My Body I Didn’t Ask For #2: My joints now make the same sounds as my teenage daughters’ attitudes - loud, unnecessary, and usually triggered by nothing.

Coworker asks for a file. I nod confidently, then open seventeen tabs and immediately forget why. Classic perimenopausal multitasking: doing everything, remembering nothing, and sweating through most of it.

By 3:00, I’m hitting that afternoon wall where my brain forgets English and my body demands a nap, a snack, and possibly a new identity. Coworker walks by with perfume that smells like “floral death.”

Roulette spin: Migraine! I close my door, turn off the lights and face-plant into my keyboard.

Fun Fact About My Body I Didn’t Ask For #3: I can smell everything now. Perfume, microwaved fish, lies.

By 5:30, I’m mentally done but still physically present, which is how I imagine ghosts feel. I drive home on autopilot, narrating my to-do list out loud so I don’t forget it by the next red light.

Roulette spin - Click click click… Emotional Instability! I laugh hysterically at another Dusty Muffins podcast, then Rage at a slow driver, then zone out at another traffic light and completely forget my to-do list.

Home. Shoes off. Bra off. Dogs ecstatic. Teens unimpressed. I try to start dinner but end up standing in front of the open fridge, staring into the void like it might reveal the meaning of life. It doesn’t.

Symptoms Roulette Wheel: Click click click… Sensory Overload! Tinnitus is blaring, the dogs are wrestling, one teen’s talking about her next Cosplay routine, while the other’s having a crisis over a broken nail. My nervous system quietly short-circuits.

Dinner turns into a creative buffet of “whatever’s about to go bad.” We eat, we talk, we pretend everything’s normal while I’m sweating, freezing, and chewing all at once.

Fun Fact About My Body I Didn’t Ask For #4: My gut motility is now powered by chaos and regret.

After dinner, I consider a walk but end up horizontal on the couch instead, scrolling through articles about “natural hormone balancing” while eating chocolate chips straight from the bag.

Symptoms Roulette Spin #7: Click click click… Low Motivation mixed with Existential Dread! You battle a sudden urge to text your ex and opt instead for a deep dive into Candy Crush.

By 9:00 p.m., I’m exhausted but somehow wired. I announce that I’m going to bed early. Everyone nods because they know it’s a lie. I spend the next two hours doom-scrolling skincare products promising “youthful glow” and “firmness,” neither of which sound remotely achievable without witchcraft.

Fun Fact About My Body I Didn’t Ask For #5: My face now requires a hydration plan and a prayer.

At 3:00 a.m., I wake up sweating, then freezing, then sweating again, as if my body is auditioning for a one-woman weather channel. My brain reboots to alert me to everything I need to do for the next 3 days. I can’t tell which is worse: overheating or overthinking. Until my bladder politely reminds me that yes, it’s time to pee again.

Lying there, I whisper my nightly mantra:

“I am not losing my mind. I am just living in a body that no longer likes me.”

And yet somehow, I’ll get up tomorrow, pet the dogs, sip my coffee, spin the wheel again, and call it another day of functioning. Barely. Heroically. Hormonally.