Perimenopause crept up on me like a thief in the night. I had no idea what was happening, and by the time I understood that something had changed, it had hit me like a bag of bricks.
It felt like sleeping with the enemy because the place I could not get away from was my own body. I was living inside the symptoms, inside the fear, inside a mind that would not settle. I could be completely exhausted and still feel ready to fight. I could want everyone to leave me alone and still feel painfully alone.
I thought I was going crazy. I mean that exactly the way it sounds. I did not recognize my reactions, my patience, or the anger that seemed to take up so much space in me. I felt like I had become the most horrible human being I had ever been, and admitting that is uncomfortable. But pretending this was a gentle little transition would be a lie.
The anger was ugly. So was the fear.
I hated everyone. That is how it felt in those moments. I did not want to talk to anyone. I did not want another conversation, another question, another thing being asked of me. There was an urge to fight, to snap, to push people away. My patience felt gone, and underneath that anger was a woman who was frightened by how unlike herself she felt.
Then came the anxiety and the health anxiety. It was not just having a worry and moving on. Every sensation could become something to fear. My heart would race, and my mind would race with it. I was trying to understand what my body was doing while being scared of what it might mean.
The panic attacks, the shaking, the tremors, the trembling at night: those experiences were real to me. So were the palpitations, the sweating, and the blood pressure readings that frightened me. I was already tired, and being afraid of my own symptoms took even more out of me.
Alongside all of that, I was dealing with anemia and concerns about my thyroid and cholesterol. I am describing what I was living through during that time; I cannot say that perimenopause caused every symptom or every health issue. But emotionally, it all piled together. It felt like there was always something else to worry about, something else to understand, something else happening in a body I no longer trusted.
Even the nights did not give me a break.
There was the not sleeping, the broken sleep, the waking hot and sweaty, and the fatigue that followed me into the next day. Sometimes I could fall asleep, but staying asleep was another story. Waking repeatedly and getting up tired left me feeling like I had never properly rested.
People see the irritability. They do not necessarily see the night that came before it. They do not feel the exhaustion in your body or the effort it takes to get through an ordinary day when you are already running on empty. I was struggling with both how I felt and how I reacted, and then feeling terrible about the person I seemed to be becoming.
My appetite and my relationship with food were part of the struggle too. The overeating, the cravings, the eating after dinner, and then the worry about my weight. I wanted to feel better, but I could turn eating into another thing to monitor and judge. Between a sensitive stomach, food fears, and the scale, I could make myself feel trapped from several directions at once.
There were days I did not want to exist.
This is the hardest part to put into words, but I am not leaving it out to make this story more comfortable. There were times when I wanted to feel something and times when I did not want to exist. That was how dark and overwhelming it became for me.
I am writing that as part of what I went through. It belongs in this story because this was more than being a little moody or needing a better attitude. I was struggling deeply. The woman who looked angry, distant, or difficult was also a woman who was scared and exhausted.
Looking back, I can acknowledge that I did not like my reactions without deciding that I was a horrible person. At the time, that distinction was much harder to see. I could feel ashamed of the anger while still not knowing how to get out from under it.
I needed someone to listen to the whole story.
I have talked about how painful it was to feel dismissed, to have what I was experiencing reduced to anxiety or depression without feeling that the whole picture was being heard. Anxiety was already part of my life. I needed help understanding what else was happening too.
Finding a doctor who cared and listened mattered. Kindness and bedside manner mattered. Being able to ask questions and speak honestly without feeling brushed aside made a difference to my fear. I needed explanations and a conversation about my body, my symptoms, and what we could do.
I have also dealt with the spotting, the appointments, the testing, and the uncertainty of waiting to see whether a treatment adjustment will help. Reassuring results are something I am grateful for. At the same time, continuing to have symptoms can still wear you down. Both things can be true in my life.
Getting help has mattered. I am still finding my way.
Hormone therapy has helped me in so many ways. I have said that before, and it belongs here alongside the difficult parts. Medication for my anxiety has helped me too. I am grateful that I kept looking for support and that I have care I can discuss openly with my doctor.
That does not mean every symptom disappeared or every adjustment was easy. I have had difficult days with treatment too, including tiredness, nausea, headaches, and changes in sleep. I am still working with my gynecologist to find what works for me. I can appreciate the help I have received and still be honest about what remains hard.
My experience is personal. I do not want a woman reading this to feel pressured to take what I take or to assume that her symptoms must have the same explanation. What I want her to hear is that I needed care, I benefited from help, and I did not have to keep every frightening part of this to myself.
I have been rebuilding trust in myself.
Strength training has become a game changer for me. I lift at home, I work with my dumbbells, and I notice what I am becoming capable of doing. Walking matters to me too. These are parts of my routine that help me feel connected to myself and give my days some structure.
Food has been another part of that rebuilding. After so much fear around my stomach and what I could eat, having more choices again has made me happier and more satisfied. Being able to enjoy gluten and dairy again has mattered to me personally. I still respect my own tolerance, but I have more freedom now.
I am learning to eat enough to support my lifting, to make room for foods I enjoy, and to stop letting a number on the scale decide how I feel about myself. That is still a practice. There are days when the worry comes back. There are days when sleep is poor, energy is low, or the routine needs to change.
Prayer, my faith, my husband’s support, quieter time, and boundaries around stressful interactions have also helped me. I need room to breathe. I need rest. I need people who can hear what I am saying without making me feel guilty for having a hard time.
This story belongs here exactly because it is uncomfortable.
I am proud of the strength I am building, and I am still the woman who struggles. The anger, the fear, and the exhaustion are still part of what I am dealing with. Some days I feel stronger and more like myself. Other days I am still trying to get through the day in a body that can feel overwhelming.
My website includes lifting, walking, nutrition, sleep, and enjoying life because these things matter to me. It also needs room for the truth about how hard life still feels sometimes. I am sharing my progress while I am still going through this, with all the difficult days that come with it.
I am still living this story. I still have perimenopause. It has not left, and I am still struggling with it. I am still learning, still asking questions, and still working on the habits and treatment that help me. Getting help and making progress do not mean the struggle is over.
Perimenopause is still part of my life. Some days are brutal, and I am still figuring it out. I keep building strength, finding what helps, and taking it one day at a time.
— Asia
