Skip directly to: The recipe of a perimenopausal woman

A Recipe for Disaster Served with a Side of Giggles

Picture this, you, a perfectly delightful woman, suddenly transformed into a human mass of chaos fermented with stress, spiced with panic and topped with a creamy layer of “ WHAT THE F**K IS GOING ON”.

Ingredients:

• 15 gallons of weight gain because your metabolism died along side your ability to stop at 2 glasses of wine.

• A sprinkle of hair loss because who needs volume when you can have… scalp.

• 1 teaspoon of sudden and volcanic rage because why flip a table when you can flip ALL the tables.

• Several heaping cups of brain fog tip toeing into insanity because you literally forgot what hell you were doing here anyway.

• A delicate splash of sadness, shaken not stirred.

• And finally, a few pinches of self-deprecation served with a sarcastic garnish.

Gently fold in all the ingredients and pour it in the finest existential dread that you lovingly received in your mother’s last will and testament, and present it as the bittersweet holiday trifle that no one asked for but everyone gets anyway. And there you have it, a mysterious masterpiece of emotional turmoil that no man nor child can try to comprehend but absolutely fear.

Who is this recipe for, you ask? Who even knows anymore? Why does it involve tears? (That wasn’t in the recipe.) Is it the price of eggs? That one sock that disappeared in the laundry? The crushing weight of your fragile existence? All of the above, ladies, all of the above.

The truth is, this bizarre concoction is our new normal. The good news is we’ve got two secret weapons: first, ourselves because who’s going to cry-laugh at our jokes if not us? And second, we can always depend on a calming pep talk from our imaginary bestie, Eckhart Tolle. After all, when life gives you lemons, perimenopause shrinks them into dehydrated little crusts of uneditable rubbish, but we eat them anyway because we need the vitamins. Namaste