Perimenopause Turned Me Into a Tiny But Scary Dragon
There was a time in my life when I was calm.
Reasonable.
Patient.
A woman who could handle minor inconveniences without fantasizing about setting something on fire.
That woman is gone.
Perimenopause saw her, laughed, and replaced her with a sweaty little goblin fueled entirely by caffeine, irritation, and hormone fluctuations.
Honestly, I didn’t even realize it was happening at first.
I thought I was just “going through a stressful phase.”
Then one afternoon I burst into tears because someone moved my favorite spatula.
Not lost it.
Moved it.
Apparently my emotional stability was being held together by kitchen organization.
The first sign something was deeply wrong should’ve been the rage.
Nobody warns you properly about the rage.
People talk about hot flashes. They mention mood swings in soft little phrases like:
“You may feel more emotional.”
Emotional?
Ma’am, I nearly fought a self-checkout machine because it kept yelling:
“Unexpected item in bagging area.”
YOU are the unexpected item, Deborah.
And can we discuss the hot flashes?
One minute you’re living your life normally.
The next minute your body decides you’re being cremated from the inside.
I have stripped off cardigans in public with the urgency of a NASCAR pit crew.
I sleep with one foot outside the blanket now like a menopausal lizard regulating body temperature.
Romance looks different at this age too.
My husband used to whisper sweet things in bed.
Now he cautiously asks:
“Are you hot or cold tonight?”
And honestly?
That’s love.
Perimenopause also gifted me brain fog, which is exciting because every day is now a surprise scavenger hunt.
Why did I walk into this room?
Where are my glasses?
Why is there coffee in the microwave?
Did I already tell this story?
Nobody knows.
Least of all me.
At work, I’ve started opening tabs on my computer and immediately forgetting why.
I currently have 37 tabs open.
Some are recipes.
Some are news articles.
One is probably playing music somewhere but I can’t find it.
This is my life now.
And then there’s the insomnia.
Nothing says “middle age” quite like being wide awake at 3:17 a.m. thinking about:
whether you offended someone in 2009
if you should start a lavender farm
and whether raccoons have organized crime networks
Meanwhile your bladder has decided sleep is optional but bathroom trips are mandatory.
I swear my body now runs entirely on chaos.
But underneath the comedy, there’s something strangely powerful happening too.
Because somewhere between the mood swings, night sweats, random chin hairs, and existential crises… something shifts.
You stop tolerating nonsense.
You stop shrinking yourself.
You stop apologizing for wanting peace.
Perimenopause may turn us into tiny dragons, but dragons are powerful creatures.
We breathe fire now.
Mostly because we’re overheating.
But still.
And maybe this stage of life isn’t about fading quietly into the background.
Maybe it’s about finally becoming fully ourselves — louder, freer, wiser, sweatier… but absolutely done pretending.
So if you’ve cried over Tupperware lately, forgotten why you opened the fridge, or considered divorcing your thermostat…
Welcome.
You’re among friends.
Tiny dragon friends.