I woke up recently feeling refreshed and energized, certain I had slept for a solid eight, maybe nine, hours. To my surprise, the clock read 10:35 p.m.! I’d been down for less than 90 minutes! Of course, then I couldn’t fall back asleep, and when I finally did, it was basically restless dozing. Since when did nights become so long? By the time my alarm went off, I was exhausted. What gives?
I’m one hot perimenopausal mess is what gives, and they, the stupid hormones responsible for this obscene predicament, don’t actually give a flying anything about my ability to sleep. Like, at all. Particularly during a full moon or after I’ve lifted weights, or most Wednesdays through Tuesdays. Every night is a crapshoot with me, unable to break an absurdly long unlucky streak.
I’ve tried meditation, backward counting, getting up and eating, staying put and breathing, and even a variety of OTC and prescription meds. Sometimes, I sleep. Most nights, I don’t. Add in a husband who often snores, a black Lab who occasionally barks, and the brutal unpredictability of hot flashes, and you have a recipe for a perpetually grumpy middle-aged woman whose joint pain varies indirectly with her continence level. I’m a ball of fun.
At least I’m not alone. My high school besties, some of my colleagues, and a few sisters and sisters-in-law are all lamenting this horrible lead up to “The Change” with me. Menopause misery does, in fact, love company. But it’s no real consolation, even when I do manage to get a beautiful 87 minutes of zzzs. For the night is long and hormones are dumb!