Further down the page is something I wrote a month ago. I debated whether to put it up, but then I gave myself an harsh talking too.
I know I am not the only female who suffers every month, but this is still taboo, I think.
We are stuck between a rock and a hard place:
Do we admit to PMT and have to put up with all the shit that comes with it,
‘Bloody women and their hormones’
‘Ooh you’re stroppy, are you on your period?’ [This one really pisses me off, it’s PRE-menstrual tension, you idiots, it happens BEFORE your period, not DURING. Grr.]
‘Can’t rely on anyone who’s useless for one week a month’
You know the type of thing, that it makes us less equal. That it undermines us.
Or, do we deny it and pretend it doesn’t happen, doing ourselves a massive injustice, because it can literally KNOCK YOU SIDEWAYS.
I am mortified at the person I become a few days before my period starts; irrational, grumpy, irritable, depressed. I am a vile human being to be around. Usually only for a day or so, and normally only with those I am close to, i.e. my family.
But that’s not to say it’s never come out with friends or at work; it has. But I’ve never admitted the real reason. That would be like a ginormous u-turn for everything feminism has already achieved wouldn’t it? Not to mention giving misogynists a huge bolster of ammunition.
I’m embarrassed about suffering from PMT. But, suffer I do. And there’s very little I can do about it, read below and see what it’s like:
Today is Not a Good Day.
Today my children are really, really irritating me. My husband is beyond boring and annoying to look at.
I can feel myself sliding into depression again. It’s horrible.
Days like today I wonder why I ever wanted children. My eldest doesn’t listen, and pushes boundaries beyond breaking point, which invariably makes me snap. My youngest can’t yet talk properly, well can’t speak at all, so just whinges ALL THE FUCKING TIME.
I’ve got college work coming out of my arse. I’ve got housework coming out of my ears. I’ve got a life that I’m struggling to keep up with.
The weather has been shitty, so I’ve been stuck indoors with aforementioned boring-shit (when he’s not pounding the pavements in one form or another) and screaming shit and I’m-just-not-gonna-listen-so-I-won’t-have-to-do-anything-and-then-wonder-why-she-gets-mad shit.
This is a mother that needs to escape.
I’m panicking about next year at university and how the hell I’m going to manage the childcare, amongst everything else.
I’m having a little breakdown, I think.
If I knew about children before I had them, what I know now, I don’t think I’d have them.
Which is probably a lie because I desperately wanted my second baby. But today is just a really shitty day, after a really shitty week.
I want to escape.
I feel like my life is being consumed by trying to keep people happy, but I feel like I never manage that. I feel like a failure as a mother. I have no patience. I am snappy and sarcastic, with a four-year old – he does NOT deserve that. I feel like my life is being wasted doing a job I am absolutely shit at. And I know that in the process I am going to fuck their lives up; I am the parent who gives their children ‘issues’.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
It’s not like I can say ‘You know what? I made a mistake, I thought I’d enjoy and be quite good at this mothering-thing, but actually, I am rubbish, and I’m probably quite damaging these lovely little people who deserve better, don’t suppose you know someone who is better qualified?’.
I’m not a stupid person. I know technically what it is I am supposed to do, but it is not my instinct and right now it’s crushing me.
If someone said to me right now, ‘here’s a plane ticket, here’s your bag, get in that car and go’, I would.
And feeling like this isn’t for want of time on my own lately, I’ve had a few free days from college so I’ve done gardening and a bit of reading, I had a weekend away with my friends two weeks ago, so it’s not like I need a time-out – I’ve had plenty. Maybe I’ve had too much. Maybe I’ve started to realise exactly what my limitations are with children.
And then I start to think of the summer holidays, and my skin begins to crawl. I don’t want to do it.
Which, again, is a lie, because the summer holidays last year were amazing, and the boys and I had a fabulous time. But right now, I’m not seeing that.
I have got my own little rain cloud over my head and I seem to be resolutely staying under it.
I’m not even going to mention the whole ‘I love my children, but…’ that’s fucking ridiculous. It doesn’t need to be said.
I just don’t like it or enjoy it very much at the moment.
That is how it makes me feel. I cannot relate to what’s written above right now at all, but when I am in the grip of that temporary depression, that is EXACTLY how I feel.
And I am so glad that I wrote it all down when I was raging and miserable, because I can reflect on it now (yes, I absolutely wince when I read it).
Much as it crushes the feminist in me, it is just my hormones. And there’s not a thing I can do about it.
And I think we do just have to suck it up, because admitting to this is like admitting to treason. It’s not fair, but to say we get depressed just because we’re women is like signing the death warrant for women’s rights.
FFS. And then if that’s not enough, we get to inconveniently bleed for a week. Come on, there must be a better way of reproducing already.