No, I am NOT going to talk about actual diarrhea. I'm just setting the scene for what actually transpired last week.
Seeing as I'm 57 years old, I've been praying to the Gods of Menopause that they would FINALLY grace me with their presence. I've been crawling toward that finish line for what seems like decades. Hell, it HAS been decades....
I guess I should be careful for what I ask, as I can assure you that the blessed event has swooped down upon me and has
MADE ME A CRAZY BITCH.
I was in a work meeting with six women and one man. Thankfully, five of the seven women are in the same age group as me and the man is my exact age. Thankfully, he is married and has a wife who is my age. Thankfully, I've worked with these people forever--decades. We're in this meeting and I'm starting to get mad. It's a slow rumble, nothing much but enough for me to take notice. I'm getting frustrated because the people at the other end of the table aren't listening to me and I'm running the stupid meeting. They have now gone on to their own "side talk" problem solving, leaving me and the guy in the dark. I get more pissed because one of them is always correcting others for having "side conversations" and there she is, doing just that. I mutter something but they keep talking. I say something again--louder--but they either don't hear me or are ignoring me.
The guy turns to me and says, "Are we done?"
And, I feel my brain SNAP.
I stand up and say quiet loudly, "I guess we're done." I storm out the door, pissed off beyond all acceptable measure, slamming the door as I leave.
I stomp to my office and start to cry. I realize I am totally irrational and that I need to slow my breathing and recognize this for what it is: I am a hormonal bitch. My wish to the Gods of Menopause is coming true. I tell myself to go home, to leave well enough alone, that you can talk to them later....
But, my brain is ON FIRE and is not settling for the self-soothing....
So. Diarrhea. When you have diarrhea, you should stay near the bathroom, not go back to where you came from and no longer be near the toilet because once that diarrhea starts coming, you CANNOT STOP IT. Diarrhea shoots forth with a force strong enough to knock over small children....
My brain started yelling DON'T GO BACK DON'T GO BACK DON'T GO BACK! But, my diarrhea-type anger propelled me toward my office door. DON'T GO BACK! I saw red. I felt my blood pressure go through the roof. I didn't want to go back. I knew not to go back....
...and, with that, my hormonal asshole of self marched right back up to that meeting.
I flung open the door....and, I started yelling like I've never yelled before. I mean, we're talking spittle, finger pointing, and crying, all fueled with pent up anger and so much frustration that I can't even tell you all of what I said. I couldn't stop. It was the finest display of diarrhea of the mouth ever seen in that conference room. Diarrhea and I couldn't stop it.
I remember yelling about the side conversation and how they weren't listening. I also remember yelling:"YOU CAN ALL KISS MY ASS" as I stormed out the door.
And, with that, I went out to my car and cried. All I could think was, "YOU KNEW NOT TO GO BACK UP THERE!!!!"
Mortified, I drove home. By now, my hormones were settling back in to where they belongs, satisfied by their Oscar-worthy performance. I was still teetering on "hot mess" when I got home but at least I could put sentences together and I didn't experience road rage.
The wife had no idea what was going on or what was wrong with me, but it was pretty easy to see I was not okay.
Because it was a Friday afternoon meeting, I couldn't apologize the next day. So, I sent an email to them all. Just an apology. No excuses. No trying to explain. I added that I would apologize to each of them in person, individually.
Monday morning came around soon enough. I prepared myself for "The Walk of Shame." I knew I had to start my day with apologies and embarrassment. As I drove up, one of the ladies was getting out of the car. My eyes started to well up, as I love these ladies and adore working with them. I said hello and then said I was "ready to start my walk of shame." I started to apologize, but she put her arm around me....and....
You know what she did?
SHE LAUGHED.
I have to say that was by far the most absolutely perfect thing she could have done. She walked with me, chuckling about menopause. She assured me that my presentation was recognized by her for what it was: a fundamental case of hormonal rage.
This made me feel a bit better, but the walk of shame was just getting underway, so I was still feeling pretty tentative.
The next lady? Upon seeing me, she hugged me.
SHE HUGGED ME.
She too recognized that I was being held hostage by my hormones. She laughed and talked about her own hormones. She gave me a name of a doctor she thought was fabulous for such things.
I was too embarrassed to talk face-to-face with the guy. I sent him another email. I didn't think he'd want to talk about my girl problems, anyway.
I told her that I was mortified by the whole thing, but what really bothered me the most is that the people in that room are the ones I adore and that I absolutely love working with. She noted how we tend to take things out on the ones we love.... or, something like that.... Sigh. All the support was beyond anything I could have ever wished for.
Until the hormones are under control, I think I'll lay low. I feel fine now, but I felt fine before all of this, so I'm pretty tentative about what lurks underneath. I'm reading up on this hormonal rage thing and I'm looking at options and I'm looking forward to NEVER doing that again. Once was more than enough. I swear to you that if anything remotely similar feels like it's bubbling up, I'm leaving the room AND I'M NOT GOING BACK.
I'm staying near the bathroom in case things start flying out. I will not go back.
Gods of Menopause, YOU can kiss my ass.
Towanda!
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