Young girls get weary

To all the husbands out there who come home on occasion to find that a tearful irrational, moody, alien has taken over their wife’s body, I have a thought for you -Young girls get weary and frankly old girls do too. It’s a fact. Sometimes heaviness comes from out of nowhere, overtakes us, and we get sad. Sometimes we cry.

I remember a time when my children were younger – I had the blues for several days. I didn’t know why I was sad. I still don’t.  I adore my husband and my children were  the light of my life, yet I couldn’t get out of the funk I was in. Could I be depressed? Was it hormones? Was I exhausted? Was I subconsciously missing something in my life?

My husband was taken aback. I think he was a bit frightened. He couldn’t understand, couldn’t help or fix me. He offered to get me professional help. A few days later, I was back to my former self, wondering why I had been so down in the dumps.

I went for a walk shortly after that and stopped by a friend’s house. There was an arrangement of flowers on her entry table. “Oh, is it your birthday? Anniversary?” I asked.

“No,” she reluctantly explained. She told me that her husband was trying to make her feel better because she had been inexplicably  sad as of late.

“You too?” I thought.

Since then I’ve had many such days (I’m a fairly old gal).** and my husband has pretty much learned when to lean in and when to back off.  I’ve also spoken with hundreds of girls who relay similar stories along with the ways they have learned to handle their own difficult days. Granted, there are some of us that need to work through some of our stuff in the office of our psychiatrist, but for the rest of us, we are becoming adept at recognizing the coming of the blues and aren’t as surprised by them anymore. We aren’t ashamed or afraid of feeling sad. We know the doldrums will leave in due time. We learn how to shorten our unhappy moodiness by seeking friends to talk to, getting out of the house, going for a walk, taking some ‘me’ time when possible. In the long run I think, the sad times enable us to anticipate and enjoy the good times all that much more.

As for the dozens of frustrated men who have expressed their exasperation at the sudden gloomy transformation of the women they love, I can’t think of anything better to say to them than what’s already been said by Three Dog Night.

**clue to how old I really am- check out the wardrobes



J.P.M.S.- What’s Your Excuse?

Woman tearing her hair out

She gets a little edgy when it takes her 45 minutes to drive to the mall which is only 8 miles away.  She parks about as far from the entrance as one can get after circling the garage 3 or 4 times.   The store is out of the item she is looking for and the saleswoman is rude and patronizing.  She returns home and takes it out on the first family member she encounters.  Blame it on H.S.S. – Holiday Stress Syndrome. (there is a pre and post H.S.S., by the way)

In Wisconsin, she would get a bit irritated and jumpy after months of sunless, grey skies and house-bound children, a car that took forever to warm up, piles of soggy clothes ruining the hardwood floors, missing hats and mittens and snow up to the eyeballs.  When she ran after her mouth-y, middle-child with a hairbrush, intending to use it as a weapon, she realized she needed help.  A trusted friend encouraged her.  “It’s just S.A.D.,” she said. – Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Sometimes she starts a project, never to finish it.  She’s been known to begin a story, head it off in another direction, and end up not knowing what she was originally going to say.  Perhaps she has A.D.D.- Attention Deficit Disorder.

She couldn’t stop crying and was wildly overwhelmed after 10 days of little to no sleep.  The bundle of joy she brought home from the hospital wailed constantly,  wanted to nurse every two hours, hung on tight to her sore nipples and sucked for at least 45 minutes. (you do the math).  “Perfectly normal,” her friend said, “P.P.D.” – Postpartum Depression.

She bravely suffered through other typical  hormonal behavioral conditions, counting on the day of the month or the increasing number of years to explain and label her outbursts.  Was it -P.M.S., pre-post or menopausal?

She is a gracious southern woman, taught from birth that you “get more with sugar than with lemons.”  She exercises self-control and always chirps a pleasant, “good to see you,” at parties, soon to be followed by,  “bless your heart.”  Today, however, she spoke in anger and stormed out of the room slamming the door.  This time she doesn’t question her condition.  She knows that she suffers from a bad case of  J.P.M.S. – Just Plain Mad, Stupid!