Harmoans

It's funny isn't it, how hormones can make or break a day, a person, a life. Back when I was completely off my thyroid, my universe was seriously out of whack, none of my planets aligned and it was doubtful if the sun would rise again.

I remember one day in particular, I was bereft. There's no other word for it, I was completely spent emotionally and physically, and the tipping point was probably something as inconsequential as a little spilled milk. My husband tried to offer his support, to give me a reassuring hug - even though I'm pretty sure I didn't deserve it. In fact, I pushed him away and asked him if he could take the kids somewhere and retreated to my room. I began tidying up, which is how I normally deal with stress and overwhelming feelings. Something about ridding my environment of clutter seems to purge my mind of emotional clutter as well.

I went through my clothes, throwing them in a stack on the closet floor, intent on throwing them away, but later deciding to donate them. I grabbed book after book off my shelf, briefly weighing their fate before replacing them on the shelf or therapeutically ripping page after page from its binding. As I ripped, the grief found its way out of me, trickling at first then building to a torrent of pent-up frustrations and ending in sheer exhaustion.

My point is that during that time it felt like the hopelessness and oppressive sadness would never leave me, that somehow it had become my new reality. I began to wonder at my sanity and whether I was capable of nurturing any relationships with my husband or children. I was hoping a hospital somewhere would take me, administer heavy sedatives, and lock me away.

During this time I reached out to a friend who reminded me that this was not permanent, rather it was most likely related to the lack of hormones in my system and the subsequent upheaval and chaos. In my mind, I knew she was right but part of me still doubted the possibility that life could ever regain some semblance of normalcy, or whether I could last long enough for that to occur. Pity parties are a lonely, lonely place.

It has been three months now and I can safely say that my friend was right. The light at the end of the tunnel is more than a promise, it's a reality.