💥 Perimenopausal and Pissed: The Midlife Meltdown I Refuse to Apologize For

The other morning, I was already late. My teeth weren’t brushed, my coffee was cold, and my bra wasn’t even close to being on. I sat down on the deck for just a minute—and cried. Not for any particular reason. Not even in a “cute Instagram-worthy tear down the cheek” kind of way. Just full-on overwhelmed, “please no one talk to me,” red-faced weeping.

And then I heard it.

"Mama?"

From inside the house, like a tiny dagger to the soul. I love my daughter—but in that moment, I wanted to get in my car and drive 1,000 miles away. Maybe live in a tent on the Continental Divide. Maybe eat mushrooms and talk to deer. Anything but “mom” again.

📉 Life Lately: A Combo Deal of Chaos

This season of life is weird.

I’m almost 50. A mother of four. A professional. A wife. A human who has been “on” for nearly 30 years. And now my body is bloated, cramping, moody, and doesn’t even pretend to want sex anymore. I feel like a damn houseplant—constantly giving, wilting quietly, hoping someone waters me or notices I exist.

Add in perimenopause, stress, body image issues, and a career that makes me feel invisible, and yeah—this woman is tired.

🧂 2 Margaritas Later...

A while back, I had two margaritas. Not five. Not tequila shots. Just two drinks. And those two drinks sent me into a full-blown drunken spiral where I lay in bed seething, fantasizing about hiking into the woods and becoming a hermit with a sourdough starter and a goat named Kevin. Just kidding. I hate Kevin. A goat named, Phil.

Why? Because all the emotional buildup of feeling unappreciated, unattractive, uninteresting, and so damn stuck finally caught up.

And it’s been building for a long time.

😶 “What Do You Like to Do for Fun?”

That question used to haunt me. Friends would ask: “What brings you joy?”

“What would you do if you had free time?”

I’d stare at them blankly. Because for years—decades—I’ve been so wrapped up in “momming” and caretaking and surviving, I honestly couldn’t tell you what I enjoy. What I want. What I like.

Free time? Psh. What’s that?

⚡ But Something’s Changing...

For the first time in a long time, I’m starting to ask: What do I want?

And it turns out… I do want things.

I want to dance again. Maybe take that Fossi class. I want to sit on my deck and read a weird witchy novel. I want to warm up with the girls at the dance studio and feel included. I want to grow herbs, make butter and kombucha, and laugh over dinner with my friends. I want to feel sexy in my own skin again. I want to WANT sex.

I want to do life differently—from here on out.

💉 “Is Using Peptides Cheating?”

Maybe. I mean, I haven’t exactly been working out regularly or cooking quinoa. But here’s the thing: I’m done wallowing. I’m done waiting to want to change. I’m choosing to make a change, right now.

Tirzepatide is a tool I’m using to kickstart this new chapter. Yes, it’s a needle. Yes, it’s an assist. But this time, I’m pairing it with action. With intention. With me.

👀 Why I Haven’t Wanted Sex (and Why That’s Changing, Too)

Let’s talk about the thing we don’t talk about.

My libido isn’t just gone—it packed its bags and left town. And sure, hormones have something to do with it. But a bigger part is that I’ve been mortified by my body. I don’t want to be touched when I feel disgusting. When my clothes don’t fit. When I’m bloated and exhausted and don’t even recognize myself.

But I’m working on it. Because I deserve to feel good again. I deserve pleasure. I deserve joy.

🚀 Moving Forward (With a Little Sass and a Lot of Honesty)

This isn’t a glow-up story. It’s a reclamation story.

I’m not promising abs by Christmas. I’m not journaling in a rose gold notebook and pretending gratitude will fix my hormone levels.

I’m saying: I’m ready to feel like me again.

And if you’re reading this, and any of it hit you in the gut—I hope you’re ready too.

Let’s get honest. Let’s be loud. Let’s stop apologizing for needing help. Let’s take care of ourselves like we take care of everyone else.

So here I am—bloated, emotional, a little lost, and totally ready to do this.

If you are too, pull up a chair.

Or a goat.

Or a margarita.

We’ve got some work to do.

Alison