No More Living a Half Life

As I sit in the sun enjoying the heat on my skin, it occurs to me, that for once I feel at ease; I’m content, or at least what I imagine that to feel like. I haven’t experienced this for so very long, if at all. For everything that’s going on in my life right now, I hardly think this is a state I should be in, or for that matter, what any other ‘normal’ person would feel. For a sufferer of PMDD, this is a sensation that eludes them, only ever being something others have the right to feel, to deserve; we can’t even allow ourselves to dream it.

But, here I am. In the midst of a divorce, children heading into ‘important’ years, family health worries, moving house, setting up my own business, and, to top it all, a leg injury meaning no exercise for me. All of this, and a super full moon promising challenging and testing times with a spotlight on unveiling secret, suppressed emotions. As if I need an excuse to let my emotions loose! I challenge anyone not to have emotional outbursts, negative thoughts, a sense of despair, loneliness, moments of self-doubt, and yes, even suicidal imaginings with all this going on, but for me, that was just regular PMDD. It used to be much worse, and in the past, I would have upped the ante, expanded on these feelings tenfold if not a hundred, and let rip.

Today things are different. No outbursts, no lashing out. I have a calm, inquisitive almost excited approach to what’s coming my way. I wonder how my relationship with PMDD will improve yet again when I show my true self, when I see the lesson it is trying to teach me and how I will grow from it. A show of emotion, where I am finally able to be in control: read the signs, step back, observe and consciously respond.

Go back in time only 4 years and there was no control, there was no learning, no responding. Just reaction, and it wasn’t pretty. It tore through my heart and that of those I held most dear. It broke connections along with plates, glasses, trust, and friendships. Alcohol became my BFF, it understood me, knew what I needed, gave me comfort, reminded me of the person I wanted to be. Or so I thought. It was an illusion. A cruel, harsh illusion, and all I was doing was self-anaesthetising and trying to find the other version of me that everyone expected me to be – the fun person, the one who wasn’t struggling, the party me, not the sad, lonely, confused, down, low version. I had done everything I could to distract people away from seeing this version of me. I didn’t want to see it. This ‘me’ was vindictive, callous, harsh, malicious, and cold and I couldn’t bear to acknowledge it.

How could I be known for being the one ‘everyone turned to for help’, ‘who always had time for everyone else’, ‘would drop everything for someone in need’, ‘who would give up her time to pursue charitable causes’ and yet equally, on the head of a pin, spin round, aim my vicious, knife-sharp tongue at my target, strike without warning and take them down with maximum effect. I was set on causing hurt and pain and I was really good at it.

I had had years perfecting the art of verbal abuse, it had only ever been (generally) targeted at my husband and I had honed the skill over time, improving its efficiency, empowering it, feeding it. Its power was so immense. It was almost as though it needed new victims and it started to seek them out through my friendship group. Everyone became a potential target.

At the time of an attack, I would lose all consciousness. A voice would goad me into believing I was ‘right’ and I would hand over total control to the point of losing all awareness. It possessed me. I’d attack. The morning after would be a living hell. What had I said? Who to? Are my children ok? Who was I? What was I?

…

I was a young girl with a lot of energy, I loved life. I saw adventure in everything. Life was fun. But as time would tell, it wasn’t as rosy as I had perceived, and my body was not going to let me forget.

During my teens, I started my periods as any other girl. I was a bit later than some and had an older sister so I wasn't surprised when mine started. What did surprise me was how everyone coped so well with them. How did others manage this intense pain? How did they cope with this flood of blood? How did they hide their tears so well? My only plan of action available was to ‘crack on’. If they could, so could I – right?

The mood swings were put down to hormones, just a teenage thing. My father, on the other hand, was not so accepting – ‘When you’re bloody down you bring everyone else down too. When you’re bloody happy you expect us all to be happy. What is bloody wrong with you?’ My heart broke.

Here’s the stupid thing, even with regular periods, the pattern never registered. Even after seeing a top Harley Street endocrinologist about contraceptive methods in my late 20s (any method generally sent me loopy and I could tick off all the side effects), I was merely told I had a sensitivity to hormone levels because my levels were normal. So, for 35 years I lived a half-life, split between two personalities, trying desperately hard to ignore one for the other, trying to integrate more of one and subdue the other. But it was getting harder.

I became a people pleaser, felt let down, lashed out, apologised (for being me) and the cycle went on just getting bigger and bigger, gathering momentum like a vortex sucking everyone and everything into it, until……

A number of events happened all at once.

A friend registered my pattern and suggested I start logging my cycle with that of the moon.
A random magazine lay open on a page about the hidden condition of PMDD.
This led to me using a tracker app alongside the lunar cycle.
I slammed months of evidence on the Doctor’s table and said – “NOW DO YOU GET IT – I AM NOT DEPRESSED, I AM NOT BIPOLAR, I DO NOT WANT ANTIDEPRESSANTS, I WANT YOU TO HELP ME.

I remember the elation when finally, he diagnosed me with a known condition. I could suddenly explain the WHY. ‘You have PMDD’. Whoop Whoop! And….?

‘And there’s nothing I can do for you. And it’s probably only going to get worse.’

My world fell into an abyss, along with any elation I had momentarily experienced. Where did I go from here?

So began my journey. The first thing I learned was that I had a choice.

Beat this or be beaten by it. If I carried on doing nothing, the outcome was not pretty; how much worse could fighting it be? I chose to fight.

An advert came up regarding aligning with your true self and it resonated with me. If I could learn to accept this ‘other’ me perhaps we could integrate and find balance. As far as I was concerned, I had nothing to lose. I delved into learning about my two sides, I worked with my cycle, I kept an eye on that pesky moon and suddenly I began to feel synchronicity, a coming together.

It took a couple of years, but I finally qualified as an alignment coach. It was one of the most painful experiences I could ever have considered putting myself through. I took on my PMDD version, challenged it, worked with it, and bared my soul wide open. With an amazing outcome, I found peace; I found the whole me.

PMDD, for me, was something I was told I’d have to live with. There is no cure. It is a very personal condition, expressing itself in a multitude of ways and each individual has a unique relationship with it. Having been told all my life that I was ‘overly sensitive’, took things too ‘personally’, that I had no boundaries emotionally, that I was an ‘empath’, a people pleaser (why don’t you just say no? Oh, how I wanted to hit something each time I heard that), finally, I saw what was in front of me. I can’t change my hormone sensitivity, but I could change how I deal with it. ‘Be response-able, not reactive’ would be a phrase that would become my catchphrase, my self-talk go-to, my ‘louder in my head voice’ quietening all others.

There is beauty in PMDD, its ability to be so predictable is something that gives us a structure to work from. The ability to plan – for months in advance- is the silver lining; it is the gift that makes all change possible. It is the starting point. It is the first step in taking control. It is a tool in our toolbox that is reliable, predictable, unchanging. It is the key. By using this stability in an otherwise unstable internal world, we can plan, prepare, intend to change and from there great things can happen. This might be the easiest part but it’s by far the most important. It won’t stop the monster’s unleashing, but it needn’t be so much of a surprise. Take away the surprise and we gain a firmer footing.

We all know there is no stopping the PMDD 100-mile-an-hour train from hitting us. In fact, despite all efforts to avoid it, we unconsciously step out onto the track for it to hit us and the devastation the impact leaves in its wake is like clearing up after an all-out war. You pick up guilt, shame, fear, self-doubt, self-hate, self-loathing, low confidence and all their associates. Pieces of you lay strewn out in front of you and only you can pick them up. Each time they get heavier, each time you feel another piece of your ‘other’ self fade away. This is just an illusion; this is what you have habitually taught yourself. We have become experts in self-deprecation and it’s almost as though we need to do this to confirm that we are right. However, this is NOT the case. It can be unlearned. It’s not easy, but then, is there anything harder than living with full-blown PMDD? If you can live with it, you are strong enough to face it, challenge it and it is easier than fighting it, denying it, and hoping it will go away – it won’t. But, by looking at what fuelled the train and the pieces you pick up afterward, we slowly find answers. We start to discover ourselves. We start waking up. We start becoming aware. We start to understand. Just like when I was diagnosed and my condition had a name, I was able to comprehend. I was able to see I had choices and suddenly, by having options, bit by bit, I was slowly taking control.

The last part is assessing. It is reflecting on your preparation methods, what showed up, how you dealt with it, and how you can implement these learnings so that you lessen the impact of the impending next train, the next battle with the monster. We all know it’s coming; we know when, we know we are strong enough to face it (we’ve survived years of PMDD and if you can do that you can do anything) and for the first time we can rise to it, not hide from it.

Awareness is the foundation to taking back control.

Accepting is the lesson we learn to understand and start loving ourselves again

Acting is the way we make changes, the stepping into our power.

There is no cure per se, but we can look at how we treat it, treat ourselves. We can’t change it, but we can choose how we live with it. There is no magic wand, but we don’t need one. We are the only tool we need and believe you me; it is one of the most powerful tools anyone could ask for. We just need to learn how to use it.