The Pit of Despair: Menopause Breakdown or Rock Bottom?

Stronger on the Other Side?

Whenever I’ve faced major obstacles in life, the message was always the same: “You’ll be stronger on the other side.”
By that logic, I should basically have superhero powers by now.

Spoiler alert: I don’t.

Instead, I’m beat up, worn down, and flat-out depressed.

The Blank Page Nobody Talks About

The gap between where I thought I’d be by now versus where I actually am? Too depressing to even type out. Financial stress forced me to pause therapy, and my new health insurance doesn’t cover mental health either. Perfect.

And then there’s menopause. These lows feel deeper, heavier, amplified. I’d love to say I’ve got a vision board, a master plan, or even a single goal in sight. But the truth? I’ve got nothing. Nada. Zilch. A long list of what I don’t want, and a blank page where the “what I do want” should be.

Reality vs. Resilience

My brain feels like an acid trip gone wrong…flashes of big ideas, that intoxicating “anything is possible” mindset only to get slammed by reality:

• Zero income.

• Bills piling up.

• A husband in his own midlife spiral.

I used to move through life with gratitude and grit, putting one foot in front of the other. Now? The burden has settled into my lower back, literally. Every step hurts. My workouts are the one part of my day that makes me feel good, and they are gone. Years of hard work, undone in three weeks and twenty pounds.

Alone in the Silent Battle

The people I’ve always leaned on? I’m scared of pushing them away with my low energy. And the one person I thought I could count on is too lost in his own battles to see mine.

“You’re not in this alone,” they say. Biggest crock of shit. They call it the silent battle for a reason. The truth? We are alone. And maybe that’s the point. We’ve always been the strong ones for everyone else, so maybe it’s on us to claw our way out of the pit.

The Ugly Truth

I was so sure this was going to be my time. My rebirth. My era of stop-asking-for-permission and start-living-like-a-badass. Instead? I’m every cliché.

Self-love slogans aren’t saving me. Meditation apps don’t touch it. Doing the “right thing” got me a first-class ticket straight to the Pit of Despair.

xoMS

PS: As previously reported, my Menopause Mascot, Peri, was a fugazee. Fake. Of course.