White-FlagDear PMS,

We’ve known each other for about 30 years now. Actually, is was about 30 years ago that you came rolling on into my life and decided to rob me of my idyllic, even-mood childhood. I was, sadly, clueless. You declared war on my brain and my body. It was a sneak attack.

I’ve spent those 30 years trying to figure out how to do an end run around you. As a younger woman, I just thought I was going nuts. Ok, fine, MORE nuts. I would carry on through the month, and then BOOM! Giant man-eating zit(s), grumpy, emotional, and this sense that I was slogging through Jell-o during the day. Then there’s the nearly overwhelming urge to take a nap at any given moment during that week before what the internet has dubbed “Aunt Flo” or AF.

Do you have any idea what it’s like to think you’re going insane one week out of the month? It clouds your entire life experience. Trust me on that one. You come out of your one-week-per-month battle and think, “what the HELL just happened to me? Wait – was that even me?”

My body gave me an amazing vacation from you when I was pregnant and breastfeeding. Time of my life. I was normal ALL the weeks of the month.

So now, as I stand on the precipice of you, PMS, disappearing into the sunset, I say: You win.

Yesterday, as I was slogging my way through the PMS Jell-o, I realized: it’s not me, it’s you. I’ve been fighting you since before I had boobs, and you know what? I’m finished.

So, next time you show up, and push me to take a nap when I have a pile of stuff I need to do, I’m going to go ahead and take a nap. You hear me? A NAP. Fine. White flag. I won’t feel guilty about it, either. Because guilt is one of your very best weapons. Another little trick of yours.

Next time you needle me to get annoyed with my husband and children for existing, you know what I’m going to do? Tell YOU to knock it off. It’s not them. It’s not even me. It’s YOU.

Next time the monster zit appears on the tip of my nose that is so big I can actually see it without looking in the mirror, I’m going to tell you: bring it. Give me one more, for all I care. I’m done with you.

You made the last 30 years more difficult than they needed to be, so the next few? I’m giving you the finger. No more supplements in an effort to try to alleviate your “symptoms.” No more trying to out run you, out sleep you, out eat you. You win.

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