Five days to go and the madness begins. I am with my team at a weekly beginners’ football league, and we are discussing our positions for the next game. Suddenly, I have the strange sensation that I am watching myself from the outside, like a critic sitting in the audience for a play of my life.
“I usually play in midfield,” I hear myself say to the group of women.
“Why on earth did you say that?” the critic chastises me. “How obnoxious to put yourself forward like that!” As I walk to the middle of the field, the critic continues their tirade: “It’s so embarrassing that you assumed these women liked you—it’s obvious now that they find you incredibly annoying.”
It is rather difficult to focus on the ball with the critic on blast, and I fumble an easy pass.
It doesn’t take me long to work out what is happening: my critic and I have been here many times before—to be precise, we meet once a month in the week preceding my period. During that week, the modicum of stability that I have achieved in the rest of the month disappears: weeks of deep-breathing exercises, mindful walks and daily three-minute jogs (I refuse, as a matter of principle, to run for more than the minimum amount of time required to give me an endorphin hit) all fly out the window. What emerges is a constant barrage of criticism, anxiety and self-doubt that leaves me reeling.
Unfortunately, the critic also turns their ire towards those closest to me. During a recent lunch at a restaurant with my mum, I began policing her perfectly polite interactions with the waiter. She had what I felt at the time to be an unreasonable desire to inform him that she had a nut allergy. “Why are you being so socially abrasive?” I demanded. She responded with a much gentler wording of the question: “Why are you being so mental?” I paused for a moment to consider what to say next: “My period starts in a few days.” “Oh, of course.” There was no further explanation needed—my family have been on the rollercoaster with me since I was a teenager.
My premenstrual critic can be a source of anecdotes. But the reality of living with them can also be incredibly dark. For a week every month, my obsessive thinking ratchets up to fever pitch, and a wave of despair threatens to bowl me over. I have to muster my strength to carry out the basic tasks I otherwise do on autopilot: getting out of bed, making meals and putting a wash on are overwhelming. I no longer have the motivation to pick up the tools that help me manage my obsessive-compulsive disorder—they lie uselessly on the floor as I slip back into old behaviours, spending hours pacing around my room ruminating on problems I’ve created in my mind.
I have never sought a diagnosis. Because, frankly, who wants another one?
Several people I love have told me that they suspect I experience something more serious than the already unpleasant premenstrual syndrome that the vast majority of women and other people who have periods face. They have asked whether I may have a condition called premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), which includes symptoms such as depression, increased anxiety, sleeping problems and severe mood swings. PMDD affects between 3 and 8 per cent of us and more than 30 per cent of those diagnosed with PMDD will attempt suicide. My answer to their question is: I don’t know. I have never sought a diagnosis. Because, frankly, who wants another one? But I have started to implement strategies that include carefully tracking my cycle and warning others when I’m likely to be oversensitive.
Perhaps the other reason I’ve resisted investigating a medical approach is the fear my emotions will be explained away by my hormones if they are labelled as clinical. It wasn’t so long ago that women were excluded from the workplace due to their cycles and labelled too hysterical to be trusted. In response, we have kept schtum. Admitting that my hormones are wreaking havoc on my mental health feels like admitting weakness. Or worse, handing over a weapon to those who still believe women are fundamentally less emotionally stable than men.
But this stoicism precludes the opportunity for more research and support for those dealing with hormonal mood changes. And masking the turmoil of a quarter of my life does take a toll. Research suggests that effective interventions for premenstrual symptoms can include educating male partners about them. Perhaps a more open conversation about mental health and the menstrual cycle could be helpful to everyone, whether they have periods or not.
And let’s begin by retiring the phrase “It’s just your hormones.” Forever.
