Hot Flashes and Other Lesbian Love Languages
Navigating marriage, menopause, and the fine art of losing your shit together.
By Kelly Wilson
Hormones. Peri. Menopause. All three of these words are spoken in our home an awful lot. I was somewhat prepared for what perimenopause was likely to bring, but I really did forget I would be going through two of them.
Lesbian relationships have entered the chat, and it's not pretty. Let me clue you in if you're unfamiliar with the double hormone switch-a-roo.
Double the hot flashes is just one continuous stream of each of us telling the other they're fucking hot. But then, cold. No... not that damn cold, turn it up! But wait, now she needs it turned down... Shitshow, I tell you, and not one bit of that was an exaggeration. We travel with a cooler now because I never know when I'll need to slap a cold pack on my neck. It's absolutely ridiculous.
Do you know your deodorant stops working, you grow hairs in places that will offend you, and if anyone crosses you with even a hint of stupid, you'll lose your shit? All true.
They say it's hormones. I think it's actually all your fucks heading to the exit, hand-in-hand with your estrogen. Girl, bye.
My wife and I didn't get married until we were in our 40s, so the entirety of our 12-year marriage has taken place inside a hormone apocalypse while raising three young men. They have all had a crash course on what later-in-life women are like, and they will be prepared for anything. We gave them master's degree-level hormone knowledge.
I'm not even through the intersection of peri and meno, and it feels like it's been an entire lifetime some days. Whoever thought scheduling the fall of society at the same time Gen X hits menopause was fired. I'm positive of that.
They're seriously fucking with the wrong women. I'm pretty sure if we all met at the same place, at the same time, we'd burn it all down with the collective rage bubbling inside. The heat we put off outside could likely power a small village at the same time, so we should definitely meet in a village. Two birds, one stone.
I love being a lesbian, and I recommend it to everyone who will listen. You know, the gay agenda and all. But if you're batting for our team, just know that the years in your 40s and 50s are gonna contain some hair-on-fire moments. You'll shift together, and there's nothing like having a partner on the journey. That's the positive. We're for sure not alone, but some days, two sets of hormones are wildly incompatible with human survival.
But having a rage buddy makes it all a little easier to bear. You also have someone to share your meno treats with, and that's just good living right there. Double the no fucks and double the treats. We're living the dream and sweating to the oldies. Which is just 1990, but according to our 23-year-old, that's "last century!"
If your child says something similar, don't panic. This is one of those moments you have to remind yourself you're nonviolent and you made that creature. They know not what they say, and in their defense, they do have to deal with two of us losing our shit because we can't find our phone for the 15th time this afternoon.
None of it is pretty, but it's life, and it's love, and we'll shed our hormones and last fuck together. Just like we do everything else.
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