Hot Flashes & Hissy Fits: My Wild Ride Into Menopause

Let me set the scene: I’m standing in the frozen food aisle, fanning myself with a coupon flyer like I’m auditioning for a Southern Gothic drama. My cart is full of popsicles, not because the kids asked for them (they're older, I buy for me now!), but because I’m convinced they’re the only thing keeping me from spontaneously combusting. Welcome to menopause, friends. I didn’t choose the hot flash life—the hot flash life chose me.


🧠 Why You Can Trust This Midlife Mayhem

  • I’m living it. Every mood swing, every night sweat, every moment of “Did I just forget my own name?” is firsthand.
  • I’ve read the books, talked to the doctors, and yes—Googled “Is it normal to cry because my sock fell off?”
  • I’ve curated advice from OB-GYNs, hormone specialists, and fellow warriors in the menopause trenches. I haven't. I've just lived it.
  • I’m not selling snake oil. Just sharing what’s real, what’s helped, and what made me laugh so I wouldn’t scream.


🌀 The Symptoms Nobody Warned Me About

  • Mood Swings: One minute I’m baking cookies, the next I’m rage-cleaning the baseboards while sobbing to a 90s ballad.
  • Brain Fog: I once put my phone in the fridge and my keys in the pantry. I’m basically a walking scavenger hunt.
  • Sleep? What Sleep?: I now measure rest in 20-minute increments between hot flashes and existential dread.
  • The Great Hormone Heist: Estrogen packed its bags and left without a forwarding address. Rude.


💡 What’s Actually Helped (Besides Ice Packs & Sarcasm)

  • Magnesium & Vitamin D: My doctor recommended these to help with sleep and mood. I call them my “Don’t Snap at the Husband” pills.
  • Layered Pajamas: Because you never know when you’ll go from Arctic tundra to volcanic eruption in 30 seconds.
  • Talking About It: Seriously. Sharing the chaos with other women has been the best therapy. We laugh, we cry, we compare chin hairs.



🧁 A Sweet Ending

One night, after a particularly dramatic hot flash, I found myself sitting on the kitchen floor eating a cupcake in my underwear. My dog looked concerned. My husband tiptoed past like I was a live wire. And you know what? I felt powerful. Because this phase—this messy, sweaty, unpredictable phase—is mine. And I’m owning it.


So if you’re in your 50s and wondering why your body feels like it’s been hijacked by a hormonal gremlin, just know: you’re not alone. You’re not broken. You’re becoming something new. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find yourself laughing in the frozen food aisle too.