Entering my “out of f*cks” era

I felt broken. Enraged. Like this great slumbering creature within me had awakened, when I hadn’t even known it existed.

Imagine that scene from Alien with the chest-burster. Yeah. Kinda like that. Except that it’s not like this alien burst from my chest all at once & was done, but that it was happening over & over again on a daily basis…

Every morning as I woke up to a new piece of bad news… RAWR (aka the “chest burster” sound)… WTF is that orange fucker doing NOW?

Or as I scrolled through my instagram feed… RAWR… no, I DON’T need to “lose 15 lbs to feel better about myself now”... stop showing me these dumb-ass ads designed to intentionally make me feel bad about myself.

Or even as notification after notification popped up on my phone… even when sent to SILENT… RAWR… None of this stuff actually MATTERS. Why does my brain ping so hard alongside every (still silent) ping of my phone???

I thought I was losing my mind. I mean, I was definitely losing sleep, and saw a doctor about that (which in our incredibly awful medical system still took me 11 whole months to get diagnosed & set up with a CPAP machine for my sleep apnea).

But it was more than just that.

My brain was exhausted. My body was exhausted. My everything was exhausted.

And looking back, I now know that this was the start of me entering perimenopause. Which is NOT for the faint of heart. But also not optional, faint-hearted or not.

Heads up to the ladies who aren’t there yet… read up on perimenopause NOW before you’re smack-dab in the middle of it. Because no one gave ME any info on what to come, and my friends and I have been figuring it out ourselves.

Long story short, it’s like puberty, but with even bigger hormonal swings. Some people even refer to it as “cougar puberty.” Ha!

But I’m calling it my “out-of-fucks” era. For realsies.

Cuz I think the biggest change so far (besides figuring out how to balance my hormones so that the chest-burster alien doesn’t become my entire raging personality) is that I’m seriously DONE with playing “nice.”

You know… the whole people-pleasing good-girl act we were raised with? Yeah. That. I’m done.

I’m done trying to fit in to places I don’t belong (or don’t WANT to belong). Show up & don’t like the vibes? I’m walking right back out that door. Peace out.

I’m done keeping my mouth shut to try & “keep the peace.” And lemme tell you… dinners at my family’s house have gotten reeeeeeally interesting since then. And less frequent. But my stomach is no longer in knots from swallowing what needs to be said.

I’m done trying to “niche down” or “pick a lane” and just do and BE that one thing, and be defined by that one thing. Nuh-uh. I am an expansive human being with more facets than an ultra-sparkly jewel. And I refuse to become another “personal brand,” editing pieces of myself and my stories in order to be more palatable for a bigger audience so I can get “more sales.” Ugh. That’s just gross.

On that note, I also refuse to participate in “traditional” marketing ploys that are still currently normalized under our capitalistic system. This is one of my BIGGEST “icks,” and even one of the driving forces for shutting down my past photography biz. Because supposed business/marketing “experts” are still telling us it’s absolutely necessary to prey on fear, scarcity, and operate with fake “limited time” stuff, when this is sooooo NOT necessary. It makes my stomach hurt even thinking about it, and I’ve been moving slowly through the business world this time, figuring out how to do it all in a way that feels better.

And feeling better has been keeping my chest-bursting alien at bay.

(Well, that and HRT, counseling, breathwork, getting more sunshine, and slowly redesigning my entire LIFE around what feels good instead of chasing after some external accolades or imaginary gold stars.)

But the thing is… even though my chest-burster IS a beast, I’m kinda glad she made an appearance. (Even though it hurt like hell & turned my entire life upside down.)

Cuz it’s been like an awakening of sorts. Permission to just BE, instead of having to perform.

Shedding the skin of the good girl, the perfectionist, the “please notice me,” with the cultivated Instagram feed & perfect videos with perfect hair & makeup.

Nah. Perfect is boring, and unattainable anyway.

I’d rather be authentically ME. With all the mess that comes with it.

It’s been a lot more fun this way. And I know the FUN is just beginning.

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Love,
Chel