Becoming… Again (But With Less Estrogen)

My body has done some pretty incredible things.

I’ve grown human beings and birthed them after hours of labor - miraculous, really. I’ve competed in not one, but two USMC mud runs, pushing myself to limits I never thought possible. I’ve run 13 miles straight, more than once, with ease.

And now - after all the wondrous things we’ve done together - my body feels like it is ghosting me.

One minute I’m fine. The next, I’m peeling off a hoodie in the grocery store like I’m auditioning for Flashdance. I used to blame the weather. Now I know - it’s the internal furnace of betrayal, firing off whenever it damn well pleases. Occasionally, it’s the opposite. I become an igloo in my own skin, shivering and cold with no way to warm myself.

My joints sound like popcorn. My patience has a fuse about as long as a TikTok. And my memory? She’s gone. Left a sticky note that said “BRB” and never came back.

And let’s talk about hormones. Or rather, let’s whisper - just in case they hear us and decide to do something dramatic. These days, my moods are like Appalachian weather - sunshine at 10 a.m., thunderstorm by lunch, emotional fog by dinner. My boyfriend has started greeting me with, “How are we feeling today?” like he’s approaching a wild animal.

But here’s the thing: I’m not broken. I’m becoming. Again. My body is performing yet another miracle.

This phase is hard. But it’s also sacred. Messy and mysterious and, weirdly, empowering. It’s my body, once again, shifting into a new version of me - one that takes no crap, wears stretchy pants with pride, and cries freely at dog commercials and TikTok videos of baby ducks.

Because while my hormones may be glitching, my voice is stronger. My boundaries are firmer. And I finally understand that aging isn’t a decline - it’s a damn evolution.