02. premenstrual procrastination.
the dishes can wait when you're healing from childhood trauma.
A tiny voice beckoned me to the kitchen while I lay like a ton of bricks on the cream colored couch. I only needed to wash a few dishes but after a long day of mothering, I was exhausted.
Warm spring air gently grazed my bare arms through the open window beside me. I listlessly laid on my side, my right arm awkwardly holding the phone near my face. The minutes crept by with each flick of the thumb through tiktok. I was in a trance-like state.
Numb the pain.
Why did the prospect of dishes feel like climbing Mount Everest? I quickly consulted my period tracking app. Ahh, that’s it! I’m premenstrual.
“This is how to get unstuck from survival mode…”, the purple-haired girl gently shared from the five-inch screen in my hand. I was deep in mental health tiktok and the algorithm flooded me with advice on climbing my Everest.
This premenstrual phase felt eerily familiar to when I’d hit rock-bottom earlier that year.
“I can’t do this anymore!!”, I screamed from the top of my lungs as I sat slumped on my kitchen floor. The cabinet corner hugged me from both sides as I sobbed uncontrollably. A newborn & toddler awaited their mother’s unconditional love from the other room.
Yet, all I could do was reach for another sip of whiskey. Numb the pain.
I started beating myself up for getting pregnant so quickly after my first daughter. If only I had learned fertility awareness sooner, maybe I wouldn’t be so deep in baby blues.
The memory faded away as the tiny voice, once again, nudged me towards the kitchen. I settled for the rationale that after a long day of changing diapers, I deserved to sit on the couch. Gosh-darn-it, I had earned it!
Or so I thought.
Hours later, the door knob jiggled open as my husband walked tirelessly through the front door. “What are you still doing up at 1 AM?”, he lovingly inquired while peeling off his shoes from a long days work at the airport.
I tugged on the fuzzy-blue blanket that encapsulated my limp body. I remained expressionless, having barely the will to blink. A single tear rolled down my cheek as Brendan kneeled by my side & gently stroked my hair.
“The dishes can wait. Let’s go to bed”, he knowingly whispered oh-so sweetly. With a tender kiss on my forehead, Brendan silently acknowledged the pain of my childhood trauma.
The neglected chores haunted me in my dreams that night. When I eventually woke to the sound of giggling girls in the soft morning light, I smiled.
I was ready to climb my Everest.
Mary Nordahl has mentored dozens of women from all over the world in developing a loving relationship with their menstrual cycle hormones.
Mary utilizes a clinical psychology degree alongside a certification in fertility awareness to coach cyclical beings in cultivating inner peace.