Coping with PMDD

One of the things nobody talks about is how debilitating it can be to live with a condition that is often at best ignored by medical professionals, and at worst — misdiagnosed, because our bodies are “too complicated”.

When it comes to women's bodies, there is very little research or studies due to lack of “funding” but let’s face it, we only fund what’s of importance to us as a society, and women’s heath — outside of birthing — has never been a high priority or on the forefront of people's minds.

We know so little about Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder, that an overwhelming amount of women who live with PMDD then have to additionally go through medical gaslighting, where they’re told it’s all in their head, or that their experience of the symptoms doesn’t add up.

It still takes so many women around the world more than a decade to simply be diagnosed with PMDD — which seems disheartening till you realise that there are women who never get the right diagnose at all.

One day, things will change. They have to. Until then,the bare minimum I want to do is share my own experiences, create a safe community to talk about the things that work, the triggers, and to simply remind you that you are not losing your mind.

It is real, and you are most definitely not alone.

It’s taken me over 5 years of trials and errors to figure out what works for me, and what absolutely doesn’t. I’ve had to sit with the triggers, the trauma, and the pain — only to put the small pieces together, little by little.

What I absolutely cannot cope with, is conflict. It triggers some very deep rooted wounds around rejection and my tolerance for disagreements or clashes is extremely low. My luteal phase is so mentally and emotionally draning for me, I can barely get myself to do any daily activities. I find less and less joy in things, I feel like nothing matters. The only way to get myself to do anything, is to trick my mind into comfortably flowing. Everything has to feel like it’s happening organically, with zeo friction or pressure to achieve something. I try not to be hard on myself. It’s not about setting goals or doing “better” — it’s about creating an extremely safe and comfortable space for my inner child. Warmth. Love. Acceptance. Less criticism, more of just do whatever makes you feel you can breathe again. Because for the majority of my luteal phase, I’m perpetually holding my breath. Petrified — of nothing. Everything. On the verge of breaking down at the slightest change of wind.

Conflict — of any kind — will completely throw me into a spiral.

What I need in order to survive the hardest phase, is structure.

I’ll often stick to less experiments and more of surrounding myself with things I already like doing. Like eating my favourite meals, wearing comfort clothes, watching films I know I love. I’ll go and sit at my favourite cafe where I know there’s that one table I love because it’s not too hot or too cold, the light hits the right spots and the music is never wrong — this way I minimise unforeseen events and unfamiliar feelings as much as I can.

If I don’t have to put excessive energy into my environment, then I can use whatever I have in my cup, to create and do the things that move me.

This is a hard one to explain, and it’s taken so long to put a finger on it, but I am an absolute mess unless I have a plan. I don’t necessarily even intend to stick to ‘the plans’ I make — but I need to know they exist. When you’re functioning at an anxiety level so high that you have to keep reminding yourself to breathe for multiple weeks at a stretch, the last thing you need is to constantly keep making decisions on the go. It’s destructive.

And on other days I plan, because I don’t have faith in myself to actually get through the day unless I make a little mental map in my head. If I’ve decided what what time I have to leave the house, the tasks I need to finish, and the places I’ll be going to — if I know everything — a part of me feels like i’ll be safer. I won’t get lost. If I am lucky, I won’t need to think too much for the rest of the day.

Or maybe having a structive makes me feel more in control, so it’s easier for me to get through half the day of saved energy and say “maybe I’ll skip the next taks and go see a friend, or go see live music because i’m not that drained today”

I guess you can’t break a plan you never made. So I make plans.

This way, I am safe. I have a structure. I could completely fall apart and cry in a bathroom for 15 minutes but once I am done, I can wipe my face and at least I’ll know I had a plan to pick up where I left of at.

The purpose isn’t to actually complete the things on my list… it’s to make sure I don’t stand in the middle of a crowded street after bowling my eyes out, still blurry in my head, unsure of why I am here or where I need to go next.

The plans I make — are the fingers I held onto as a little child when I travelled in a world so big and overwhelming that I thought it would swallow me whole, but then I took a deep breath and I clenched tighter onto my grandfather's hand, knowing no matter how scary these busy streets get, no matter how many unfamiliar faces walk past or how often the wind changes it’s direction, i’ll be okay, because he’s got me. And I am safe. I am safe.

You, my darling, are safe.