I’m Not an Idiot
And other things I try to remember during menopause.
Knock, Knock.
Who’s there?
Cudna.
Cudna Who?
Cudna —
Cudna Who?
Give me a minute. I don’t remember! Cudna. . . something. Couldna?
It wasn’t the first time I had gotten into the middle of a joke and “couldna” remember the ending. You know, the whole point of the joke.
I’m not bad at telling jokes. It’s just this, this brain fog. I can’t remember jokes, much less remember to go to a room where I won’t remember why I am there. I lose the thought long before I make it to the other room.
I forget things, am late to events, and lose thoughts because my mind is now like Hoover Dam. I would be frustrated — if I could remember to be so. I focus on seeing humor instead.
Professionally
As a Licensed Counselor, I carry the secrets of many people. Their missteps. Their fears. Their anxieties.
That is, I carry them if I remember them. Sometimes I can remember the secrets but not who they belong to. Sometimes the people, but not the issues.
Once, I had a client come into the office, and I handed her new client paperwork to fill out.
“Do I have to fill this out every time I come in here?”
I didn’t cover my mistake very well. “Have you already filled this out?”
“Last Tuesday when I was in here.”
I studied her during the session. How could I have so completely forgotten someone? I was mystified.
Other Ventures
Seems I don’t complete anything, either. I sit to write, and my mind flits to other tasks after a couple of paragraphs. I leave half the dishes unwashed because I remember something “more important.” Of course, I frequently forget what that was by the time I walk five steps away.
I set up a schedule for myself, which has minimal effect. I’ve tried both blocks of time as well as being very detailed. For some reason, I feel like emptying the trash is more important than adhering to the plan, which says I’m writing a report. Out of sight?
Mindfulness, move over! I have never lived in the moment more than I am now. The present moment is all I can remember, anyway. It will disappear in the next moment, but it’s mine for now. Activities may not be finished but perhaps I’ll finish them the next time they dart into my consciousness.
I know! Perhaps I need blinders like they put on horses. Maybe then I’ll be able to focus on what’s right in front of me.
Science and Brain Fog
I would explain how the science works during menopause. I would if — you know — I could remember it all.
I know it has something to do with hormones, estrogen in particular. Something about estrogen affecting the action of neurotransmitters, which affects mood and memory.
I know the names of the neurotransmitters because I’ve been a counselor for so long. But, that’s no guarantee I’ll remember the names when I’m trying to explain them. I can’t think my way out of a wet paper sack. The science will come to me. Probably when I don’t need to remember it.
I think sleep can be a factor, too, since I cannot seem to get a solid night of it. I wake up at the oddest times and then battle sleepiness the rest of the day. I don’t remember when the last time was that I stayed awake during a whole movie. Then, like clockwork: about 3 am, I’m up for the day. Often remembering the science that I couldn’t remember earlier.
Advantages
The bad parts of this era hustle their way into my consciousness, but I need to include the advantages of it, too. It acts as a natural way of trimming my obligations. Sure, there are some things I really should attend to, but I lose plenty of things which don’t deserve my attention.
Feelings hit me more intensely, perhaps because memory is gone. It’s like a backup system for remembering events and tasks. I may not remember details, but I remember how I feel about a particular place or person. This grounds me while everything in my brain feels crazy.
I can do with not remembering some things. I find I’m more forgiving because I don’t remember exactly why I was upset. If I choose to err on the side of kindness, I may build some relationships which prove unbreakable later.
Discovered Survival Tricks
· Smile. A lot. Don’t speak. Just smile and see where the conversation is going before you jump in. Maybe someone will give you a clue as to what to say.
· Write notes for yourself and leave them in the same place ALL THE TIME. Read them there. Don’t carry them with you because you’ll never find them again.
· Solidly fix a reason for changing rooms before you lose the thought. It makes it easier to regain the idea if you have taken the time to embed it in some part of your consciousness. Easier, but still not guaranteed.
· Exercise. Every day. You will still struggle with the brain fog, but at least your mood won’t be as hinky because of the feel-good chemicals you stir up while you’re being active. Plus, if you’re taking a walk, you know your eventual goal is to get home.
· Find something new to try or learn. Even if it is only a new recipe, your brain likes the chance to venture into new activities. You may have to read instructions over and over, but focus on the novelty of the situation.
· Keep your sense of humor. At least memories will be new experiences when other people bring them up and you have no idea what they’re talking about. I’m amazed by all the things that I’ve gone to or said when my children mention them.
Acceptance
I never did remember the punch line.
Nor the client, I hate to admit. In the past, I excelled at remembering faces, names, and details even years later. Not now, obviously.
She never came back, the client. And I don’t blame her. You don’t want your therapist to be daft. I could be forgiven for not distinctly remembering her situation, especially if she had Dissociative Identity Disorder (formerly Multiple Personality Disorder). She might have another entity presenting in that case. She couldn’t have changed her face, though.
Notes are a challenge since I don’t write during sessions but recap for myself afterward. I recite to myself throughout the session what the big topics are, so I’ll remember them later. The repetition seems to help even if I sometimes forget some of the items. Grace for myself is vital.
I am embracing a new mantra: “I am not an idiot.” There was a time when I relied on my brain for everything. Not right now, though. It will change back after this phase in my life is over, but I have to work with what my reality is right now.
And, I remind myself of that truth: this is my reality right now. This will not last forever, and I do not have to feel shame over going through this natural process. It just is, and it’s important to find the humor and the workarounds.
My clients can be assured, however, I won’t tell anyone details of raw sessions. I don’t remember them myself.
C. J. Clinton is a Licensed Counselor and writer who normally has a fantastic memory. She is married and has four grown children with numerous grand-pets.
