Yesterday was a rough day. Super rough. Want to pull my hair out and throw wads of hair at people rough. Silly little stuff got to me, and by the end of the morning, I could have actually cried. Which is something I don't do. Crying because I'm having a rough day just doesn't happen to me...thinking about crying is just as rare. But, that's how I felt by lunch time.
The stupid thing is, though, that nothing major happened yesterday. There were no major situations that caused an emotional escalation. It was another day of trying to teach kids stuff they don't know or have forgotten in the week since they last saw it, and trying to come up with creative ways for them to remember the new skills they have to know or remember the skills. I have been doing this every day since August 15th. No biggie. Some days are harder than others, and some skills are more difficult to teach than others.
But, for some reason, whenever I asked a question and got the wrong response yesterday, my blood starting heating up a little. I started to feel deflated when it appeared I wasn't getting my message across. I was on the verge of feeling helpless. And on a couple of separate occasions, I had to actually swallow down tears. What. The. Freak?
That person wasn't me. Not the normal me. I am tough. Strong. Powerful. Nothing really gets me down. If there's a challenging situation that arises, I take it head on. I fight to the death. I won't give up. Kids don't know the difference between fact and opinion even though I've taught it a few times over the past couple of weeks? No big deal. I just go back and remind them of some of the activities we did together. I remind them of scenarios we used and how we were able to distinguish between the two back then until the light bulbs of remembering light up. If they somehow forget that 10 plus 9 is 19 and that it's not 20, I can deal with that. I can spill off the facts for counting numbers from 10. I can draw pretty diagrams on the board, I can have them hold up their fingers, I can give other examples.
Any other day. Except yesterday.
By lunch time I was a heaping mess of emotions. While I didn't actually break down and cry, it took everything I had not to make it happen. I felt weak. I felt defeated. I felt like no matter what I said or did, I just wasn't good enough to do what I had to do. And I almost had an outer body experience of looking at myself and thinking "What the heck is wrong with you? This isn't you. You never act or feel this way".
So, I started thinking about it. I did the rational thing of trying to figure out what was causing these mysterious emotional feelings. It had to be something. Yesterday morning, I wrote about how people around me were dropping like flies because they were sick. I thought maybe that was it. Maybe I was coming down with something. Maybe I was just having some weird reaction to a stomach bug, a cold, or a new disease not yet discovered that can be furthermore known as Crazy Woman Syndrome. And then it hit me that there's already a syndrome with similar symptoms and pretty much the same translation of the actual name.
Holy cat balls.
In my 30 years of being on this earth, and the 18 years that I've been old enough to deal with the horror that is a monthly visit from Aunt Flo, I have NEVER had PMS. Seriously. Not kidding. Totally telling the truth, here.
When Aunt Flo comes each month, she comes, she goes, I live life like normal. OK, so I may eat too much chocolate or feel frumpy or want to curl up on the couch and sleep all day.... but my emotions stay completely in tact during each five days of the woman's curse. No one can tell that it's my time of the month.
I have no idea why all of a sudden PMS decided to visit me. I don't know what I've done to the universe to deserve this torture. What I do know is that I don't like it and I never want it again! If PMS involves feeling like a crazy, helpless, crying at the drop of a hat person... then it can stay WELL away from me.
Thankfully, I'm feeling much better today. Right now, anyway. Aunt Flo did make her appearance - confirming my suspicions - last night. On one hand I was relieved, because that meant I had put the pieces of my breakdown puzzle together correctly. But on the other hand I'm now wondering why all of a sudden it started happening now. Is this a sign that I'm getting old? Are my hormones starting to get all out of whack? Am I just so exhausted and stressed that the PMS was lying dormant waiting for the right concoction of emotions to work together before they all exploded?
I don't know. I don't really care, to be honest. I just want to go through my days as the happy-go-lucky girl who doesn't have to be taken with caution for certain days out of the month. Is that too much to ask?
Yes, I have a lot on my plate. I know that my stress level is above the normal range. But, it's good stress. Don't even think of mentioning that there's no such thing as "good stress" because there totally is. Good stress is knowing I have deadlines and pushing myself to meet them. Good stress is knowing that I have 17-20 kids in each of my classes that are depending on me to give them the information they need to successfully get through the 4th grade. And good stress is juggling lesson plans, volleyball, tutoring, new teacher meetings, professional development, enjoying family time, and staying on top of grades. Because all of it means I have everything I've always wanted. The career I've waited my whole life for. The family dynamics I've always dreamed about.
PMS may have decided to attack - but I will fight back. You caught me off guard this time, PMS, but I'm gonna be ready for ya from now on. Just see if I'm not!