Is It Perimenopause Or Fascism?
Why not both?
Welcome to Cheaper Than Therapy, a newsletter for 80s babies by Shani Silver.
As if aging wasn’t confusing enough, I’m now supposed to decipher whether my hourly rage spiral is perimenopause-driven or an authentic reaction to the crumbling of America’s societal structure? Has my generation not suffered enough? Ugh, don’t answer that, we’ll anger the gods.
Not to fuel the anecdotal information mill, but this aging shit is getting weird. I wake up every morning not knowing if it’s going to be a good day, and also no really knowing how I define good days anymore. I’m living at the whims of my hormones, and my hormones change positions like a model in a photoshoot. My brain and body feel completely foreign to me which is inconvenient given that I rely on them both to weather a political storm that won’t stop increasing in severity. Keeping my wits about me is nearly impossible when my wits have a mind of their own. How are you supposed to age gracefully during the fall of democracy?