Opinion: Singing the February blues


Ah, February, how I hate thee. I really do. The gray, the cold, the abysmal performance of the Louisville men’s basketball team. And this year, I’ve decided to add anxiety into the mix by piling on a poo-ton of extra stuff in my life. Take a grad class, they said. DIY renovate two bathrooms. Don’t forget your daily PT! That elbow and foot aren’t going to heal themselves, little darlin’! (Cue sardonic glee).

Seriously. What the what? Every morning, I wake up having slept horribly (I’m still on the weighted-blanket wagon, friends, and it continues to go poorly) and stressing about the length of my to-do list. Teach all day, start that paper, spackle the dry wall, act like you don’t want to murder every single member of your family, buy milk. It’s truly exhausting. And though I take supplemental vitamin D, the lack of sunshine is definitely not helping, particularly because I’m also dealing with the ever-present yet unpredictable effects of perimenopause. I am quite literally a walking hot(flash) mess.

So, what to do? I am focusing hard on self-care. Trying to be social at work, to prioritize sleep and to move the body in some capacity other than getting off the couch to use the bathroom in between episodes of “Madame Secretary” (She recently headed off a nuclear war with Russia! Girl power!). I’m making peace with saying “no” and with doing the best I can, even when I know that under different circumstances, I could do better. I don’t love it, but I just need to make it through this month.

Stupid February. How I hate thee!

Peace out.