Ghosted By My Own Estrogen

We need to talk about the ghosting.

Not the kind where some guy from Hinge disappears after three decent dates. I mean the kind where your own estrogen packed her bags, left no forwarding address, and took all your best stuff with her on the way out.

One day she was here. Sure, she was dramatic, she made us cry at commercials, but she was here. She helped us sleep. She kept our skin hydrated. She made us tolerate people we had no business tolerating.

Then she left. No text. No closure. Just gone.

And now we are left dealing with the aftermath like the abandoned spouse in a bad Lifetime movie. The night sweats? That's her drunk dialing us at 3 AM. The random rage where you want to fight the person who invented slow self-checkout machines? That's her legacy. The fact that you can remember every word to every TLC song from 1995 but you can't remember why you walked into the pantry? That's her taking your memory as alimony.

The audacity is what gets me. She didn't even leave a note. She just vanished and sent her weird cousins to replace her - Chin Hair, Mood Swing, and Insomnia, who now live in our house rent-free and never do the dishes.

We are not "hormonal." We are in the middle of the worst breakup we never consented to. We are grieving a chemical that we didn't even like half the time, but damn, we miss her organizational skills.

So if you are sweating through your sheets, crying because your favorite grocery store moved the cheese, and then wanting to fight someone all before 9 AM - you are not crazy. You are just a woman who got ghosted by her own body and is still expected to show up to work, be pleasant, and remember everyone's birthday.

We didn't get closure, but we got each other. And honestly, that is a better deal.

Keep thriving.

Tracy 💗

💭 Reflection: If your estrogen sent you a breakup text now, what would you text back?