Devastating Life With PMS: Me, Myself, & That B*tch
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In this post, I’ll share my personal experience living with PMS and the lessons I’ve learned along the way.
After tracking my menstrual cycle for a couple of years, I began to notice a pattern—a relentless, monthly horror show with me as the villain. Turns out, I had been dealing with terrible PMS my entire life, and somehow, I hadn’t noticed. It’s wild how pain and suffering can become “normal” when they’re consistent enough.
Thankfully, I eventually realized that my monthly emotional rollercoaster was a major source of frustration in my relationships. And by “realized,” I mean my partner—whom I’ve been with since my early twenties—had been pointing it out for years.
“Are you in week three?” he would ask, cautiously peeking over the safety of an imaginary riot shield. Oh, how I loathed that question. I mean, how dare he imply that my completely justified and rational irritability could be due to hormones?
Spoiler alert: He was right.
The Hellscape of Week Three
Week three, as my partner so lovingly called it, was when everything he did became offensive. The way he chewed? Unacceptable. The way he breathed? Infuriating. His entire existence? Questionable.
During this time, I would unleash an entire month’s worth of grievances, turning our peaceful home into a courtroom where he was the defendant and I, the prosecutor. I’d get hypersensitive, feeling rejected, ignored, and unappreciated over things that, in retrospect, were… let’s say, minor inconveniences. Then, my period would arrive, and suddenly, I was back to being my delightful, loving, and rational self—except now with cramps.
Clueless but Self-Aware?
Here’s the kicker: I had no idea I was doing this. None. Zip. Zilch. The irony of someone who prides herself on being self-aware completely missing this glaring pattern? Embarrassing. I was unknowingly sabotaging my relationship, one hormonal outburst at a time, while my partner just held on for dear life.
Half the month, I was in emotional chaos; the other half, I was confused about why I felt so awful. My brilliant coping strategy for PMS? Bury myself in work and ignore it—because if I worked hard enough, I wouldn’t have to deal with emotions. Who has time for inconvenient emotions?
I had perfected this coping mechanism: working myself into exhaustion. I convinced myself that if I just kept going, the emotional storm would quiet down. Work became my safe zone—a place where I could control everything. But the truth was, this was just another form of avoidance. It wasn’t helping me process what was going on inside; it was merely postponing it. I could focus on meeting deadlines, checking off tasks, and staying busy, but when I paused for even a second, the unresolved feelings would resurface, just waiting to catch me off guard. It was a vicious cycle: work hard enough to drown out the emotions, but never truly get rid of them. Eventually, something would trigger an outburst, and I’d be right back in the emotional chaos I had tried so hard to avoid.
Decades of neglect were interfering with my emotional well-being and, ultimately, my health. Recognizing this became one of the many things I had to address before I started feeling both emotionally and physically well.
Making Friends with the Madness
After years of practice (yes, years), the thoughts, emotions, and spiraling self-doubt still show up. But now, instead of letting them hijack my life, I listen. If I’m feeling rejected, ignored, or unappreciated, I don’t immediately blame my partner for existing—I pause. I take a bath, bake some grain-free cupcakes, journal, or meditate. I remind myself that emotions aren’t logical, so trying to solve them with logic in the moment is like trying to put out a fire with gasoline. Instead, I take notes and revisit them when I’m in a better headspace. More often than not, I find that those feelings stem from something deeper—something unresolved that needs attention—not a battle with my partner over the correct way to load the dishwasher.
When I begin to unpack my feelings, it can take hours, days, or even months before I truly understand why I felt hurt. The human mind is magnificent—like a sponge, collecting thoughts, emotions, and experiences since the womb. Some of my reactions still don’t make sense, but when I do find the source, it’s liberating. And I’ve had to accept that sometimes, I won’t find the answer—and that’s okay too.
The Power of Partnership
One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned is that managing PMS isn’t something you can do alone. It starts with understanding yourself, but it also requires the support of the people closest to you. Over time, my relationship—with both myself and my partner—has transformed completely. Now, when I’m PMSing, he often spots the signs before I do. Gently, he’ll ask, “Are you in week three?” No longer do I react defensively. Instead, I check my period tracking app, sigh, and say, “You did nothing wrong. I’m just feeling a bit rejected, stressed, sad, etc.” He responds with a hug, a kiss on the forehead, we make a joke about it, and we move on with our day.
Was this transformation easy? Absolutely not. It took years of self-reflection, difficult conversations, and occasional yelling into the void. I had to unlearn the belief that “tough” people don’t get their feelings hurt, that ignoring emotions makes them disappear, and that vulnerability is a weakness. Those beliefs nearly cost me my relationship. But now, whenever I feel myself getting “butt-hurt” (our affectionate term for my PMS-induced reactions), I pause. I sit with the emotion, sift through it, and decide whether it actually deserves airtime.
I recognize that I am incredibly lucky to have a loving and supportive partner. His patience and care have helped me navigate this process, allowing me to explore emotions that become especially intense during PMS—which, unfortunately for me, lasts about two weeks each month. If I can live a happy, fulfilling life despite all of this, so can you. It takes work, self-awareness, and surrounding yourself with people who uplift and support you. But trust me—it’s worth it.
Understanding my cycle and learning to navigate it has been life-changing. Now, Me, Myself, and That B*tch isn’t a war story—it’s a victory. Because strength isn’t about suppressing emotions; it’s about inviting them in, understanding them, and finding a way to live harmoniously with all the messy, beautiful parts of ourselves.
