Stretchy Pants & Meltdowns: Parenting Teens While Menopausing
As someone currently experiencing the joys of perimenopause, I deeply appreciate EOI’s having held its “Hot Takes and Hot Flashes” forum, in which over 75 women found a rare communal space to talk openly about our experiences with perimenopause and menopause.
The event made me think more about how many of us are on the middle age hormonal rollercoaster at the same time we are raising girls who are just beginning their own journey with hormones and reproductive/sexual health.
A few months ago, shortly after my 13-year-old daughter and I simultaneously experienced a meltdown of epic proportions, I got to thinking: What is the best way to survive these moments? How does one navigate this new and very abrupt version of life, where a lot of one’s tried-and-true parenting tools suddenly become difficult to access in the onslaught of hormonal changes and brain fog?
I found myself reaching back to another parenting time that I thought I had permanently shipped off to the archives: babyhood and the toddler tantrums.
The truth is that much of what is happening for me at the moment mirrors elements of new parenthood: the bodily sensations that come with newborn sleep deprivation (similar to brain fog in middle age), my child’s sudden, out-of-nowhere shifts in emotion, and the need for patience. So, so much patience. For both myself, in this new era, and my child, in hers.
I started to wonder if I could re-employ some of the tactics I learned in early parenthood: waiting it out, being curious, laughing about it (but not in front of the child – never in front of the child, lest we trigger another epic meltdown!), and perhaps, most importantly, finding community with others, in much the same way I used to turn to the parent next to me on the park bench to commiserate about how hard/funny the early years are.
In no particular order, here are some tools I’m working on to navigate this season of life:
Finding places to share the struggles around parenting teens. As parents of teenagers, we are no longer regularly forced into communion at play spaces and parks, and as a result, we often forget to share stories and laughter with others who can relate. This is especially true when the isolation of perimenopause takes over. When my daughter was two and threw herself on the ground at Walgreen’s because I didn’t have chicken nuggets in my purse, I could easily find lightheartedness by telling the story to other parents. This becomes harder to do as they age, but laughter and connection are just as important in raising teens as they are in the early years. Even if just one friend, we need people who understand and share our stage of life.
Learning not to take our children’s meltdowns personally. This often isn’t as much of a challenge in early parenting, because most of us understand that small children are not capable of managing emotions as well as adults. But we often forget that in the teen years, just as in perimenopause, the brain can take on a life of its own. Little kids? Cute. Tweens and teens? Sometimes cute, often rude.
On a related note, remembering that as with early childhood, the teen years involve massive changes taking place in one’s brain. It also helps me to remember that they are taking place in mine, too. In the same way that I asked my daughter the other day to go “get in the oven” when I meant instead to tell her to “get in the shower” (true story), I am working on remembering that when she shifts from laughter to annoyance in the blink of an eye, hormones have temporarily hijacked her brain, too.
Regulating myself first, just as I did when my three-year-old decided to take scissors to the sofa so many years ago, in order to “see what it was like to cut furniture.” When my teen turns from sweet to cranky or becomes irrationally angry, I can leave the room and breathe. I can choose not to engage the part of me that also wants to yell because I am a mess of emotions, too. I can do this because engaging in anger only makes everything that much harder.
Remembering that what I’m feeling in my body, my daughter is likely feeling too. When she yells, mid-meltdown, “It’s so hot in here!”, I can relate. And when she complains that she has nothing to wear, I can feel that I also often struggle to find supportive clothing for the bloat that has overwhelmed my body in mere hours. (Seriously, where did it come from?!?)
Offering by myself and my daughter a safe space to land. Instead of getting upset at my daughter’s outburst of emotion for having nothing to wear three minutes before we are supposed to leave for an appointment, I harken back to the early days, when I committed to sitting with my children while they took five minutes to tie their own shoes instead of yelling at them that we were going to be late. I practice turning to my daughter and asking her if I can help her find something comfortable to wear, because that’s probably what her body is asking of her. And then I do the same when I have a similar meltdown the next day.
Let me be clear: practicing these things is not easy. Especially when I so often just want to be left alone to figure out just what the heck is going on with my own body and emotions. But developing some of these practices is worth it. By engaging them, I’m hopeful that I am also mirroring for my daughter how to be with oneself when life as we know it changes. How to extend compassion and patience to ourselves and others. How to take time to find the things that support us and make room for them in our lives, whether it be backup stretchy pants, movement, or a friendship that makes us feel safe and heard. It’s a practice I’ll never get perfect, but it’s helpful to understand that we can walk the path together and find a little more grace for ourselves as we do.