I'm a mom, grandma, cat mom, and Disney adult. These days, I spend a lot of my time caring for my aging mother and my disabled husband, which means my life runs on to do’s, love, and a whole lot of strength I didn't always know I had. But to really understand who I am now, I have to take you back to a decade that nearly broke me and ultimately taught me how to listen to my own body.

It started small, in my mid-thirties. My periods began lasting two, sometimes three weeks at a time. I went to my gynecologist expecting answers and instead got: I was "too young" to be starting menopause. I cycled through birth control after birth control, trying to find something that would bring my body back into balance. Nothing did. At 42, I had a partial hysterectomy, hoping it would finally be the fix.

That same year, everything unraveled. I was hospitalized three separate times. Twice for digestive issues no one could explain. Once for psychiatric care, after depression and suicidal thoughts became more than I could carry on my own. In between, I was losing pieces of myself in ways that terrified me. I'd walk into a room and completely forget why I was there. I'd be mid-sentence with someone and lose the word, or even their name. I genuinely believed I was losing my mind.

The medical professionals I saw were nice, but they were only ever looking at the symptom in front of them. Anxiety. Depression. PTSD. All real, all valid, but none of it added up to the full picture of what was happening to me. And over and over, I heard some version of the same thing: you're just getting older, or this is normal, it's menopause.

This year, everything clicked into place when I started recognizing my own symptoms in descriptions of ADHD. It wasn't a formal diagnosis from a specialist. it was something better: it was recognition. It was finally having language for the brain fog, the forgetting, the exhaustion that showed up right on schedule every single afternoon. Around the same time, I started using somatic exercises to help reset my nervous system, and the changes have been real. I’ve cut my pain medication in half. My digestive issues have quieted down in a way they hadn't in years.

I won't pretend it's all resolved. I still lose words mid-sentence and hit a wall with my focus most afternoons. But here’s the difference: I know what's happening now. I can name it. Now I meet life with understanding instead of fear — listening to my body, honoring my limits, and showing up for the people, and cats that I love.