Skip to main content

Part Three - Three Part Hormone Story 2nd My second book pitch idea


Dear future publisher


Three Part Hormone Story 2nd book pitch idea (contact me via email if interested )


Part Three

Perimenopause — Hit by a Bus


Then perimenopause arrives

and it’s like being hit by a bus.


The hormones start to leave you,

one by one,

and the strong system that worked and worked

lets the cogs slip.


Suddenly it doesn’t work anymore.


One minute you’re strong, powerful, confident —

the next,

a volcano in your throat,

words stuck,

the switch flipping without warning.


You leave the room discombobulated,

and the switch flips again.

And again.

And again.


If you’re really unlucky,

your daughter gets PMDD,

and you realise the cycle repeats —

mini Footnote:

I am ND, undiagnosed, unsupported.

She got PMDD — a clinical, brutal condition.

And Undiagnosed ND,(taught to mask)

And the sadness is that the cycle still repeated.


the shit you thought had no name

suddenly has one.


Then your daughter hits menopause

before you do.


Hormones, hormones —

working strong,

then gone.


They come on fast

and you come undone.


The cogs slip,

fall out of place,

and before you know it

you’ve lost the race.


Strong and gone today.

Repeat.


Footnote — Publisher Ready Concept Paragraph

Three Part Hormone Story is a poetic memoir told in three movements: the silent 70s childhood where periods had no language; the frantic adult years where hormones quietly held everything together; and the violent arrival of perimenopause, where the system collapses and the generational cycle reveals itself. Through raw stanzas and sensory truth telling, Alison maps the hormonal journey of mother and daughter, showing how silence becomes inheritance and how naming becomes liberation. This is midlife, ND wiring, trauma, humour, and survival — written in fragments that finally find their form.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

International Women’s Day — We Don’t Share a Body, We Share a Lie

International Women’s Day — We Don’t Share a Body, We Share a Lie If we’re going to have an International Women’s Day, then let’s at least tell the truth about the one thing we’re all supposed to have in common. We don’t. We should rename it: International Unique Hormone Pattern Day. Because we were raised in a society that pretended everybody has the same period. Same hormones. Same bleed. Same reaction. Same PMT. Same everything. Copy‑and‑paste womanhood. Except now I can list at least twenty things that make one person’s cycle nothing like the next — and yet society made us believe we were all identical. Interchangeable. Predictable. “Women with women’s problems.” My best advice? Period Power by Maisie Hill. Learn your cycle. Learn your system. Know that you are unique. And don’t tolerate anything that feels wrong. That’s literally why we have the NHS. Arm yourself with fact information and go. I knew nothing about periods except that they arrived every month since I was 13 — until ...

An electric toothbrush - love and hate. A poem about a mundane daily action

  An electric toothbrush— love and hate. 27TH NOVEMBER   I love my toothbrush, the circular motion, up and down, round and round.   Is it because I’m left-handed, or right-handed? I put it to the left, look in the mirror, rub my gum more than my tooth. One side sore, one side unclean. I loathe toothpaste. I hate it. I hate this smile. I hate the taste. But I love clean teeth— the touch of the tongue across the front, smooth, shining. Every three weeks, my sore gum returns. I forget what I’m doing, leave it whirling, mindless chore. I love my toothbrush. I love clean teeth. I loathe my sore gum. It’s a pattern I repeat, monthly, weekly, over-brushed, sore gum. When I’m old, really old, I won’t brush my teeth. Fifty years, twice a day, since I was nine or ten. Don’t get me started on toothpicks, tape, wax, gaps. But when I’m seventy-five— no more. I’ll rub the t...

Time (Inner Child Work)

  Time to be a child, said NO ONE ever.