Progesterone and Oestrogen Holding Hands Until They Don’t

Progesterone and Oestrogen Holding Hands Until They Don’t

I grew up with a brain that split itself in two —

not good and bad,

but rule‑breaker and rule‑follower,

reckless or afraid.

It felt like a lifelong tug‑of‑war,

a fault line running through my thinking

long before I knew the language

for autism or ADHD. 

Menopause hit me like a bus,

like a hammer finding the nail.

My whole brain rewired overnight,

its pathways suddenly gone —

as if someone stole the sat‑nav

while I was still driving.

That was the moment I understood

I wasn’t just dyslexic.

I was neurodiverse in ways

no one had ever taught me to recognise.

My mind wasn’t “irregular”;

it was the North and South Pole

occupying the same space,

a magnetic push‑pull of instincts

that had been fighting for years

to decide what “right” even meant.

It wasn’t broken.

It was mine —

poles apart,

and finally allowed to exist

without choosing one side.

So I stopped alcohol. I stopped the cakes and sweets — not in a militant way, just the mindless sugar hits that spiked me high and then dropped me so low I couldn’t tell which version of me was supposed to stand up again.

Fine on a functional day, but on a hormone‑imbalanced day? Progesterone and oestrogen work hand in hand until the moment they don’t — and then even the smallest “treat” can tip the whole system sideways.

The bad‑for‑me things

made it impossible

to click the tornado back into its nest,

to calm the spinning,

to find the centre of myself

after the crash.

It was never both —

it was either kick the wasp nest

or unleash the tornado,

one sting or one spiral,

but always a consequence

my hormones couldn’t buffer.

Progesterone and oestrogen

holding hands

until the moment they let go,

and the smallest sugar hit

sent everything tilting.