Insect Bites & Being So, So Bothered

 

Insect Bites & Being So, So Bothered

I had never been bitten by a mosquito in my entire life — not once — until perimenopause arrived and rewired my whole body. Then one summer I went to a show in Henley wearing a maxi dress, and when I left, my ankle felt wrong. Itchy, sore, unfamiliar. I didn’t even recognize it as a bite because I’d never had one before. The next day, three bites appeared where a mosquito must’ve got trapped in the dress.

And they bothered me. Not just “itchy” bothered — brain‑screaming, sensory‑overload bothered. My mind kept shouting ouch ouch ouch because to me, something was wrong. I’m the kind of person who feels a single hair out of place, an ingrown hair, a thread on my skin. So three bites? They hijacked my whole system for days.

That summer became a joke — me with my mosquito spray, my ankle bracelet, my arm bracelet, my Marmite intake doubled like some old wives’ tale warrior. But it worked. Or maybe I just became hyper‑vigilant. Either way, the bites stopped.

Later I looked it up and found out something that would’ve helped me years earlier: during perimenopause and menopause, your skin chemistry changes. That can make you more attractive to biting insects, and it can make your reactions stronger. I didn’t know that then. I didn’t have the information. Now I do.

Fast‑forward to today.

We’ve had the terrible brambles pulled out of the garden, so I went out to do a load of cutting and clearing. And I let my guard down. I forgot the spray. I forgot the bracelets. I forgot everything I’d learned because I’m always moving forward, never storing old information unless it’s emotionally tattooed onto me.

Within minutes, something felt wrong. A tiny spider had got into the strap of my bikini‑top. I felt the discomfort, pulled it away, and realized I’d been bitten twice — two bites on my neck. Later, when I went back outside, I got three more bites: one on the back of my arm and two on my legs. The one on the back of the leg reacted the worst — hot, swollen, distracting, the kind of sensation that takes over your whole attention span.

And once again, I’m discombobulated. Distracted. Unable to think about anything else because my body is screaming for attention.

So here’s what I’ve learned — the general information that finally makes sense of all this:

• Menopause changes your skin and scent

Oestrogen affects skin temperature, skin bacteria, and natural scent. When it drops, insects respond differently. Women who were never bitten suddenly get bitten constantly.

• Reactions become stronger

Lower oestrogen can mean itchier, hotter, more dramatic swelling. The same bite that once gave a tiny bump now becomes a whole event.

• Sensory sensitivity increases

If you’re already neurodivergent and sensitive to touch, menopause can amplify that. A bite isn’t “just a bite” — it becomes a constant alarm your brain can’t switch off.

• Histamine becomes harder to regulate

Many women notice more itching, more swelling, more irritation because oestrogen normally helps calm histamine.

These are general patterns people talk about — not personalized medical advice — but they explain so much of what I’ve been living through.

So no, it’s not “just me.” And no, it’s not “the end.” It’s the hormonal shift — the transition — that makes these bites feel like a full‑body crisis.

And now I know. And now you know. And now my Amazon basket is full with the things I once had, and I'm doused in citronella oil.

But the truth is, it’s not even about forgetting — not really. It’s that my brain doesn’t store this kind of information. Once the bites healed in peri‑menopause, they were gone from my mind as if they’d never happened. My system doesn’t archive things like that. It moves forward, fast, always onto the next thing, never holding onto the practical warnings unless they’re emotionally carved into me.

So of course I let my guard down. Of course I didn’t think about repellent or bite cream or the fact that the garden had just been cleared. My brain doesn’t keep those files open. It only remembers when something bites me back into the present.

This is the season I’m in. This is the body I’m in. And this is me trying — genuinely trying — to stay ahead of the things that love to nibble on me

Footnote

Be aware. Use repellent. Keep bite cream close. Promote care.