Everything I have yelled at this week.

A perimenopausal apology tour, featuring doors, printers, and one very smug co-worker.

This post exploded on LinkedIn, which proves that perimenopausal rage is both powerful and widely shared. Here it is, preserved for posterity (and possibly the next time I rage at a locked door).

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Dear door,
I’m sorry I called you a motherf*ing c**t when you didn’t open. You were doing your job. I just forgot how doors work.

Dear printer,
You jammed once, and I threatened your entire lineage and Googled how to smash you into oblivion. That was uncalled for, probably.

Dear remote control,
I accused you of gaslighting me when you hid in the couch cushions. You did not deserve that level of psychological projection.

Dear heat pump,
You’re not “mocking me with your lukewarm breath.” That was my hormones talking. And yes, I am cold and sweaty at the same time. Shut up.

Dear buttons,
Especially the ones on jeans. I owe you a formal apology for the violent rip-and-hurl situation in the changing room the other day. The lighting was bad, and apparently so was my mood.

Dear supermarket self-checkout robot lady,
I didn’t mean it when I said you had the “emotional intelligence of a wet sponge.” You were just asking me to bag my items. My behaviour was unacceptable.

To everyone else..
If I’ve seemed on edge lately, or appear to have forgotten my name or yours, please know I’m just a woman standing in front of a hormonal shit storm, asking her estrogen not to drain from her body completely.

Thank you for your patience during this minor identity meltdown. I’ll be back to regular programming once I can identify a single emotion that isn’t rage, fatigue, or existential dread.

Perimenopause isn’t talked about enough, especially in professional spaces. So this has been my (possibly unhinged) apology to all the inanimate objects that bore the brunt of my hormonal rage over the last week.

For my peri pals going through it.. I see you, I sweat with you, I swear with you. Remember, you can be damn good at your job, and still want to punch a printer.