"It all goes wrong on day 27." PMS arrived uninvited when I was 36.

I’d asked my eldest daughter to turn off the TV three times before I exploded, "What. Are. You. Doing?" My volume surprised me and made her jump. She looked up, eyes wide. I know how to parent in a calm and connected way - except on Day 27. 

On Day 27, I lose my sh*t.

Dinner felt tense. Sitting across from her baby sister and dad, my eldest daughter moved her food around her plate. Her eyes glistened. I breathed in. 

Watch: Ask Mia Anything on Perimenopause. Story continues below.

"I’m sorry I yelled. You need to listen and turn the TV off when I ask, but it’s not okay for me to speak to you like that. Alright? I’m sorry."

"That’s okay, Mummy." My eyes glistened too.  

I don’t even know how I got here. PMS arrived uninvited when I was 36.

It’s a predictable routine: for 48 hours, frustration, irritation, and sadness surge through me like somebody turned on a tap. I suspect someone menstruating coined the phrase don’t cry over spilled milk. The intensity varies from cycle to cycle, but the tension is the same. When the bleeding starts, it’s sweet relief. I feel normal again, and my husband and girls can breathe better.

The pattern worries me. Two days out of 28 is seven per cent of my existence. It’s not trivial. What if my kids only remember the horrible version of me? What if my PMS affects their self-esteem, and they need a mountain of therapy to undo the damage?

I needed to fix myself somehow before I did irrevocable damage to the people I love the most.

***

The doctor gave me a polite smile. "What can I do for you today?"

I felt brave and hopeful; sharing this awful part of myself with a GP meant I was about to sort this chaos out.

"I’m having problems with PMS."

"How do you know it’s PMS?" she asked.

"Well." My chest tightened, so I went with a polite version of the truth. "My mood changes a couple of days before my period starts." The complete truth is I turn into a ranting, crying mess and crap parent.

The rest of the appointment blurred. The doctor read out the medical definition of PMS and discussed treatment plans. 

"Antidepressants are your best bet. You’ll need to take them two weeks on and two weeks off. It’s an effective treatment."

"But I’m not depressed." I’m menstruating. 

I felt let down, like I’d taken a leap and fallen to the ground. I cried in the car on the way home.

I saw three more doctors in three months. 

Doctor Two said, "Are you a tense person? Have you heard about mindfulness?" I just looked at him. Yeah, I’m goddamn tense; that’s the point. I thought about telling him 10 years of daily yoga and meditation were no match for PMS, but I didn’t. Any confidence I had in Doctor Two had evaporated - if it were that simple, I’d have fixed the problem myself.

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Doctor Three suggested we could "get rid of my real period altogether." He wanted to kill my period with the pill. 

"You can’t get proper PMS if you’re not ovulating. We can keep everything in a steady state." I already had contraception sorted, and I’ve found the pill deadens things; feelings and moods. This approach wasn’t for me. 

When Doctor Four’s appointment came around, I felt weary and ready for disappointment.

Doctor Four listened and said, "Look, we don’t know enough about PMS. We do know it’s real, it’s difficult, and it’s common. Lots of women get it for the first time in their late 30s and early 40s. It’s got to do with your evolving hormonal makeup."

I let out a breath, and quiet tears rolled down my cheek. I wasn’t unhinged or defective. I wasn’t alone in it either.

Doctor Four and I spent 30 minutes together. In a gentle way, she probed about my lifestyle, medical history, and circumstances. She talked about declining ovarian function and testosterone levels for women over 35. We agreed on some routine testing. 

Then with a simple statement, Doctor Four changed my life. 

"I want you to make space for those days. Put your PMS days in your calendar, like they’re an event you have to go to, and think about what triggers you. If it’s kids’ activities, skip ballet once a month. Let the kids eat dinner in front of the TV. Do the minimum for a couple of days. Nothing terrible will happen."

Make space for it.

It was like Doctor Four gave me a permission slip. She got it, and she got me and spoke with compassion and practical wisdom. I loved her for it.

***

Five years on, it’s Day 27. I’ve already cried about forgetting to buy carrots and can feel tension in my neck.

Doctor Four was right; making space is the answer. My version of space feels like powering down for a couple of days, entering slow mode. I protect these days from deadlines, challenging conversations, and striving. I have a limited capacity to parent well and solve problems on PMS days, and my fuse is short. As such, these days have become one big screen-time party - the kids love it.

The little girl I yelled at to turn off the TV is growing up. Her period started a while back, and it turns out tween PMS is potent. We talk about the times I’ve yelled, ranted, and cried for no good reason and what helps. I understand what she’s going through, and she has insight into my vulnerability. I’m showing her the power of easing up and making space - a true full-circle moment.

Feature Image: Getty.