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Wonky is the word

I want to write a blog post that includes the word wonky.

As in, my eight year old’s emotions are wonky. Or, my new bangs are a little wonky today.

Delving deeper, man, this world is wonky. I don’t get it.

But most often, my forty year old body, brain, and hormones are totally wonky.

Have a seat, pour some coffee. Let me tell you all about it.

Like, I haven’t had an unmedicated decent night’s sleep since July. I’m tired all the time. I’m usually grumpy and occasionally funk-y. I wake up sweating, even though the thermostat is set to 72 and the fan is going full-speed. And despite taking better care of myself than I ever have during my whole entire existence, I’ve gained ten pounds around my middle in the last five years. My clothes don’t fit. (Some may say, “it’s about time!”—but I am not happy about this. This does not work for me. AT ALL.) And then there’s that other thing, which is not a thing, and that makes this particular thing a huge thing.

(Some of you are completely lost on that last one. And some of you are spitting your coffee onto your computer screen. Sorry ‘bout that.)

I’ve never been a great sleeper, but this is getting ridiculous. One night last week, I fell into bed exhausted, rested for two hours, then got up and unloaded and loaded the dishwasher (very quietly), cleaned the kitchen, changed a can light, cleaned out my office, did a load of laundry, and folded and put away the clean clothes from earlier that week. From 2:00 to 4:00 a.m. I had more energy in the middle of that night than I had for any daytime hours in the past two months.


I went to a Special Doctor this week. When I checked in, the nice girl at the desk handed me a form and told me to circle my symptoms. There were several different categories with corresponding symptoms, and every single one of my reasons for being at that office where under the subheading HORMONAL IMBALANCE.


I am so ready to de-wonkify. I think that should be a word.

The Special Doctor talked with me for a while, and we formulated a plan to have some blood work done over the course of the next two months, which will hopefully allow us to find a solution to All The Wonkiness. In the meantime, she suggested some nutritional changes and supplements that may reduce my levels of wonky.

She gave me two handouts: one for an “anti-inflammatory diet” and another one called “21-Day Cleanse.” Not surprisingly, they included lots of fruits and vegetables, no artificial anything, no chemicals, no preservatives. But also: no grains, no dairy, no animal protein, no sugar, no high glycemic fruits, no starches, no potatoes, no legumes.

I laughed. This is soooo not sustainable.

I decided to use the powdered supplements and make better food choices, even though I eat pretty well already.

(Coffee counts as breakfast, right?)

(No, it doesn’t.)

NEWS FLASH: you have to eat to function.  And you have to eat well to function well. My bra fat was yelling so loudly, I couldn’t hear that bit of information.

After two days of vitamin supplements and healthy(er) food, I was not dragging through the day. I have had significantly more energy. I am sleeping better. My mood has improved (except for that morning when it was time to leave and Nathan was watching TV and hadn’t made his lunch <—epic mama fail). So things are looking up. Mostly.

And let’s not forget. School is in session. Summer, I do not miss you at all. (Yet.) Yes, things are definitely looking up.

I turned forty a few weeks ago. Forty is not nearly as old as it used to be. I vividly remember my parents’ fortieth birthdays, and they were old. Like, totally ancient. I don’t feel ancient. I just feel wonky.

But it’s fine. It’s okay. I will be okay. My story isn’t finished, there are more chapters to write. Sticky, sweaty, wonky chapters, full of mood swings and manic cleaning spells. The good news is (other than the wonkiness), forty fits me well. I’m growing more and more comfortable with who I am, and I’m learning daily to battle shame and insignificance with resilience and confidence. It’s not so bad.

Wonky is the new twenty.


3 thoughts on “Wonky is the word

  1. Oh honey – I feel your wonkiness and raise you some weird quirkiness. 40 is breathing down my neck and there are some days that I don’t recognize myself anymore. Oh boy!

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