Hormones Have Entered the Chat: How They Hijacked My Body and Tried to Ruin My Life

Somewhere between PMS and full-blown “burn down the world,” I discovered there was a name for what was wrecking my life every month: PMDD – Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. Or, as we call it: When your hormones go rogue and try to ruin literally everything you care about.

For years, I thought I was just losing my mind and overreacting (gaslighting myself much?!).

Then came the rage – the kind that goes from 0 to “stand back, mortals” in 12 seconds.

Then the blackouts – fun little memory lapses where I couldn’t even remember what I was screaming about or which relationship I’d just emotionally set on fire.

And then… the guilt. The shame. The apologies for things I didn’t even remember saying.

PMDD wasn’t just a bad mood. It was a monthly kidnapping of my personality that held a ransom far too high to pay. And suddenly, the nice sunshine carrying, human me was replaced by a hell breathing dragon no one recognized… including myself.

A slight disclaimer before anyone comes for me… 😊

This is not medical advice – I am not a doctor, nurse, therapist, or wizard (tragic, I know). But I am someone who survived the rage, the self-loathing, the PMS flu, the relationship damage, and the out-of-body confusion of “what in the world am I doing?” spirals that ensue. I spent years wondering why half of my life felt like a psychological UFC match.

And today, we’re talking about it – loudly. Because silent suffering is cancelled. And if your hormones are staging their own kidnapping, you deserve to know you are not crazy, you are not alone, and you are not broken.

*This is based on my personal experiences and should not be treated as medical advice. If anything here feels familiar, please reach out to a qualified medical professional so you can get the support you deserve.*

So, let’s clear the air and clarify some things here:

·       This is NOT about “being moody before your period.”

·       This is not “lol…hormones!”

·       This is not “drink some water and try yoga.”

No, ma’am!

This is PMDD – Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder – the demon spawn cousin of PMS that my doctor lovingly explained as “your body having an allergic reaction to the natural shift in hormones”.

Yes…my body is allergic… to it’s damn self! To hormones that it naturally creates on its own. Like… whaaaaat?

And for a long time, the only explanation I had was: “I guess I’m just a wretched human for half of the month.”

Rage: Sponsored by PMDD, Not My Personality

Let’s lay all of the symptom cards out on the table shall we? This one was a battle I was sent into with a donkey and a butter knife, to fight against Clydesdales, armor, and swords.

PMDD Rage is not annoyed at traffic or mildly irritated when my son leaves his cereal bowl on the table.

It is:

·       Sudden detonation-level fury

·       Zero-to-Volcanic eruption at one minor inconvenience

·       A full demon-possession-level of “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

And what follows is something there could be no preparation for: the blackout.

But not fainting. Not collapsing. Just… nothing.

Fun little white noise memory gaps where I couldn’t even remember what set me off to begin with. I couldn’t recall a lot of what was said. Whole arguments went missing. And I’d be standing in the aftermath of the apocalypse like, “Sooo…did I win? Or am I the villain?”

Spoiler alert: When you can’t even remember why you started screaming… you are definitely not the winner.

But there finally came a breaking point and surprisingly it wasn’t the rage itself – it was who it landed on.

My partner – the kindest, calmest, most patient human to grace planet earth – suddenly found himself living with a rotating cast of characters all coming out of the same body.

Happy, laughing, loving me (weeks 1-2)

Emotional introverted hobo me (week 3)

The fire breathing dragon me (week 4)

PMDD turned me into someone I did not recognize. Someone I did not like. Someone I swore I’d never become. And someone I felt like I could not control.

And then came a realization that was like a punch directly to the core of my being. I had become the abuser in my relationship. And that burned like someone injected fire directly into my veins.

Not intentionally. Not even consciously. But my actions, my rage, my blackout fights – they landed on his shoulders and his heart like a blunt knife through the scar tissue of the healing wound I’d tried to repair the last time.

Some months, I had a full-on heightened disgust for all humanity.

·       Someone breathing? Instant rage.

·       The sound of chewing? Criminal offense.

·       An evening text message? HOW DARE YOU?

·       My partner blinking too loud? Full divorce energy.

It was like half of the month I hated everyone – including the people I adored the most – and then woke up confused, embarrassed, and emotionally hungover.

And the moment I recognized I was turning something beautiful into a battlefield I never tried to create… That’s when I realized that changes needed to be made.

I finally landed in a doctor’s office who actually heard me, believed me, and didn’t diagnose me with “overreacting woman syndrome”. Everything was starting to make sense. I wasn’t broken. My brain wasn’t evil. And I wasn’t just “being dramatic”. I was chemically drowning.

And it came with a bonus prize in the form of “PMS Flu”. Yeah…for years I thought it was a myth too. Made up by some woman who couldn’t use the “headache” excuse anymore. And then my body decided to make it monthly programming.

·       Body aches

·       Chills

·       Exhaustion

·       Like I’d run a full triathlon in my sleep.

But like EVERYTHING else, we’re playing symptom roulette here. No one’s hormones are the same, so the symptoms won’t be either.

For me, PMDD looked like:

·       Rage that makes the Hulk look chill

·       Blackouts that confused me more than high school algebra

·       Guilt so heavy I should have body builder muscles from carrying it

But it was also:

·       Anxiety and depression spikes

·       Bone-deep exhaustion

·       Wondering “Why am I doing this?” while simultaneously watching myself do it

·       Apologizing for things I barely, if at all, remembered.

For other women though, it may show up much quieter or much louder. Some cry. Some hide. Some fight. Some isolate.

NONE of us are “just being dramatic.” It’s not cute. It’s not quirky. It’s debilitating.

Once I knew what was happening, I stopped blaming myself for being “crazy”. I started tracking my cycle, symptoms, triggers, crash days and apology tours.

I made:

·       Soft plans instead of full schedules

·       Boundaries like my life depended on them (because well… it did)

·       “Hell week” warnings for the ones I love

·       Space for rest I used to criticize myself for needing

And I started to forgive myself – over and over – until it stuck.

Not because PMDD went away. But because awareness became the armor I needed for battle.

So if you’re reading this thinking “OMG SAME! THAT’S ME!”

First: Hey girl heeeeey!! You’re my people!

Second: You’re not alone.

Third: You’re not imagining it, exaggerating it, or losing it.

Track your symptoms. Advocate like your sanity depends on it (because it will). Bring receipts (journals, rage logs, meltdown dates) to your doctor.

And if they shrug? Find the one who doesn’t.

You deserve answers – and peace.

And remember – even in the midst of your angry gremlin days: you are still you. You are not broken. You’re surviving a storm we were never taught to navigate.

And the storm doesn’t define you – it just proves you’re strong enough to survive it.