I'm Not Losing It, I'm Perimenopausal: How I Chase Joy Like a Treasure Map to Sanity

Okay, confession time: despite whatever vibe I'm giving off on the outside—like I have my life together and I'm gracefully adulting—there's a constant anxiety soundtrack playing in my head that I can't seem to turn off. And menopause? Oh, menopause cranked that volume up so loud there are days I'm like, "Is this it? Is this the day I finally lose it completely?"

Spoiler alert: I'm really bad at protecting my peace, and I'm betting I'm not the only one.

Here's the thing—there's basically a full board meeting happening in my brain 24/7, and they're all trying to keep me from falling apart. It's exhausting, and honestly, they're not great at their jobs.

My anxious brain is like an overly dramatic screenwriter. Give it the most mundane situation and it'll turn it into a five-act tragedy. Someone took an extra hour to text me back? Obviously they despise me and are ghosting me forever. My boss sounded slightly different in our meeting? Well, clearly I'm getting fired and will end up living in a cardboard box eating ramen with a spork.

I know it sounds absolutely bonkers when I say it out loud, but in the moment? Chef's kiss of panic.

And let's be real—the world isn't exactly helping. I doom scroll through social media like it's my job, absorbing bad news like a professional anxiety sponge. The notifications, the news cycle that never sleeps, the constant digital screaming—it's all just fuel for my brain's disaster factory.

So how do I protect my peace when my mind is basically a hurricane?

Plot twist: I've discovered that joy is anxiety's kryptonite.

When I feel that familiar chest-tightening, heart-racing, thoughts-spiraling thing starting up, I've learned that trying to fight it head-on is useless. Instead, I just gently redirect myself toward things that make me happy. Like training a very anxious puppy, but the puppy is my brain.

Sometimes it's dirt therapy. I go outside, stick my hands in the soil, and play in the garden like a delightful weirdo. There's something about growing things—making the world a little prettier—that reminds me I'm not completely useless. Plus, plants don't judge you, which is refreshing.

Other times, I become a kitchen goblin. I'll scroll Instagram (the good kind of scrolling—recipes, not disasters) and find something fun to make. Chopping, stirring, tasting, creating—it yanks me right into the present moment. Anxiety can't compete with the satisfaction of making something delicious and then eating it immediately.

And when my brain is being particularly extra? I walk it off. Sometimes it's a full-on hike where the trees are so tall they make my problems feel tiny. Other times it's just wandering my neighborhood, noticing flowers, waving at people, letting my feet move while my brain finally shuts up for five minutes.

Here's what I've figured out: protecting my peace doesn't mean my anxiety disappears. That's not happening, and honestly, a little anxiety keeps me functional. But I don't have to let it run my whole life like some tyrannical toddler.

And listen—sometimes joy practices and walks in nature aren't enough, and that's okay too. Some of you might need medication, therapy, or both. There is absolutely zero shame in that. None. If your brain chemistry needs a little extra support, getting help isn't giving up—it's being smart. It's taking care of yourself the same way you'd take medicine for literally any other health issue. Don't let anyone make you feel bad about doing what you need to do to feel better.

Protecting my peace means recognizing when that committee in my head is being ridiculous and then gently—always gently—pointing myself toward things that fill me up instead of drain me dry. And sometimes it means calling in professional backup.

It means chasing joy like it's a treasure map to sanity.

Because here's the secret: joy and peace are basically best friends. Finding one usually means finding the other. Joy doesn't make anxiety vanish, but it does make room for something else—something softer, warmer, less likely to ruin my whole day.

Some days this works great. Other days the anxiety committee is really loud and I have to try like seventeen different things before something sticks. And you know what? That's fine. This isn't about being perfect—it's about being kind to ourselves and just keep trying.

If your brain also runs like it's training for a marathon you didn't sign up for, if your heart carries worry like it's collecting frequent flyer miles—you're not alone. And maybe, just maybe, you can ask yourself: what actually makes me happy? What helps me feel connected to something good?

Start there. Be nice to yourself. And remember—protecting your peace isn't selfish. It's survival. The world needs the calmer, more centered, occasionally joyful version of you.

So what brings you joy when your brain decides to be a drama queen? Drop your peace-protecting secrets below—we could all use the tips!