Rage, sweats and sleepless nights... this wasn’t how I’d pictured my 30s. But it was the start of a dual quest – to get pregnant, and control my demon hormones
I’m not crazy about birthdays, but crying in a church is a touch more melodramatic than I anticipated for my 31st. It’s January 2017, and my friends and I are watching standup comedy. As laughter ricochets around the gothic architecture, I look down to conceal what’s about to happen: flared nostrils, downturned mouth, wincing eyes. Utter devastation.
Sneaky weeping has become my dirty little secret. It started at Christmas, when the sweetness of family and food was kiboshed by the same sudden thwack of melancholy. It was also happening during my work hours, as a music writer and editor: one minute I would be proofing a three-star review of P!nk, then boom, off to a toilet cubicle for a silent scream.
Continue reading...from Lifestyle | The Guardian https://ift.tt/3gL1hbF