When I go to the beach, I like to stand at the edge of the ocean, where the water crashes into the shore. I like to watch my toes sink further into the sand with each passing wave.
I attempt to lift my feet and am surprised by the amount of effort I’ll have to put forth to become un-submerged in the crashing momentum of the waves meeting the sand.
The surprise never diminishes, regardless of how many times I do this.
I realize this is what living with PMDD feels like.
For two weeks out of the month, I am standing at the edge of the ocean, where the water crashes into the shore. I can see it coming, but I don’t think it will reach me.
Surely, I’m far enough away this time.
It crashes into me with a force so ferocious I almost can’t keep standing.
But I do. I stand.
And my feet sink further into the sand, with each passing blow.
I try to lift my feet, but I can’t.
Another wave crashes.
Surely, with the next wave I’ll sink completely. There’s no way I can keep standing.
One more blow and I’ll crumble into the sand.
And then the waves lessen.
They begin to recede.
Oh, how I’m thankful for low-tide.
I begin to pull my feet out of the sand.
The amount of effort it takes is surprising, though I do this every month.
I stand. Feet free, sun on my face, wind at my back.
I marvel at the strength of the crashing waves.
They can’t reach me now.
But soon, they’ll be back.
High-tide is just around the corner.
For now, I take a deep breath and sigh.
I marvel at my perseverance.
I made it.
One more month conquered.
And I know that through the crashing of the waves, my legs become ever so slightly stronger.
Next month, I will withstand the waves with a little more confidence.
I know I can do this.