If there’s one thing this trip is teaching me, it’s that I know better than I’ve been giving myself credit for. I know more. I am more capable. I am better equipped. I am better prepared. I haven’t been expecting much of myself, but I realize now that I can expect much, much more than I’ve been allowing for.
And it occurs to me that, once again, alexithymia is getting the better of me. It’s just too bizarre, how it happens… and how convinced I am that I am beyond hope, beyond hopeless… absolutely positive that I can’t deal with sh*t… when all that’s really going on, is that I have no internal sense of confidence, no internal sense of capability, no internal sense of mastery. It’s just not there. Like all the times I have no internal sense of being happy, sad, upset, mourning, elated, frustrated… pick an emotion of your choice. So, so many times, I just can’t feel it.
And that throws me off. Very much so.
But what does this have to do with menopause? Ha! Everything.
Because the lower hormonal levels in my system seem to heighten my lack of feeling for… stuff. It’s harder for me to detect what I’m feeling, these days, than when I was 10 years younger and I was feeling every damn’ thing so intensely. Going through menopause both dialed up my experience of physical and emotional sensations — way up — to where they kind of spiked… only to be followed by a veritable trough of emotion in the years after…. an extended experience of meh-ness that dulled and confused my emotional detection even more.
And ironically, even when I’m in a really good place — a place of mastery, a place of expertise — I can’t sense it, so it doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel genuine. And that messes with my head. ‘Cause obvious things like knowing what you’re talking about is supposed to give you a palpable feeling of rightness… right?
Alas and alack, it doesn’t work that way with me. And that messes with my head.
So, I have to fall back on logic. And remind myself factually of the details of my expertise — that I’ve been doing what I do for decades. That I’ve paid my dues. That I’m a trusted subject matter expert. That I have good “street cred” with the right people at work. And so on.
I have to rely on logic. Because my meh-nopausal system can’t be bothered to work up the energy to sense all those things and sort through them.
Fortunately, I have logic. It’s logically impossible that I would do as much as I’ve done in my life, and still have no clue about anything. Even though it feels that way — or at least, very much like a void — even though I can’t detect any sensation of expertise… I know objectively it must be there. And I also have friends and colleagues who can (and do) offer feedback that I cue in on and then process. They’re much nicer to me, than I am to myself, so I take their word for it, when they tell me I’m smart, or they tell me how much they value my opinion.
So, I override my sense of doom and unremitting failure, and just get on with my life. I really wish it weren’t this way, but is… so there we are.