No need to worry, it’s just hormones

OK, I’ll admit it. I’m a crier. Not a loud sobbing, hysterically heaving, snot dripping, rivers of tears crier more like a heavy tearer-upper as in, it’s not hard to bring tears to my eyes but this week, I definitely leaned more heavily toward full-on crying. In fact, I cried me a river and then some.

It was so bad that I got on my own nerves.

Not like there wasn’t stuff to cry about like two mass shootings in our beautiful Golden State. And the news from the Gun Violence Archive, a nonprofit group formed in 2013 to track gun-related violence, that there have been more mass shootings since Jan. 1 than there have been days in the New Year — 41 shootings as of yesterday. If that’s not enough to make everyone cry, I don’t know what is.

But this wasn’t the only news that turned on my faucet. Lisa Marie Presley’s memorial service at Graceland; the $2 billion in box office sales for “Avatar: the Way of Water;” the story about lab-grown meat getting closer to actually being served to people; the four Oath Keepers found guilty of seditious conspiracy in the U.S. Capitol attack; the charging of five Memphis, Tennessee police officers with second-degree murder for the beating death of 29-yearold Tyre Nichols (and the subsequent release of the body-cam footage showing the beat down); and the release of the Bessie Coleman Barbie doll — all had me scrabbling for the Kleenex box.

Seriously? The box office earnings of a movie? Labgrown meat? A new Barbie doll? What the heck was wrong with me I wondered as I spilled milk and cried over that too.

Then there was all the life stuff like taxes, the pretty serious illnesses of a couple dear friends, The Littles (my three pups) escaping their pen and not being found for several hours; a beautiful card from my daughter; the news that a company (not this newspaper) that I’ve worked for for 16 years is going to close in the not too distant future; and the delivery of a set of pots and pans I’ve wanted for years. It all made me weep.

Heck, my own bawling made me bawl. But, as thoroughly disgusted with myself as I was, I just couldn’t stop. I couldn’t even stop when I was angry, when various friends and loved ones arbitrarily attributed the cause of my great distress to “just hormones” and “not real.” Seriously? That’s all you got — “just hormones?” Gimme a break. Not helpful. Not helpful at all. Argh.

Thank goodness my husband wasn’t one of those who suggested “just hormones” as the cause for my deep grief about literally everything — the good, the bad and the ugly — this week. He learned 30 years ago that suggesting “just hormones” (and therefore “not real”) as a cause for anything was a big mistake.

We were in the car with our new-born daughter when “Achy Breaky Heart” came on the radio and I burst into tears.

“Is this real? Or is this just hormones?” he asked about the cause of my fresh outburst.

“It’s real hormones!” I wailed.

He shut up, handed me a tissue and has never suggested “just hormones” and therefore “not real” as the cause for anything again.

But, back to this past week of wailing, sniveling, whining and blubbering. By Friday, I couldn’t stand my own slobbering self anymore and, furthermore, I couldn’t trust myself not to spontaneously let loose with the water works around others so I locked myself in the bathroom for a nice, long hot shower. I thought some peace and quiet, some uninterrupted time to think along with a hefty dose of hot water and lots of creamy soap suds might just give my mind some space and the ability to suss out the root cause of my apparent emotional incontinence.

And, it worked. Much to my chagrin. For while I was loofahing myself from head to toe I found two estrogen patches on my belly. Apparently when I’d adhered the new one at the beginning of the week, I’d forgotten to remove the old one.

So, once again, it truly was real hormones.

Ooops.