That's So Mid #4: Talking Shit, Hormones & Letting Go + rec's to get you through

I thought my constipation was purely mental. A side effect of my brain refusing to let go of the idea that my boyfriend might know what happens behind closed bathroom doors. Turns out it's more...

I feel like I need to give you a little heads-up about today’s column. If you’ve been following me for a while, you know I have absolutely zero issues talking about my personal life—whether it’s sex, relationships, or those cringe-worthy, "holy cats, what just happened?" moments. I’ve shared it all—motherhood, heartbreak, family dynamics, losses, divorces, business fails, online slut-shaming, cyberbullying. All that so-called 'vulnerable shit' you tell me you love.

But today, I’m diving into the real vulnerable shit—something that’s not only been difficult for me to talk about but difficult to do. Yes, y’all, today, I’m going there.

I’m talking shit. Literally and figuratively.

Why am I doing this to myself? Trust me, I’m asking the same question. But I’ve reached a point where I’m convinced that not talking about it is backing me up. The constipation is weighing me down.

A friend texted me today saying her word for the second half of the year is "freedom." I replied with ‘love that,’ but left out my word of the year—and possible theme—shit. It felt crass to send, but it’s the truth.

I’ve never been one for bathroom talk. There’s a word that starts with T and rhymes with Curd that makes my skin crawl whenever someone says it. I can’t even handle someone saying ‘dump’ without my face freezing in horror. Running marathons with a friend (one of the most bowel-centric sports out there), she’d ask mid-run, “Is it a fart or a shart?” while I laughed and gagged at the same time. Mind you, I was the one casually asking if she’d ever milked a man, so she had her own visceral reactions.

Simply put, I’ve never been comfortable talking about it. What’s worse, I’m even more uncomfortable doing it around others.

Before giving birth, I’d heard horror stories about women pooping on the table mid-labor. Any fears I had about my vagina being torn apart were replaced with, “Wait. What?! That can happen?!”

After one particularly massive push, I panicked and asked, “Did I just poop?!” The answer was no, but I was mortified I’d even asked.

When my son was 15, I overheard him telling a friend over Xbox, after the kid farted, “It’s okay, man! Everyone farts… except my mom.” I felt a mix of pride and embarrassment. He truly believed it. Neither of my kids had ever heard me fart.

I had him mute the headset for a serious conversation. “Honey, I heard what you told your friend, and there’s something you should know… I fart too.” His jaw dropped. “I know. I just don’t do it around anyone. Ever.” He asked, “When do you do it?” I said, “Probably in my sleep.” Then added, “But you don’t need to tell anyone, okay?” He nodded, “Okay.”

When I’m dating, I take it to another level. I’ve been known to say things like:

“If you ever want to end our relationship but don’t know how, just fart. It’s a clear signal. We’re done.”

To a guy who texted me from the bathroom: “Don’t text and go to the bathroom. It kills sex lives.”

Or when a date complained about feeling bloated and asked if I had any suggestions on what he he could do: “We’re fucking, not friends. Ask someone else.”

Harsh? Maybe. But it was always said with humor—and yes, I was serious.

What’s not funny is the predicaments I’ve found myself in since getting into a relationship. I’ve joked for years that whenever I start dating someone, my digestive system goes on strike. There’s this part of me I just can’t let them know exists—all the shitty parts about me.

Once he started staying over more often, I took it upon myself to leave a lovely porcelain plate with matchbooks near the toilet. In my mind, this subtle gesture said, “I know, you know, we both know… but let’s not talk about it.” It was mostly for my own comfort, and did absolutely nothing to get me to a ‘rest and digest’ state.

About four months in, I finally confessed I couldn’t go to the bathroom when he was around. (Which was all weekend.)

“When do you go?” he asked.

“When you leave for work on Monday.”

Suddenly, my digestive health became a topic of conversation and the unofficial barometer of our intimacy. He was concerned. He felt bad. He wanted me to feel ‘comfortable’ with him.

But the thing is, I don’t want us to be that comfortable.

He then asked me what I could do to “find some growth in that area.”

Fast forward a year, and I’ve had two stomach bugs that kept me up all night with diarrhea. One of those events happened while he lay awake in the room next to the bathroom; the other involved me clogging a toilet, AT HIS DADS HOUSE, which required professional help the next day. Thankfully, there was a porta-potty outside, which I ended up sleeping next to when I wasn’t in it, losing it from both ends.

I 100% blame him for manifesting this ‘growth.’ He says he feels closer to me. I’m still trying to define what comfortable and closer mean for us.

Sometimes when we’re out to dinner—or worse, with his mom, walking to get ice cream—he’ll ask, “Did you remember to take your Lactaid?”

😑

The other day, we were out for a run, finishing near his house, when my stomach did that thing stomachs do. He was going to shower right after, and I knew there was no way I could go in there, poop, and have him follow right after into a steamy bathroom. Nope.

So I clenched every muscle in my body and got the hell out of there. Thankfully, I live nearby, but it took every ounce of strength not to shit myself on the way home. And that’s when it hit me:

I’m willing to risk the humiliation of shitting my pants rather than have my boyfriend know I poop.

And this is where shit—pun intended—gets complicated.

See, I thought my constipation was purely mental. You know, a side effect of my brain refusing to let go of the idea that my boyfriend might know what happens behind closed bathroom doors. But it turns out, it wasn’t just my mind—it was my midlife hormones. And because this is midlife, it couldn’t be simple.

Let me explain: My OB and I have become quite close these days. Over the summer, I had two appointments where they casually mentioned a mandarin-sized cyst chilling on my ovary. You’d think they’d offer more explanation, but no—just a quick, "Oh hey, you've got this growth, NBD." I walked out of there with my new said growth as if it were nothing. But my body was screaming something else.

By the time my third appointment rolled around, I was convinced the cyst had taken over my entire abdomen and blocked my ass. So there I am, on the table for yet another ultrasound, ready for the doctor to confirm that my midlife crisis now included ovarian domination.

But nope.

She squints at the screen and informs me, in the most clinical tone imaginable, that she can’t see my ovaries properly because—wait for it—there’s "a lot of bowel."

Yes, dear reader, I was literally full of shit. Something I could not have admitted a year ago but now, here we are. Progress?

I tried to play it cool, asking, “Are you telling me I’m full of shit?” The fact I could even say that with a straight face shows how far I’ve come. She nodded, smirking, and said, “I think you should talk to your functional doctor. And maybe get some Miralax.”

Did I tell you that I’m in a Endocrine (hormone) Health Certification program at the moment? This shit I’m going through- we are going through- isn’t being talked about. Ironic, I know. Anyway, I went home that day and dug a little deeper, researching perimenpause, hormones and gut health.

Perimenopause and Poop—What’s the Connection?

• Estrogen and Progesterone Shifts: During perimenopause, the levels of estrogen and progesterone fluctuate. Both of these hormones have a direct effect on your digestive system. Estrogen helps regulate water retention, and when levels drop, it can lead to dehydration and constipation. Progesterone, on the other hand, relaxes the muscles in your digestive tract. When levels are higher, it can slow down the movement of food through your gut, causing bloating, gas, and—you guessed it—constipation.

• Slower Digestion: As progesterone rises and falls unpredictably, the movement of food through your intestines slows down. This sluggish digestion can lead to feelings of fullness, bloating, and a backup of waste, which is why you may feel "backed up" or bloated more often during perimenopause.

• Gut Microbiome Changes: Hormones like estrogen also play a role in maintaining the balance of bacteria in your gut. As your hormone levels shift, the balance of your gut microbiome can get thrown off, leading to digestive discomfort, irregularity, and even an increased sensitivity to certain foods. This is one reason why women often develop food intolerances during perimenopause.

• Cortisol and Stress: Perimenopause is often a stressful time, and increased levels of cortisol (the stress hormone) can further disrupt digestion. When you're stressed, your body prioritizes survival functions over digestion, which can lead to constipation or, in some cases, diarrhea.

• Reduced Bile Production: Estrogen influences bile production, and as levels decline, you may produce less bile. Bile is crucial for breaking down fats and moving waste through your intestines. Less bile means slower digestion, which can lead to more constipation and discomfort.

• Increased Sensitivity to Lactose and Fiber: Many women notice that foods they could easily digest before perimenopause (like dairy or fibrous foods) suddenly cause bloating, gas, or cramping. This sensitivity is often tied to changes in your hormone levels and gut health.

TLDR;

Estrogen and progesterone, the dynamic duo responsible for so much chaos during this time, are directly linked to your digestion. As they start doing the perimenopause dance—up, down, all over the place—they throw everything out of balance.

Estrogen helps regulate how much water you’re holding onto. When it drops, guess what? Dehydration. And where there’s dehydration, there’s constipation. On the flip side, progesterone likes to relax your muscles—your digestive muscles included. So, when it’s doing its thing, food moves slower through your system. This is why you might feel like you’re carrying a brick around in your stomach half the time.

Then there’s the gut microbiome—yes, the bacteria in your gut are impacted by these hormone shifts too. Estrogen plays a role in keeping the balance down there, so when it fluctuates, your gut bacteria get thrown off, leading to bloating and, you guessed it, more constipation.

And we haven’t even talked about stress. Cortisol, the stress hormone, goes up during perimenopause. So, if you’re feeling overwhelmed by, well, everything, your digestion is going to feel it too. Basically, when you’re in “fight or flight” mode, your body isn’t prioritizing digestion, so things back up. Or, in some cases, they fly out.

To make matters worse, as estrogen dips, your body produces less bile, which is what helps break down fats and keeps things moving smoothly. Without enough of it, digestion slows, and again, we’re dealing with the bloating and constipation show.

It’s not uncommon to suddenly feel like your body can’t handle foods you used to love either. Dairy, fiber-rich veggies—stuff that was fine a couple of years ago might now leave you feeling like you swallowed a balloon.

Thanks, perimenopause. No, but really. I’m ready to let go of my discomfort around bathroom talk, the humliation of my boyfriend knowing- or you knowing- that I’m full of shit and I’m ready to make whatever dietary adjustments I need to to work with my hormones so I can go with the flow.

I’m ready to accept all the shitty parts of me as I move into the second part of my life. I mean, isn’t that the point of becoming whole? It almost makes me want to get a tattoo of a porta-potty with 'Bucket List' written on it.

Maybe I'll be a shit talker after all.

IT’S THAT TIME OF MONTH 🚀🍿💩🧘‍♀️📚🎧

HERE ARE YOUR MID MONTH REC’S

*it’s a short list as I’ve been reading and listening to a lot of work related content- which most of this is related to as well*

READING

Read #69 Fixing Ourselves Before We Begin by Holly Whitaker

Recovering

. Impossible to summarize, I find myself wanting to quote and highlight most everything she wrote. Relatable in the way that I felt like I was reading an entry from my personal journal.

Which brings me to Unraveling the Mystery of Midlife: Brain Fog In Women by Kristi Koeter Almost Sated

This read by Andrea Gibson Potential Voice Loss: A Side Effect of Chemo -utterly gut wrenching and beautiful

Not a Substacker, but a multidisciplinary artist and human who has experienced the depths of grief I hope to never encounter is, Nick Caves. He spends time responding to EVERY LETTER that is written to him, or maybe he reads every letter?? and posts his answers on THE RED HAND FILES - Countless tears shed, laughs and mind opening moments.

LISTENING

I know he’s controversial, but this interview with Dr. Stacy Sims on Huberman is FULL OF THE GOOD STUFF women need to hear on; working out, midlife, perimenopause, hormones, nutrition.

NUTRITION & NOSHING

MORNING JUICE 🍎🥒🥬🍋 (requires a juicer)

5 Stalks Celery

1 Medium Sized Cucumber

1 Apple

2 Handfuls of PowerGreens

1 Lemon Squeezed

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EGG SALAD (not the usual) 🥑🥚🥖🥬

Boil 2 Eggs Jammy Style (8 minutes 15 seconds/ peel under cold water)

Bring your water to a boil before inserting eggs. While all of that is going down, slice an avocado, some pickles, grab a couple of dollops of mayo, a sprinkle of dill (fresh or dried) and throw in a bowl OR hell, leave it on cutting board.

Peel your eggs, place with other items and use a knife to slice and dice foldingand blending together. Keep it kind of chunky. Sprinkle with salt and pepper AND last but not least- MOMOFUKU Chili Crunch

Serve in Romaine Lettuce Boats or on Sour Dough