So vertigo is actually a common perimenopausal symptom (sorry). If you want to know more I can send you some contact information for a friend who works in this realm.
I’ve seen this before and also worry because Meniere's Disease runs in my family and it hit my affected family members in middle age. If an increasing tendency toward vertigo is “only” perimenopause and presumably temporary, I’d be grateful!
Very profound, I want to re-read this a couple times.
Regarding the allergy shots, I had considered them as well but my doctor recommended trying the neti/squeeze bottle with saline first for a while. The saline in a squeeze bottle totally changed my allergies by washing out the pollen before my body could react. I was consistent in my use for a year or two and don't need to use daily any longer, only occasionally.
It’s funny, I have an allergy doctor that discourages netipot use because they’re prone to causing infections. He has prescribed prescription nasal sprays but I admittedly don’t use them enough. My strongest reactions come from my lungs and eyes (I get very watery, itchy eyes in the spring), so I tend to overlook my sinuses.
hi Jill, here's a crazy coincidence: I read your post in the middle of the night as I struggled with insomnia. Then as I was reading, Suleika Jaouad's post came in my inbox. And she writes about the same concept based on Hemingway's quote! I recommend it for another thoughtful take on what you're experiencing and thinking: https://theisolationjournals.substack.com/p/what-breaks-and-remakes-us
I'm concerned about you and your symptoms (especially the weird/awkward imbalance and generally feeling "off"), and applaud you for writing to work through it all. One phrase comes to mind, which I hesitate to share because it's been associated with sexism for so long and comes across as paternalistic—which is not where I'm coming from—but please think of it in the context of the eclipse: lighten up. By that I mean, let the darkness pass—trust it will pass—and find light. Look for light. Try to approach the outdoors with the lightness of a beginner's mindset rather than heavy with expectations, pressure, or by the scars of past experiences and memories. I know this is all simplistic and easier said than done, but it gets to being mindful, in the moment, and relating to our body and our surroundings in a fresh way, as if feeling it for the first time and seeing it with new eyes. I remember a short doc film with Anna Frost from years ago, when she was at the peak of her athleticism competitively but breaking down from injury, disordered eating, stress, personal turmoil, and anxiety to perform. "It's just running," she said. "It's just running!" It should be so simple and basic. It's not, but trying to regain that simplicity, and maybe be less in your head ruminating and more focused on the surroundings and approach the weird symptoms with curiosity and self-compassion, to get to know them and work with them, might help. I relate to your rumination, however, especially about your dad. I spend miles in my head talking to my dad. Sometimes it takes listening to music, or making myself notice details around me as if I were narrating the route for a visually-impaired runner, to snap me into the present. I'm sorry this is rambling and probably sounds woo-woo simplistic. I really admire you as a writer and adventurer, and feel for you.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts and the link. I loved this paragraph from Rushdie: “We all have a picture of the world, an idea of what is real, inside which we live. Sudden disaster—the death of a loved one, the loss of a vital job, a murder, a meltdown at a nearby nuclear reactor—breaks that picture and we have to try to reconstruct it, or something like it, or something completely different.”
“When my psychic pain deepens, so does the physical pain I carry in my scars.” Yes to this. I feel that so much. Recognizing this and going into it is the true experience of being human for me. So easy to try to disconnect the two but when you let it be true life is able to be lived in a much deeper way.
So vertigo is actually a common perimenopausal symptom (sorry). If you want to know more I can send you some contact information for a friend who works in this realm.
I’ve seen this before and also worry because Meniere's Disease runs in my family and it hit my affected family members in middle age. If an increasing tendency toward vertigo is “only” perimenopause and presumably temporary, I’d be grateful!
Very profound, I want to re-read this a couple times.
Regarding the allergy shots, I had considered them as well but my doctor recommended trying the neti/squeeze bottle with saline first for a while. The saline in a squeeze bottle totally changed my allergies by washing out the pollen before my body could react. I was consistent in my use for a year or two and don't need to use daily any longer, only occasionally.
It’s funny, I have an allergy doctor that discourages netipot use because they’re prone to causing infections. He has prescribed prescription nasal sprays but I admittedly don’t use them enough. My strongest reactions come from my lungs and eyes (I get very watery, itchy eyes in the spring), so I tend to overlook my sinuses.
jill use distilled water for the neti pot
hi Jill, here's a crazy coincidence: I read your post in the middle of the night as I struggled with insomnia. Then as I was reading, Suleika Jaouad's post came in my inbox. And she writes about the same concept based on Hemingway's quote! I recommend it for another thoughtful take on what you're experiencing and thinking: https://theisolationjournals.substack.com/p/what-breaks-and-remakes-us
I'm concerned about you and your symptoms (especially the weird/awkward imbalance and generally feeling "off"), and applaud you for writing to work through it all. One phrase comes to mind, which I hesitate to share because it's been associated with sexism for so long and comes across as paternalistic—which is not where I'm coming from—but please think of it in the context of the eclipse: lighten up. By that I mean, let the darkness pass—trust it will pass—and find light. Look for light. Try to approach the outdoors with the lightness of a beginner's mindset rather than heavy with expectations, pressure, or by the scars of past experiences and memories. I know this is all simplistic and easier said than done, but it gets to being mindful, in the moment, and relating to our body and our surroundings in a fresh way, as if feeling it for the first time and seeing it with new eyes. I remember a short doc film with Anna Frost from years ago, when she was at the peak of her athleticism competitively but breaking down from injury, disordered eating, stress, personal turmoil, and anxiety to perform. "It's just running," she said. "It's just running!" It should be so simple and basic. It's not, but trying to regain that simplicity, and maybe be less in your head ruminating and more focused on the surroundings and approach the weird symptoms with curiosity and self-compassion, to get to know them and work with them, might help. I relate to your rumination, however, especially about your dad. I spend miles in my head talking to my dad. Sometimes it takes listening to music, or making myself notice details around me as if I were narrating the route for a visually-impaired runner, to snap me into the present. I'm sorry this is rambling and probably sounds woo-woo simplistic. I really admire you as a writer and adventurer, and feel for you.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts and the link. I loved this paragraph from Rushdie: “We all have a picture of the world, an idea of what is real, inside which we live. Sudden disaster—the death of a loved one, the loss of a vital job, a murder, a meltdown at a nearby nuclear reactor—breaks that picture and we have to try to reconstruct it, or something like it, or something completely different.”
“When my psychic pain deepens, so does the physical pain I carry in my scars.” Yes to this. I feel that so much. Recognizing this and going into it is the true experience of being human for me. So easy to try to disconnect the two but when you let it be true life is able to be lived in a much deeper way.
I very much agree. Sitting with my pain, asking it “why are you here?” and striving to pause long enough to listen has been enlightening.