Well, it happened… my first full-blown, hormone-fueled emotional breakdown.

At work.

It was my first day back after a long weekend, which is already dangerous territory because three days off means returning to approximately 47 problems and 80 emails that have been patiently waiting for you.

First, trash hadn’t been picked up over the holiday weekend, and residents were understandably irritated. I realized I’d forgotten to send out an email letting everyone know about the holiday schedule. Absolutely my fault, I own my mistakes.

Second, we had a new resident moving in on Monday, and I had forgotten to send the code to get into our lockbox where their keys were. Way to go Jules…

N othing catastrophic had happened. Nobody died. The building was still standing. But I was already sitting at my desk mentally compiling a list titled: Things Julianne Has Screwed Up Since Returning to Work Approximately Twenty Minutes Ago.

I could already feel myself getting overwhelmed.

Then a resident walked into the office with a guitar and decided that he was going put on a free concert.

Now, this particular resident likes to come in occasionally and play music. He’s very good, and I enjoy his playing.

Normally.

But, on this particular day, my hormones took one look at that guitar and said:

Absolutely fucking not.

He started playing. Then he started singing.

And something inside me just…

SNAPPED.

Suddenly, I was three seconds away from walking over to this perfectly innocent man, telling him to get the fuck out of my office, marching into my boss’s office, quitting my job, and leaving to begin a new life somewhere nobody owned an acoustic guitar.

And here’s the truly bizarre part: There was absolutely no rational reason for it, and I knew it.

This poor man hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just playing his guitar. But in that moment, every strum felt like a personal attack.

My brain was screaming:

MAKE IT STOP.

And somewhere underneath that was the rational version of me saying:

Julianne. You cannot throw a resident out of the office because he plays guitar.

Thankfully, rational Julianne maintained just enough control to prevent what would have been a very interesting conversation with HR.

Instead, I sat at my desk… and burst into tears.

Not a couple of discreet little tears, either.

Nope… I CRIED. And once I started, I could not stop.

Which created another fun little internal dialogue:

Okay. We’re crying.

That’s fine, but save it for off the clock.

Seriously.

STOP.

WHY ARE WE STILL CRYING?

Pro tip: Telling a hormonally overwhelmed woman to stop crying works about as well as telling a toddler to calm down.

Now we’re crying harder, which got my bosses attention.

Great! Just what I needed, a my boss to think I’m emotionally unstable.

But there is no discreet way to have a complete hormonal collapse when your boss sits right in front of you in an office with glass walls.

Guess what happened next.

She sent me home! Yep, my hormones got me sent home from work.

I wasn’t sick. There wasn’t an emergency. I didn’t get hurt. But at that point, it was probably a good call, because ten minutes earlier I’d been mentally preparing to throw out a perfectly innocent guitar playing resident out the office and quit my job.

So, I packed up my stuff and headed home, still trying to understand what the hell had just happened.

The strangest part of all of this was I knew I was overreacting. Rational Julianne was still in there, but irrational Julianne had taped her mouth shut and tied her to a chair.

Yes, I’d made a couple of mistakes.

Yes, I was overwhelmed and completely frustrated with myself, but none of those things warranted quitting my job and banishing all stringed instruments from the premises.

My emotional response simply did not match the situation.

But I couldn’t make it stop.

And that’s the part of perimenopause I wasn’t prepared for. I expected fatigue. I expected brain fog. I expected my body temperature to occasionally resemble the surface of the Sun. But I did not expect to temporarily lose control of my own emotions.

So tell me: what’s the most ridiculous or inconvenient thing that has ever sent your hormones completely over the edge?