THE FLAMING HOUR: WHEN YOUR BODY DECIDES TO PLAY WITH FIRE

One minute you're Marie Kondo-ing your sock drawer at 3am, the next you're throwing off the covers like an exorcism is underway. Welcome to perimenopause, the part of womanhood no one warned you about except maybe that one chaotic aunt who talked about her hot flashes like they were disco lights from the '70s.

It starts quietly, like a polite internal memo: "Your hormones are shifting. No big deal. Just a gentle reminder from your ovaries that we're winding down."

Then BAM. You’re sweating from your kneecaps, crying over yoghurt commercials, and questioning your life choices because your armpits suddenly feel like mini bonfires. Is it too much to ask for a temperature that doesn’t require three outfit changes and an emotional support fan?

Let us be clear: You’re not broken. You’re not crazy. You’re just becoming.

THE SCIENCE (YES, WE’RE GETTING EDUCATED WHILE SWEATING)

Perimenopause is not menopause. Menopause is the point where your period hasn’t visited in 12 months. Perimenopause is the riotous farewell tour. Hormones, especially oestrogen and progesterone, begin their unpredictable exit—sometimes dropping low, sometimes spiking high, often acting like a drunk bridesmaid on roller skates.

The symptoms are a medley: hot flashes, night sweats, memory lapses (where are my keys?!), mood swings, dry everything, rage at inanimate objects, and a libido that either goes missing entirely or starts manifesting during spin class.

There’s no linear map. Some women whisper through it. Others, like our reader, blaze like a solar flare in a cashmere jumper.

But the fire? It’s not just physical. It’s symbolic.

YOU’RE NOT DYING. YOU’RE FERMENTING INTO YOUR FINAL FORM

Think of perimenopause as the divine fermentation process. You are kimchi. You are a rare vintage wine. You are transforming. All those emotional outbursts and skin rashes? Just your inner mystic scrubbing off decades of expectations.

You are being asked—by your body, your ancestors, your hormones—to become the woman you were before the world told you who to be.

No more polite girlhood. No more yes-womaning to everyone else’s needs. Your internal thermostat has risen because it’s burning away what no longer fits.

You want to cry? Cry. You want to scream at the patriarchy? Babe, here’s a megaphone and some biodegradable glitter.

You are entering your era of full permission.

THE ANCIENT, THE WILD, THE WARM

We love to romanticise the maiden and the mother. But the Crone—oh, the Crone is the wildest, most magical of them all.

In matriarchal societies, the menopausal woman was the oracle. The keeper of sacred knowledge. Her blood no longer needed to nourish others—it nourished her intuition, her dreams, her voice. She was the firekeeper. And she could call the lightning.

So the next time your cheeks flush like an overripe tomato at a board meeting, remember: this is your initiation. Not into invisibility, but into invincibility.

You are not disappearing. You are concentrating.

A FEW NOTES FROM THE FIELD

• That moment you wonder if you’ve become allergic to your partner’s breathing? Normal.

• Weeping uncontrollably at puppies, clouds, and the song from “The Holiday”? Normal.

• Thinking you have early-onset dementia when you put your keys in the freezer? (Also: you probably needed to chill.) Normal.

• Feeling like a magnificent, sweaty oracle who’s just a little misunderstood? HIGHLY normal.

If you’re navigating perimenopause, know this: you are not alone. You’re in a global coven of women who are also Googling “does burning up mean I’m psychic now?”

We see you. Flaming, flustered, and fabulous.

A SACRED (AND SASSY) INVITATION

To the woman reading this in bed, half-naked, fanning herself with a magazine while rage-texting her partner for breathing too loud: You are not broken.

You are on fire—for a reason.

This is not the end. This is the spark.

A spark that lights up a woman who will no longer apologise. Who wears linen in winter. Who is becoming her truest self—not in spite of the fire, but because of it.

Let it burn.

Welcome to your Becoming.

Phenxx is here for the firekeepers. For the flaming midlife goddesses. For the women who laugh, rage, and rise. Explore our Cooling Canvas™ and ritual blends designed to support your every phase—sweat, sass, and sovereignty included.