I’ll always remember herding H toward the shower like a reluctant goat toward a car wash. She stopped short, stuck her hand under the running water, and yelped like a Victorian child discovering electricity.

Me: “What’s wrong?! Is it too hot??” (I check the water. It’s fine. Like, spa-commercial fine.)

H with the confidence of a philosopher-king: “I want it Cold Hot!”

Me: “What does that mean? You want it colder?”

H: “No, Cold Hot.”

Me: Got it. I’m tossing you in the washing machine under the Perm Press setting. Thanks for clarifying.

At first, I laughed. Then I thought: “Cold Hot” might be the most accurate description of perimenopause I’ve ever heard.

Perimenopause: The Original Cold Hot

One minute you’re sweating through a meeting like you’ve just run a marathon, the next you’re digging for a blanket because you’re freezing. My internal thermostat has officially entered the Twilight Zone. So when H demanded “Cold Hot,” I thought: Girl, welcome to my world.

It’s frustrating, of course. But it also reminds me of something the Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön wrote:

“You are the sky. Everything else — it’s just the weather.”

The hot flashes, the chills, the mood swings — they’re weather. Annoying? Absolutely. Permanent? Thankfully, no.

The Lesson in “Cold Hot”

What struck me is how matter-of-fact H was about it. She didn’t try to explain away the contradiction. She just wanted both at once — a paradox without apology. And honestly, isn’t that life?

Buddhism talks a lot about holding opposites: joy and sorrow, comfort and discomfort, attachment and letting go. It’s not about erasing one or the other, but about learning to sit with both.

Maybe that’s what perimenopause is teaching me too — that I can be both strong and vulnerable, both grateful and annoyed, both “cold” and “hot.”

Finding Zen in the Perm Press Cycle

So the next time I’m in a meeting fanning myself with a file folder or lying awake at 3 a.m. wondering if it’s worth buying stock in ceiling fans, I’ll remember H’s wisdom: Cold Hot.

Because sometimes peace doesn’t come from perfect balance. Sometimes it comes from laughing at the absurdity and remembering that both states can exist at once — and so can I.