A Day in Menopause · A Hormonal Comedy by Nurit Rozenblat
Chapter Fifteen: 20:15 — A Wave of Anxiety, Uninvited
At 20:15 Dana sat on the sofa, and everything was fine.
The food had been eaten.
The dishes had been washed.
The eyes had gotten their warm towel.
The ear was still beeping, but relatively quietly.
And then, for no visible reason, something inside her started racing.
Not the heart.
The heart had already done its show at noon and was resting.
Something else.
A feeling that her chest was tightening, that her breath was short, that something bad was about to happen — only nobody had bothered to tell her what.
She sat up straight.
"Eyal."
"What?"
"Something's wrong."
Eyal put down his phone.
"What hurts?"
"Nothing."
"What do you feel?"
"I don't know. Pressure. Worry. Like I forgot something terribly important."
"Forgot?"
"I checked. Everything is off. The door is locked. The oven isn't on. I didn't leave a baby anywhere."
"And me?"
"You're here. Unfortunately, you're not the problem this time."
She got up.
Sat down.
Got up again.
It's called a wave of anxiety, the voice remarked.
"Now? Why now?"
Anxiety doesn't always ask when it's convenient.
"Tell me about it. The hot flashes didn't ask either. Is there anyone coordinating around here at all?"
During the transition to menopause, many women report new anxiety or a worsening of existing anxiety. Hormonal fluctuations may affect systems in the brain connected to mood and to the stress response, and chronic lack of sleep — like the night you had — can lower the threshold significantly.
"So it's real. It's not 'in my head.'"
It is in your head the way everything is in your head. That doesn't mean it's imaginary. The feeling is completely real.
Dana took a deep breath.
The breath didn't cooperate.
"So what do we do?"
What helps many women at a moment like this: slowing down. Breathing slowly, the exhale longer than the inhale. Looking around and naming things — what you see, what you hear, what you're touching. It helps the brain come back to the "here and now" instead of racing to scenarios.
"Sofa. Table. Television off. Confused husband."
Excellent. He's part of the scenery.
"I heard that," Eyal said.
"You're scenery. Behave that way."
Eyal sat down facing her.
"Do you want me to open the breathing exercise on the phone again?"
Dana looked at him.
"The one with the jellyfish?"
"I won't ask about jellyfish this time."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He opened the app.
A calm female voice came from the speaker:
"Breathe in slowly… two… three… four…"
Dana breathed in.
"And now breathe out… slowly…"
She breathed out.
Eyal sat facing her and did exactly the same, in exemplary silence.
After a minute the voice said:
"Imagine a place where you feel safe."
Eyal whispered:
"Without jellyfish?"
"Eyal!"
"I said I wouldn't ask. I whispered."
Dana laughed — a short laugh, a little shaky, but a laugh.
Her chest loosened a little.
"Better?" Eyal asked.
"A little."
"Another round?"
She nodded.
They breathed together for another minute.
And then Dana said:
"I hate this. All day I'm fine, and then with no warning — boom. Like someone pressed a panic button inside and forgot to tell me where the switch is."
Eyal thought for a moment.
"Maybe there is no switch. Maybe it's just a wave. It comes and goes. Like the heat waves."
Dana looked at him.
"When did you become a philosopher?"
"Since noon. My watch diagnosed me as 'chronically stressed,' so I decided to take it in a spiritual direction."
She smiled.
The voice continued, quietly:
There's something else that's important to know. If the anxiety keeps coming back, interferes with sleep or with functioning, or there are panic attacks — it's worth talking to a doctor. There are treatments that help, psychological and medication-based, and there's no reason to suffer in silence just because someone told you "it's your age."
"Did you hear that?" Dana said to Eyal. "No suffering in silence. It's official."
"I don't think you're capable of suffering in silence. You suffer out loud, with an audience."
"That's called sharing."
"That's called a live broadcast."
At 20:34 Dana got herself a glass of water and sat back down on the sofa.
The wave had subsided.
It hadn't disappeared completely — a faint echo remained, like after a hot flash — but she was no longer racing.
"Tell me," she said, "does it pass at some point? This whole period?"
Eyal shrugged.
"Everyone says yes."
"And what am I supposed to do until then?"
"Breathe. Sit next to me. And stop checking whether the door is locked. You checked four times."
"Three."
"Four. I counted. I was scenery, remember?"
It was 20:41.
Dana discovered that her body knew how to set off an alarm even when there was no fire.
Eyal discovered that he could be good scenery, when he wasn't asking about jellyfish.
And the anxiety?
It came uninvited,
and left without apologizing.
Like all the guests that day.
End of Chapter Fifteen.
Continued in Chapter Sixteen: 21:02 — My Head Is Holding an Emergency Meeting
© 2026 Nurit Rozenblat. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed without the author's prior written permission.
