The Luteal Phase, but Make It Neurospicy

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I woke up this morning feeling like a microwaved sack of potatoes. Not even the fluffy, well-baked kind. Just soggy, emotionally unstable potato vibes. Lulu, my gloriously furry cat, was curled up next to me, purring like he hadn’t been yelling at invisible ghosts at 3am. I wanted grumpy cuddles. I wanted toast. And of course I wanted none of it to require movement. Welcome to the luteal phase, my darling. The hormone-fuelled rollercoaster of chaos, carbs, and crying in the shower.

My luteal phase is like clockwork sabotage. My brain disconnects from the mothership. I stare at my to-do list like it’s a cryptic crossword written in Klingon. Everything takes longer. My executive function has gone on a retreat without me. And no matter how much green tea I sip or how many projects I open with hopeful eyes, it just… doesn’t compute. I am the human equivalent of buffering.

The thing is, after years of thinking I was just a useless potato-person with no discipline, I finally started noticing the pattern. The luteal phase is not a flaw in my personality. It’s a perfectly normal part of my cycle, made extra fun by the fact that I’m neurospicy. I need different tools, and a different pace. A different kind of grace. And once I figured that out, everything got a little bit more bearable.

The Demon Phase in Disguise

Let’s talk about what the luteal phase actually is before we roast it lovingly. It’s the two weeks before your period arrives, when progesterone levels rise, and your brain decides it’s time to review every bad decision you’ve ever made while also forgetting how to send an email. Neurotypicals might just feel a little bloated or weepy. Neurodivergents? We feel like we’ve been unplugged from reality and reloaded with a faulty operating system.

This is the time I cry because I dropped a spoon. Or because someone on the internet said something mean about cats. I reread old messages and spiral into imaginary arguments. I plan an entire life makeover on Monday, then by Tuesday I’m sobbing into leftover gluten-free garlic bread because I didn’t follow through. That’s the luteal phase with a neurospicy brain. It’s not always loud, but it is deeply inconvenient.

Even my sensory issues get louder. Clothes feel wrong. Noise is too noisy. Smells? Absolutely illegal. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by that one pile of laundry that’s been in the chair for three days. Everything is too much. And no matter how many deep breaths I take, I can feel the static of dysregulation crackling under my skin like a live wire. It’s a full-body experience, and no amount of ‘just rest’ advice is going to cut it.

The Soft Goblin Survival Kit

So how do I survive this time without giving up and living under a duvet forever? I build myself a goblin-friendly support system. My first rule is: lower the bar. And then lower it again. I’m not aiming for thriving. I’m aiming for soft functioning. Did I brush my teeth and drink water? Victory. Did I answer one email? Iconic. Did I cry in the shower but still eat something green today? Legendary.

I give myself permission to slow down. Instead of fighting the fog, I lean into it. I light my favourite incense, wear the same jumper three days in a row, and let Lulu nap on me while I whisper my woes into his fur. I use this time to do gentle things that still feel productive but don’t require intense brain function. Stocking toilet rolls. Folding towels. Making a soup that involves mostly chopping and stirring.

And most importantly, I do not let the voice in my head tell me I’m lazy or broken. That voice doesn’t get a microphone during the luteal phase. I remind myself that I am allowed to be inefficient. I am allowed to slow down. I am allowed to grieve the productivity that felt easier two weeks ago and still treat myself with compassion. Because my worth is not based on how many things I tick off a list during a hormone hurricane.

Luteal Logics and Gentle Planning

One of the sneaky things about this phase is how it messes with my perception of time and tasks. Everything feels urgent. Everything feels doomed. Suddenly I think I need to redo my entire website, break up with everyone I’ve ever dated, and move to a remote Scottish village to write a novel. These are not rational thoughts. These are luteal thoughts. And they’re not in charge.

To cope, I’ve made a system: the Luteal Log. It’s a Google Doc (yes, another one, shhh) where I dump all my spiral thoughts. It’s not a to-do list. It’s a “not for right now” list. If the thought still matters when I’m in my follicular phase and my brain is back online, I’ll revisit it. Most of the time, it doesn’t. But getting it out of my head and onto a screen helps clear the storm.

I also schedule my life around the cycle when I can. I don’t book big things in this phase if I can help it. No launches. No confrontational emails. No brave wardrobe experiments. I stick to the familiar. I pre-plan some soft meals, stock the fridge with snacks I know I’ll want (cheese… it’s always cheese), and put comfort TV shows in the queue. I don’t expect myself to be inspiring. I expect myself to survive. And that’s enough.

The Kindness I Wish I’d Learned Sooner

If I could go back and talk to myself ten years ago, I’d tell her to stop beating herself up. I’d say, “Babe. Your brain and body are not conspiring against you. They’re just trying to cope with a biochemical landslide. And you’re doing great.” I spent too many years thinking I was unreliable or inconsistent. But I’m not. I’m just cyclic. And neurodivergent. And learning.

The luteal phase taught me how to be soft with myself. It forced me to rest. It showed me that ‘hustle’ isn’t sustainable. And it gave me an excuse to wear fuzzy socks, make jaffles at odd hours, and cry while watching videos of old people dancing at weddings. It’s not pretty. It’s not elegant. But it’s real. And honestly, it’s kind of magical in its own chaotic, feral way.

So if you, too, wake up one day feeling like a soggy potato with a broken executive function and an overwhelming urge to cry about a paperclip, welcome to the club. You’re not alone. And you’re definitely not broken. You’re just in your luteal phase. Make some toast. Cuddle your cat. And remember, this too shall pass.

Now, where did I put my fluffy headband and that emergency cheese I swore I wouldn’t eat until the weekend? Asking for a friend. (It’s me. I’m the friend.)

Who Said Anything About a Crisis? – Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity

In today's episode of Chaos, Crumbs and Clarity, we're unpacking the midlife crisis myth. You know the one. The narrative that says women in their forties are supposed to be falling apart, panicking about relevance, desperately reinventing themselves before it's too late. We're told we should be burnt out, lonely with our cats, spiralling into some kind of existential breakdown that requires a retreat, a programme, or a very expensive rebrand.But here's what actually happens. You get comfortable. You get clear. You stop apologising for knowing what you like and who you are. The charm becomes fully operational. The gut instinct you've been overriding to be polite finally gets the microphone. And instead of a crisis, you get something much better. You get the glow up.Today we're talking about why the bar for female happiness is set so absurdly low, how your forties are actually when life gets good, and why no one needs to audit a woman who has spent decades deliberately curating her own existence. Let's get into it.For more visit BryJaimea.com or follow over on IG @bryjaimea

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