Your Oestrogen Has Left the Building (But You're Still On Stage)
"It's just a period, girls. Use a tampon," said Mrs Tressider when Melissa didn't want to swim during sport because she was bleeding.
Push through. As though it's not there. As though your body isn't readying itself to have a baby every month. It's nothing. Get on with it.
And so I learned. We all did.
We learned to ace presentations while bleeding through a super-plus tampon. To parent through exhaustion. To smile through migraines. To have sex when we'd rather sleep for a thousand years. To answer one more email despite our eyeballs feeling like they're rolling in sand.
Then we hit 45 (and much earlier for some), and suddenly your oestrogen has left the building—but you're still expected to be on stage, delivering the performance of your life.
What nobody tells you is this: The mental fog making you forget the word ‘marinate’? The insomnia that has you staring at the ceiling at 3 AM? The rage that bubbles up from nowhere when your partner breathes too loudly? The weight that appears around your waistline like your body decided to start hoarding for an apocalypse only it knows about? The sex drive that packs its bags and leaves without a note while your vagina decides to become the Sahara Desert?
That's perimenopause, darling. And no, you can't just "push through it" anymore.
I'm staggered by how many brilliant, capable women I talk to who have no idea that the chaos they're experiencing is hormonal. They think they're losing their edge. Their sanity. Their worth. They double down on intermittent fasting and power naps while their adrenals scream for mercy.
Let's be crystal clear: Our bodies weren't designed for constant performance regardless of hormonal state. And the entire "hustle harder" culture crashes spectacularly against the biological reality of perimenopause.
So who's going to cut us some slack? Not this culture that barely acknowledges our transition exists.
I can no longer watch women blame themselves for a biological earthquake as significant as puberty. Done with the whispered confessions, the shame, the isolation.
The way through isn't pushing harder. It never was.
Respecting Yourself When No One Else Does
In so many ways we are still navigating this transition in an information desert. We're cobbling together solutions from midnight discussions with Claude and wine nights where friends exclaim, "Oh my god, me too."
The medical establishment knows more about aging penises than aging ovaries. Instagram influencers provide better information than gynaecologists.
In heterosexual relationships, the empathy gap becomes a canyon. You finally tell your male partner you're struggling—body foreign, mind foggy, sleep non-existent, rage uncontrollable —and get emotional tumbleweeds in return. Or a distracted "that sucks" before he changes the subject. That quiet disappointment when you realise he won't research this alongside you when you need him to give this the same credence as you would if he suddenly had issues with erectile dysfunction.
(Meanwhile, women in same-sex relationships report partners who listen and compare notes. And single women? At least they don't waste energy explaining their experience to someone with the emotional range of a houseplant.)
So how do we respect ourselves when the world doesn't even acknowledge what we're going through?
First, we stop apologising. For needing rest. For having emotions. For not being as productive as we were before. For canceling plans when our bodies scream for solitude. For setting boundaries that make others uncomfortable.
Second, we name it. In meetings, in doctor's offices, in relationships. "I'm going through perimenopause" needs to be as normalised as "I have a cold." Not whispered, not avoided, not disguised as something more palatable.
Third, we demand better – from our healthcare, our workplaces, our partners. Because what no one tells you is that this transition can last a decade. A DECADE. That's too long to white-knuckle through without support.
Workplaces That Actually Support Women
Your workplace probably prides itself on being "family-friendly." Maybe they have a nursing room. Maybe they talk about supporting women. Maybe they send around a one-page menopause policy attached to an email that makes it all excellent again. But ask them about actual perimenopause accommodations and watch the panic spread across their faces.
What would a truly supportive workplace look like? It would acknowledge that women in their 40s and 50s are often at the peak of their professional value – experienced, skilled, connected – while simultaneously navigating a major biological transition.
It would offer:
Flexible working arrangements when sleep is disrupted (because showing up after three hours of broken, drenched from sweat, sleep isn't exactly conducive to your best work)
Temperature control that acknowledges hot flashes exist (desk fans that don't require approval forms, relaxed dress codes for layering, and the freedom to escape arctic conference rooms without explanation)
Normalised discussion of women's health across the lifespan, not just when we're incubating future employees
Managers trained to understand that perimenopause is not a performance issue but a temporary transition that doesn't erase decades of competence
Access to coaches who actually understand hormonal health (not just another "push harder" motivational speaker who thinks your exhaustion is a mindset problem)
If your workplace isn't there yet, can you be the pioneer? The one who says, "I need to work from home this morning because I had night sweats and didn't sleep." The one who brings up perimenopause in diversity discussions. The one who refuses to pretend that women's bodies operate on a flat, unchanging plane from 20 to 60.
HAVEN’T I Got Enough on MY Plate?
I know, I know! You’re dealing with brain fog, weight gain, insomnia, mood swings, inflammation, a frozen shoulder, joint pain (and another 30 odd symptoms) and now you’re supposed to be a workplace revolutionary too? Just add it to the list, right after 'remember my own name' and 'not cry during budget meetings’.
I get it. You're exhausted. You're overwhelmed. The last thing you need is another responsibility. It feels unfair that on top of managing your symptoms, you're now expected to educate everyone else about them too.
Because it is unfair. But if not us, then who?
Those of us in senior positions have fought too hard to get here. We've earned our seats at tables where decisions get made. And yes, it's one more burden to carry, but it's also an opportunity to make things better – not just for ourselves, but for the waves of women coming behind us.
So here are some practical strategies that won't drain what little energy you have left:
Start Small and Strategic
Find ONE ally in HR or leadership who gets it (or is willing to learn). Having just one person who can advocate alongside you makes all the difference.
Suggest a lunch-and-learn about women's health across the lifespan – not just "menopause awareness" which can feel targeted.
Share relevant articles with your team without making a big announcement. A simple "Thought this was interesting" email can start normalising the conversation.
Leverage Your Authority
Model boundary-setting by being matter-of-fact about your needs. "I'll need to reschedule this afternoon. Not feeling well today" is enough – no elaborate explanations needed.
Normalise temporary accommodations by granting them freely to your team members and speaking openly about your own needs.
Introduce flexible work arrangements for everyone, not just women in perimenopause – this removes stigma while helping those who need it most.
Build Community
Create a private channel for women experiencing similar challenges – even if it's just 2-3 of you at first.
Share resources – doctors who actually listen, supplements that worked, cooling products that saved your sanity during meetings.
Celebrate small wins when policies change or conversations open up – change happens incrementally.
Remember, you don't have to run a full-scale revolution. Small acts of authenticity ripple outward. One woman saying "I'm having a hot flash, I need a minute" makes it easier for the next woman to do the same.
Yes, it's exhausting to be the pioneer. But we have the chance to break that cycle because we deserve better – and so do our sisters, colleagues, friends and daughters.
And if you're reading this thinking, "I can barely remember my password most days, let alone lead a workplace revolution" – I get it. Sometimes survival is enough. If you're just too exhausted to be the one who changes things, call me. I'll come and do it for you and all the women around you. Because nobody should have to push through this alone.