Have you seen those cardboard kids’ books. They have titles like ‘That’s not my cat’ or ‘That’s not my unicorn’. (Is it just a UK thing or are those things global?). Those books came to mind as the credits rolled on yet another celebrity menopause audiobook.
Don’t get me wrong. They were all great menopause books. Some were packed with helpful medical information that I didn’t know. Others were more personal stories. But the common narrative threading through each of these tales was that their perimenopause or menopause symptoms were relatively short-lived (by my standards a year or two is short lived) and the prescribed treatment (typically some standard combination of HRT, heavy weights and face fillers) seemed to do the trick. These books almost always concluded along the lines of: well, that was a tricky bump in the road that I’ve cleared, now back to my amazing life. And I couldn’t help think: ‘that’s not my perimenopause’.
Severe perimenopause
As someone who’s symptoms started around my 40th birthday and doubled down year after year, taking me apart piece by piece (lost business, lost strength, lost confidence, lost fitness, lost friends, lost life), I’ve struggled to find a celeb story that matches my own.
Where are these women – these warriors – who have had no choice but to play the long game? According to NICE, 25% of women describe their menopause symptoms as severe. And one third of women suffer for 7 years or longer. (I want to raise my hand but I don’t have the energy).
I’m currently in year eleven of perimenopause. And my symptoms have been so severe that there have been whole stretches where I was barely able to leave the house. Where are the women like me? I want to read their stories.
I want to understand what to do when you’re on the top dose of HRT and the doctors shrug and simply say, ‘it doesn’t work for everyone’. Followed by, ‘maybe you’re stressed’ or, ‘have you tried going to bed earlier’. Excuse me a minute while I scream.
If I’m being brutally honest, I don’t want to hear about women who are struggling to run marathons as easily as they used to, or who ‘lift heavy’ ten times a week but have put on a 1kg / couple of pounds. Call me bitter, but…actually, I’ll admit to some jealous bitterness. That’s what a decade of severe symptoms and medical gaslighting (‘there’s nothing wrong with you’) can do.
Who else is suffering?
But the thing is, I suppose I know where the women like me are. They are dragging themselves through the day, doing the best they can so they don’t get fired, so that they can get the bills paid and put food on the table. They’re not plotting book deals (more’s the pity) or airing podcasts. They are flopping onto the sofa in a heap of exhaustion. They are crawling into bed (8pm usually, if you must know, Ms GP). They’re hoping that by lying prone for 12 hours, there’s a chance they might stumble upon a few hours of actual, restorative sleep (about once a week in my case).
Symptoms can be extreme and include severe sleep disturbance (and the associated exhaustion), brain fog that means you can’t remember where you put your laptop (let alone open it to be able to write your story), muscle and joint pain that makes everything hard – everything – migraines, bloating, nausea, anxiety, depression, lost libido, vaginal atrophy, night sweats, hot flashes… If you’re like me, you know the list and it’s longer than this. So, I suspect those women with severe symptoms are too busy trying to survive – to get through to the other side of this hot mess (literally).
I get it. I’m sitting here in bed. My arms feel too heavy to type (I often dictate, with disastrous typo consequences – advance apologies), my mood is on the floor (I’ll probably cry when I close my laptop) and I’m struggling to breathe (is it the severe bloating, lack of iron that my doctor doesn’t care about or just extreme fatigue because I’m demanding more of my body than it has to give?). Maybe our stories aren’t being told because we don’t have it in us to tell them.
And that makes me sad because all that we have to read by way of lived experience are those celeb stories and, as I said at the start – that’s not my perimenopause. It’s also inspired me to try.
I used to love writing, I made a career of it until I just couldn’t anymore. I grieve the loss of that creative version of my every single day. My writing used to be light and witty and funny without even a hint of anger, self-pity or rage. I didn’t have to look for the right words – they were just there on the tip of my fingers. Still, I’m determined to try. Let me see if I’m able to share my story and experiences. For you and for me.
What’s your perimenopause experience – do the celeb stories seem relatable or are in the ‘severe symptom’ camp along with me? Or are you having fewer symptoms but still it’s hard? There’s a comment space below if you want to share.