Reclaiming Understanding of My Changing Body: Reflections on Perimenopause

What is this season of life asking me to reclaim?

Last month, I wrote about reclaiming my relationship with my body and learning to listen to her more closely. I ended with the words: I’m learning to listen. I’m learning to understand you. I’m learning to care for you.

That word understand has stayed with me because listening to our bodies is one thing. Understanding what they might be experiencing is another. And one of the things midlife has confronted me with is just how little I knew about one of the biggest changes my body would go through: perimenopause.

I knew about menopause. I knew about hot flushes. I knew that our moods could be affected. Somewhere along the way, I had picked up that eventually your periods stopped and that was menopause. That was about it. I didn't even know the word perimenopause until relatively close to experiencing it myself.

For something that would have such a significant impact on my body, my mind, my relationships, my work and how I moved through everyday life, I entered this stage remarkably unprepared. And I know I'm far from the only woman who did.

What did I actually know about perimenopause?

When I think about where my early understanding came from, it wasn't school, health professionals or my psychology training. It mostly came from observing the women around me.

My mum didn't really talk about menopause. She is from a generation where these things simply weren't spoken about very much. I knew she had used hormone therapy, but I don't remember menopause being a conversation in our home. My mother-in-law had a much more difficult experience, and because I had known her since my late teens, I was more aware of what she went through. What we called menopause then would probably have included what we now understand as perimenopause.

But beyond those experiences, there wasn't much. Growing up as a Gen X woman, even our menstrual cycles weren't something we understood particularly well. I knew I would bleed once a month. I knew I might experience PMS. I knew what products I needed to buy. I didn't really understand the changing hormonal landscape underneath any of it.

Despite eventually becoming a clinical psychologist, hormones weren't something that featured prominently in my professional education either. So when things began changing for me in my early forties, hormones weren't necessarily where my mind went. How could they have been when I didn't have the knowledge or language to consider them?

It makes me wonder about you too. What were you taught about perimenopause and menopause? And perhaps more importantly, what weren't you taught?

What was happening before I had language for it?

Looking back, there were things happening in my body before I recognised them as potentially being connected with perimenopause. The more obvious signs came later: hot flushes, night sweats, changes to my periods and difficulty sleeping. Those eventually made me think, Hang on. I think I'm in perimenopause.

But before then, there were other changes that were much harder to make sense of. At 41, I experienced severe burnout that eventually left me unable to work. There were significant circumstances contributing to that burnout, and I would never reduce such a complex experience to hormones alone. But knowing what I know now, I do wonder whether hormonal changes were another part of what my nervous system and body were navigating at the time.

My energy was changing. Exercise was becoming different. I had previously been doing quite a lot of heavy lifting and found myself plateauing in ways I didn't understand. I experienced injuries. My skin became incredibly itchy for a period. My mood and capacity were shifting.

And there was brain fog. Oh, the brain fog. Ironically, I almost forgot to talk about this in the podcast episode, which feels rather fitting. For someone whose work as a psychologist relies heavily on thinking, concentrating, remembering, connecting ideas and finding words, brain fog was incredibly difficult. At times I struggled to string words together or make connections in the way I was accustomed to.

When these things were first happening, though, I didn't have a framework that allowed me to ask whether perimenopause might be part of the picture. Some things I attributed to burnout. Some to stress. Some to ageing. Some I probably just thought were me.

And I think that is one of the difficulties when we don't have language for what we're experiencing. We still experience it. We just don't necessarily understand what we're experiencing.

Have there been changes in yourself that were difficult to understand because you didn't yet have language for what was happening?

What changed when I began to understand?

When the hot flushes and night sweats arrived and my sleep deteriorated, I went to my doctor and said I thought I was in perimenopause. Initially, I was told I was too young. I was around 43.

At first, I accepted that. Maybe she was right. But the symptoms continued, and eventually I began doing what I tend to do when something significant is happening in my life: I went looking for information. I read. I researched. I used reputable women's health and menopause resources. I began putting the pieces together.

And I went back.

This time I was able to say more confidently, No, something is happening here. I need help. That is one of the most important things understanding gave me. It helped me advocate for myself.

It also helped me make sense of my experience differently. There is a big difference between thinking, What is happening to me? Why can't I cope anymore? Why am I so exhausted? Why can't I think properly? Why don't I feel like myself? and being able to say, Okay. There is something happening in my body that might help explain this.

Understanding doesn't necessarily make a symptom disappear, but it can change our relationship with it. Over time, I have accessed medical support and made changes around movement, nutrition and other areas of my life. Some things have improved enormously. Some haven't disappeared entirely.

That has led me to think about the difference between treating and accommodating. There are things we can seek treatment or professional support for, and there are times when what my changing body needs is accommodation. If my energy is low today, perhaps I do less where I can. If my capacity isn't what it was yesterday, perhaps I work with today's capacity rather than demanding yesterday's from myself.

Understanding has helped me move from Why can't I do this? towards What is happening here, and what might I need? That is a very different conversation to have with ourselves.

Why we need to talk about perimenopause

I am very glad perimenopause is being talked about more openly now because silence has consequences. When something that affects so many of us isn't spoken about, it becomes much easier for shame and stigma to grow around it. We can start believing there is something strange, embarrassing or somehow wrong about what we are experiencing.

I have seen what silence can do in other areas of my life. As a younger woman experiencing depression, I lived at a time when mental health wasn't spoken about in the way it is now. My own shame contributed to me staying quiet and delayed me accessing the help and support I needed. I don't want us to repeat that silence with perimenopause.

Talking gives us language. It helps us ask questions, seek support and helps the people around us understand what we may be experiencing. My partner has had to learn alongside me. We are both Gen Xers. Neither of us grew up with particularly sophisticated conversations about women's hormones or menstrual health. How could he understand something happening to me if I didn't understand it myself and we couldn't talk about it?

These conversations matter within relationships, families, friendships and workplaces. They matter for the generations coming behind us too. I don't want younger women reaching their forties knowing as little as I did.

Perhaps part of what our generation can do is speak. Not because every woman's experience will be the same—it absolutely won't be—but because sharing our experiences expands the conversation and gives other women more possibilities for understanding their own.

Understanding without making myself a problem to fix

There is another side to all of this that feels particularly important to me. We can become informed about our changing bodies without turning them into another self-improvement project.

When something is uncomfortable, painful or disruptive, understandably we want it gone. We research, seek treatment, try different things and want to feel like ourselves again. I absolutely believe in seeking good information and appropriate professional support. I have done that myself and will continue to. But I have also had to learn that I may not find a solution for every change perimenopause brings.

There are things I still find difficult. One that is particularly vulnerable for me to share is the change in my sexual desire. My sex drive has dramatically reduced. Being in a loving, committed relationship, this has been difficult for both my partner and me to navigate. For a while, I approached it as something that had to be solved. Something was wrong. I needed to fix it.

I have sought help and explored options, and I remain open to things that may help. But perhaps the biggest shift hasn't been in my body. It has been in my attitude towards her.

I am not a problem to be fixed.

My body isn't a problem to be fixed, and perimenopause isn't evidence that something has gone wrong with me. This is a significant physiological transition my body is moving through. Some parts may respond to treatment. Some may need support. Some may need accommodation. Some may simply need time, patience and continued curiosity.

That doesn't mean I have to like every part of it. I don't. It also doesn't mean difficult symptoms don't matter or that we should simply put up with them. It means that alongside seeking information and support, I want to meet this changing version of myself with care rather than constantly positioning her as defective.

I am a person—and a body—worthy of being accommodated and cared for. There is something deeply different about approaching ourselves from there.

From “What's wrong with me?” to “What's happening for me?”

This may be the question I most want to carry forward from this exploration. When something changes in our bodies, our minds can so quickly move towards judgement. What's wrong with me? Why can't I cope like I used to? Why am I so tired? Why can't I concentrate? Why doesn't my body respond the way it once did? Why don't I feel like myself?

Perhaps there is another place we can begin: What's happening for me?

Not as a way of diagnosing ourselves, and not as another invitation to monitor every sensation or disappear down an internet rabbit hole looking for everything that might possibly be wrong. Instead, we can bring some compassionate curiosity to what we're noticing. What has been changing lately? What might I need to understand better? Is there a question I need to ask or a conversation I need to have? Is there something I want to raise with a health professional? Or do I simply need to keep paying attention for a while?

Something can deserve our attention without immediately needing to become a problem.

A moment of compassionate curiosity

Before you move on from this article, perhaps take a moment to check in with yourself. You don't need to analyse anything, diagnose anything or work out what needs fixing. Just notice.

How am I, right now?

Perhaps notice your body, your energy, your mood, your thoughts, your emotions and your capacity. Then gently broaden the question: What have I been noticing in myself lately?

Maybe something has changed in your sleep, concentration, energy, emotions, body, capacity, wants or needs. Perhaps something simply feels... different. See if you can resist immediately explaining it away, judging it or trying to solve it. Instead, perhaps offer yourself this: Something is happening here that deserves my curiosity.

And rather than asking, What's wrong with me?, perhaps ask: What's happening for me?

You don't need an answer. Perhaps compassionate attention today looks like learning, asking, resting, speaking up, seeking support or simply paying a little closer attention.

Your Midlife Reclaimed reflection

This brings me back to the question at the heart of Midlife Reclaimed: What is this season of life asking you to reclaim?

Last month, my answer was my relationship with my body. This month, it is understanding of my changing body.

And perhaps there is something interesting about the word reclaim here. Because reclaiming in midlife isn't always about taking back something we once had. Sometimes it is about claiming something we should have been given in the first place: knowledge, language, understanding, permission to ask questions, permission to speak openly and permission to take what is happening in our bodies seriously.

Perhaps, in that sense, we aren't only reclaiming backwards. We are claiming something forward.

So I leave you with the question I have been sitting with: What might you need to understand more deeply about yourself in this season of your life? And what might become possible if you did?

Take gentle care of you.

Shannon

Clinical Psychologist
Midlife Reclaimed Blogger and Fellow Midlife Woman

A note on AI: AI-assisted tools were used to support the editing and refinement of this article. The reflections, experiences and perspectives shared are my own.