The Menopause Chronicles No One Warned You About
- liveinconfidence
- May 5
- 5 min read
Updated: May 7
Let’s talk about menopause. That magical time in a woman’s life when your body decides it’s had enough of your nonsense and flips the hormonal table like an angry diner in a bad reality show.
No one prepares you for the moment you wake up drenched in sweat like you just ran a marathon in a sauna — only you’ve been asleep, and your Fitbit confirms it. Or the mood swings that hit with the subtlety of a wrecking ball: one minute you’re calmly folding laundry, the next you’re crying because a squirrel looked at you weird.
“Hot flashes?” Please. Let’s call them what they are: internal arson. It’s like your organs just remembered they’re angry and decided to stage a bonfire behind your sternum.
You start Googling symptoms, and every result leads to the same conclusion: either menopause or a haunting. Honestly, at this point, I’d believe either.
My libido didn’t leave, it just downsized and moved to a quiet cottage in the woods where it reads books and avoids eye contact.
Forgetfulness? I walked into the kitchen to get an ice pack, came out with a spoon, three almonds, and a mild existential crisis.
And don’t even get me started on sleep. I either sleep like I’ve been hit with a tranquilizer dart, or I’m up at 2:47 AM deciding if my foot feels weird or if I’m dying.
Menopause is not just “your period stopping.” Oh no. It’s a full-blown identity crisis with a side of insomnia and a sprinkle of irrational rage. Add in memory lapses so frequent you start to wonder if you’re slowly auditioning for a part-time role in early-onset chaos.
Menopause isn’t a chapter — it’s a whole new genre. One where the plot twists include growing a chin hair overnight, crying over insurance commercials, and waking up drenched in sweat like you just wrestled a bear in a sauna.
Your body starts playing Hormonal Whac-A-Mole — you fix one thing, and another symptom pops up wearing a fake mustache and screaming, “SURPRISE!”
And don’t even try to explain it to anyone under 40. They just blink at you like you’ve been possessed by the ghost of a Victorian ghost widow who misplaced her fan and her patience.
But here’s the kicker: no one talks about how lonely this can feel. You’re trying to function like a normal adult while your hormones throw molotov cocktails at your nervous system. And society? It hands you a cooling towel and whispers, “Just power through.” As if this isn’t the biological equivalent of your operating system glitching mid-update.
About a year into feeling like a sleepless, sweaty, rage shell of my former self, I stumbled across something magical: Hormone Replacement Therapy. HRT. The Holy Relief Treatment. The Hallelujah Rescue Team. Whatever you want to call it, I called a women’s clinic faster than I’d ever called anyone who wasn’t delivering pizza.
Because trust me — if you go to your regular doctor? They'll look at you like you just need a nap, a multivitamin, and maybe some yoga. No. I didn’t need a prescription, I needed someone to hand me my sanity back — in a patch, a pill, or a cream — I wasn’t picky.
I met the women’s hormone superhero of all time. She walked in with a lab coat, a stethoscope, and the vibe of someone who has personally stared down 300 hot flashes and lived to tell the tale. I’m pretty sure she glowed. Or maybe that was just the fluorescent lighting — hard to tell when you’re crying from relief and sweating through your bra at the same time.
Now, HRT is like that friend who shows up late to the party — but brings wine, snacks, and a fan to cool you down. It doesn’t fix everything, but it might just stop you from murdering your partner for chewing too loudly.
But let’s be real — starting HRT isn’t as easy as saying “one estrogen, please.” You have to go through blood work, questionnaires, and awkward conversations that include phrases like “vaginal dryness” and “raging inferno in my chest.”
You’ll Google everything. You’ll join Facebook groups. You’ll ask questions like, “Will this give me cancer?” and “Why do I suddenly feel like I could lead a Viking invasion before breakfast?” And honestly, you’ll still be confused because half the information out there was written when shoulder pads were considered fashion-forward.
So here’s my experience:
Menopause is not a weakness. It’s a transition. A weird, sweaty, emotional, sometimes liberating rite of passage.
HRT is not a magical fix, but for many women, it helps. And you deserve to feel good — not just “survive” this phase. I have energy again, I sleep at night, there is no vaginal dryness, yes, I said it, but you have to know this since we are being real here, and I feel like I am somewhat whole again.
No, you’re not losing your mind. Yes, it’s okay to laugh about it. In fact, it’s necessary.
If we can’t find the humor in hormone swings, middle-of-the-night sheet changes, or bursting into tears over a dog food commercial — then what are we even doing?
You are not crazy. You are changing. And if that change comes with bioidentical hormones and a Costco-sized fan, so be it.
We don’t talk about menopause enough. But we should. Loudly. With snacks. And probably while wearing moisture-wicking pajamas.
Because this isn’t just a “women’s issue.” It’s a life chapter. A hormonal rollercoaster. A foggy, sweaty, rage-laced rebirth. And it deserves more than hushed whispers and a half-hearted pamphlet from 1997.
So let’s stop pretending we’re fine when we’re melting from the inside out. Let’s share the real stories — the ones where we forgot our own zip code but remembered to pack snacks for everyone else. The ones where we laughed through the mood swings and cried during car commercials. The ones where we finally figured out what we needed… and gave ourselves permission to ask for it.
Menopause might be messy. But we? We are magnificent.
Pass the dark chocolate and crank the fan — we’ve earned it.
Funny (and Relatable) Facts About Menopause
You become a human lava lamp. Hot flashes strike at any moment — especially in important meetings or while you're trying to sleep in fresh sheets. Bonus points if you sweat through a blouse during a Target run.
Your thermostat is broken — permanently. One minute you’re freezing, the next you’re ripping off your sweater like you’re in a Beyoncé concert costume change.
Crying over random objects is totally normal. Commercials, dogs in sweaters, expired yogurt — anything is fair game.
Memory? What memory? You walk into a room with confidence… and then stand there like a Sims character waiting for instructions.
Mood swings are Olympic-level events. You can go from "Namaste" to "Don’t test me, Todd" in under 0.7 seconds.
Sleep is a distant memory. Insomnia isn’t just a phase — it’s a lifestyle. You’re either wide awake at 3 AM or snoring with one eye open on the couch at 6 PM.
Chin hairs arrive uninvited and aggressively. They grow overnight like they’re on some kind of botanical miracle-grow hormone mission.
“Dry” is now your least favorite word. Skin, eyes, joints, other places we shall not name — dryness is the surprise guest who won’t leave the party.
Your inner monologue now includes yelling at your body like it’s an uncooperative roommate. "Really? We’re sweating again? It’s 65 degrees!"
Menopause gives zero sh*ts — but now so do you. Honestly, one of the weird perks of this stage? You finally stop caring what other people think. Mood swings aside, that part’s kind of fabulous.
So if you see me walking around with a cooling towel, a hormone patch, and a glazed-over look in my eye — just know I’m not lost. I’m just menopausal. And possibly headed to Trader Joe’s for dark chocolate and a sense of purpose.
Becky Shaffer
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