MENOPAUSE IS NOT A NEW SEASON. SOMETIMES IT IS ABSOLUTE CARNAGE.

There’s a phrase that gets thrown around a lot when women hit menopause:

“It’s a new season of life.”

Lovely.

Very wholesome.

Very linen trousers and a woman standing in a field looking thoughtfully towards the horizon.

Except sometimes menopause doesn’t feel like a new season.

Sometimes it feels like someone has quietly dismantled the operating system you’ve been using for the last 40 years and replaced it with one that was designed by a committee of feral raccoons.

You’re sweating.

You’re awake at 3.17am.

Your patience has left the building.

Your periods have apparently entered their experimental phase.

Your brain has forgotten why you walked into the kitchen.

You’re exhausted, but somehow wired.

You’re irritated by noises you previously tolerated quite happily.

And then there’s the small matter of wondering whether you’re losing your mind.

This is not a season.

Sometimes, it is absolute carnage.

And we think women deserve to be able to say that.

The problem with making menopause sound lovely

We’re not against positivity.

We’re against pretending.

Because there’s a particular kind of language that gets used around women’s health that manages to make genuinely difficult experiences sound like they’re basically an opportunity for a nice new moisturiser.

Menopause becomes:

A transition.

A transformation.

A new chapter.

A chance to reconnect with yourself.

And yes, menopause can be a new chapter.

But a chapter can still be fucking hard.

You can be relieved that your periods are ending and simultaneously feel like your body has declared war.

You can feel stronger in yourself and completely undone by a night of broken sleep.

You can know that what you’re experiencing is hormonal and still think, “What the actual hell is happening to me?”

Those things can exist together.

That’s the bit we need to get better at.

Because sometimes the hardest part is not knowing what is happening

One of the things women tell us again and again is how unsettling it can be when their body suddenly starts behaving differently.

The symptoms can be physical.

They can be emotional.

They can be cognitive.

And sometimes they’re just bloody weird.

You might recognise yourself.

Or you might not.

And when you’re already exhausted, trying to work out whether something is “normal” can feel like another full-time job nobody asked you to take on.

There’s also the embarrassment.

The hot flush in a meeting.

The sudden rage.

The brain fog.

The sleep deprivation.

The sex drive that has apparently gone on sabbatical.

The vaginal changes nobody warned you about, the itchy vulva!

The feeling that your body has become a conversation you’re having entirely in your own head because nobody else seems to want to talk about it.

That silence matters.

Because when we don’t talk about something, women often assume they’re the only ones experiencing it.

They’re not.

We need less euphemism. More honesty.

This is one of the reasons we built The Shit Show Co.

We’ve spent our careers sitting with women during the bits of life that don’t fit neatly into a greeting card.

We’ve seen the fear.

The frustration.

The exhaustion.

The humour.

The tears.

The “is this actually happening to me?” moments.

And we’ve learned that honest support matters.

Not because women need to be frightened.

Because women deserve enough information and emotional safety to understand what’s happening to them.

We believe women deserve honesty, not euphemisms.

That means being able to say:

Menopause can be hard.

Sometimes really hard.

And saying that doesn’t mean you’re failing at it.

It doesn’t mean you’re negative.

It doesn’t mean you’re not grateful.

It means you’re telling the truth.

And yes, there can be humour in it

Because sometimes humour is the only thing standing between you and screaming into a cushion.

We’re not talking about laughing at menopause.

We’re talking about that particular kind of laughter that happens when someone finally says the thing you’ve been thinking for six months.

“Oh thank God. It’s not just me.”

That is our kind of humour.

A pressure valve.

A way of making something frightening or embarrassing feel slightly less lonely.

Because you can take something seriously without taking every bloody second of it solemnly.

So if you’re in the thick of it…

You’re allowed to say it’s shit.

You’re allowed to be exhausted.

You’re allowed to want practical help rather than another inspirational quote.

You’re allowed to have good days and absolutely dreadful ones.

You’re allowed to laugh.

You’re allowed to ask questions.

You’re allowed to talk about the things nobody taught you to talk about.

And you’re allowed to expect better support.

Because menopause is not a personality makeover.

It isn’t a wellness trend.

It isn’t something you need to perform beautifully.

It is a significant physical and emotional chapter of life.

And sometimes?

It is absolute carnage.

So let’s stop pretending otherwise.

Let’s talk about the hot flushes.

The rage.

The brain fog.

The sleep.

The sex.

The bits nobody warned you about.

The things you Google at 3am.

The things you whisper to your friends.

The things you thought were just you.

Because they probably aren’t.

And frankly, we’re done whispering.

This is shit. And you’re not alone in it.

That’s a much more useful place to start.