I wasn’t prepared for menopause. I barely realized I was in perimenopause until a few years ago, and I started questioning how alien my body felt. No one ever talked about it, especially my mother. She was part of the taboo generation where you kept those things to yourself and didn’t share — not even with your daughter. I wish I had known enough to ask the questions when Mom was still alive. I would have loved to have known what it was like for her and how she navigated it. But, honestly, perimenopause and menopause were the furthest things from my mind.

It could be because I equated it with being “older.” A generalization on my part that I acknowledge may not have been the best mindset. So, why would I need to ask questions or seek answers? It was a long way off. I knew my period would naturally stop someday. Why worry about it? I didn’t realize the impact and how many women struggle with the multitude of symptoms every day. I didn’t know because few talked about it. It was like a hushed whisper or a well-kept secret. It was the scarlet letter worn indiscreetly that you alone battled. It’s felt like a purgatory-like I’m hovering between whether I’ll feel up or down.

Even now, when I research different aspects related to menopause, I’m blown away at the lack of awareness and the magic fixes you can learn about for a price. I’ve found some books about it, and I’m shocked there aren’t more reviews. I searched “best books on menopause” and filtered by 4 + star reviews on Amazon. There were 118 results. 118! The term was coined in 1821. Women have been going through it for hundreds of years. How can it be there were only 118 results? Did I do something wrong?

Our sanity and well-being are worth more than the hook and buy-in. But I get it. I, too, have been desperate to figure out why my body feels so foreign. I grieve for who I was before adult puberty decided to rear her head.

I wouldn’t say I like the emotional rollercoaster. I’m dismayed at the weight gain and loss of motivation. I’m more anxious in certain situations. My energy level has changed. I snapped in 2.2 seconds because I couldn’t find the lid of a container. I cry at more triggers now than I ever did. As they refer to it in many white papers, my libido is on sabbatical. Toss in hot flashes and sleep interruption during the night, and I’m a hot mess many days. Add fog brain to the melting pot of symptoms, making for a fine repertoire of what is happening to me.

Some days it makes me so angry that my body isn’t like it was. My shape has changed, and my belly constantly reminds me of this shift. Yet other days, I can sense the changes emerging in me as I slowly begin to accept there are silver linings.

It’s nothing to sneeze at, and no one should diminish what you are experiencing. Granted, it is different for each of us. What I’m experiencing could be vastly different than yours. And I don’t have the answers — only what I’ve been able to do to help me process what is happening.

Acceptance, I’ve learned, is the first step. But it’s taken me a while to get here.

We have one thing in common: each other. As women, we will make this transition eventually, and we can open up the conversation. We can support each other. We can yell, kick, scream, cry, and power our way through it with our heads held high. Can’t we?

And as for our partners, whoever they may be, they should be part of the conversation. It affects them too. Sometimes, when I’m having a foggy brain day, I see the look on my husband’s face. It is somewhere between concerned and confused. It frustrates me because I’m used to being on my game. It bewilders my husband because he’s not used to me not having it together.

It’s a new game. That’s the second thing I’ve learned.

I know my husband teeters on the edge of running away. Somedays, I wouldn’t blame him. Yet, he’s still by my side, trying to figure out what comes next. But is it the lack of understanding? Is it me not opening up enough? Is it him wishing things to be like before Ms. Menopause busted through our relationship doors? I don’t know, but we’re trying to work through it.

Still, I find a way on those crappy days to power through. But is that fair when I admit I’m having a day where my battery is only 50%? It’s okay to grant ourselves grace. It’s okay to admit we can’t do it all and to ask for help. It’s acceptable to seek advice and take measures to help recalibrate ourselves.

Only some are ready for the conversation or the truth about why you seem off. And I don’t know how to fix it other than to use my voice for good — to share my experience in the hope that it will help someone else share theirs — perhaps paving the way for a domino effect so we feel more comfortable talking openly and honestly about this natural occurrence.

I continue to be perplexed about why I didn’t ask the questions or seek the knowledge sooner. I’m constantly researching things and trying to educate myself about matters requiring additional knowledge. So why not this? Maybe I thought ignorance was bliss. For a while, it was. But the reality of the situation is present. So, I’m doing what I can. I’m learning, I’m seeking help, and I’m sharing my story. For anyone out there going through it, I hear you. I see you. I want you to know you are not alone.