We All Go Through This—So Why Don't We Talk About It?

Here’s the thing that keeps catching me off guard.

Menopause is universal. Silence around it is, too.

Somewhere between puberty and old age, we all pass through this hormonal funhouse—yet most of us do it quietly, privately, and with just enough information to wonder if we’re losing our minds.

Which begs the question: If everyone goes through this… why does it feel like no one talks about it?

The Collective Weirdness

Menopause tends to arrive like a left hook. You’re fine—until you’re not. One minute you’re living your life, the next your hormones have decided to remix the entire soundtrack. Mood, sleep, focus, libido, patience, body temperature, sense of self. All up for renegotiation.

And yet, culturally, we treat this as something you’re supposed to handle. Quietly. Gracefully. Preferably without inconvenience to anyone else.

We call it “normal,” but what we really mean is: This happens to everyone, so don’t make a fuss.

That distinction matters.

Because “normal” shouldn’t mean confusing. It shouldn’t mean isolating. And it definitely shouldn’t mean white-knuckling your way through years of change without language, context, or support.

The Generational Gap

For many of us, the women who came before didn’t talk about menopause—not because they didn’t want to, but because they didn’t have the words, the permission, or the space.

Symptoms were dismissed. Experiences minimized. Advice boiled down to some version of “Yep. That happens.”

So we inherited silence instead of stories.

And without stories, we’re left piecing things together from half-remembered comments, late-night internet searches, and that moment you realize all your friends are quietly Googling the same things—but no one has said it out loud yet.

When "Normal" Becomes a Trap

One of the most damaging parts of the silence is how easily normal turns into inevitable.

Hot flashes? Normal. Brain fog? Normal. Anxiety, rage, exhaustion, feeling disconnected from your body? Also normal.

Which somehow translates into: There’s nothing to understand here. Just endure it.

But endurance is not the same as understanding.

And when we don’t talk about what’s happening, we miss the chance to recognize patterns, share strategies, or even realize that what we’re experiencing has a name—and a context—and a timeline.

The cost of that silence shows up as:

Confusion (“Why didn’t anyone warn me?”)

Shame (“Why can’t I handle this better?”)

Late realizations (“Oh… this started years ago.”)

None of that is necessary.

Why Talking Matters

Menopause isn’t just a collection of physical symptoms. It’s a whole-body, whole-life transition. It affects how we feel, how we relate, how we move through the world, and how we see ourselves in it.

Talking about it doesn’t make it heavier. It makes it clearer.

It gives us language instead of guesswork. Perspective instead of panic. And sometimes, the simple relief of realizing: Oh. It’s not just me.

So no—this isn’t about oversharing or complaining or turning menopause into a personality trait.

It’s about acknowledging a shared experience that’s been treated like a private inconvenience for far too long.

And about asking, with a raised eyebrow and genuine curiosity: What might change if we stopped pretending this wasn’t happening?