I feel too young for menopause

I sometimes hear women say that their lives only truly blossomed after menopause. That they feel more grounded, have a clearer sense of what they want, and are more comfortable in their own skin. Some endured a difficult journey to get there, while others seemed to glide through it effortlessly, as though carried by a tailwind.

I’m genuinely happy for those women. Truly. I also know that menopause doesn’t strip you of your worth. You don’t become less of a woman. You’re not incomplete. Yet, it feels as though a different set of standards is waiting for me. I know it’s irrational. But my emotions don’t always align with logic.

It feels as though I’m being sidelined. As though I’ll soon matter less because my body is entering a phase where I can no longer have children. Not that I ever had a strong desire to be pregnant. My wife is the biological mother of our son, and that was a deliberate choice. A conscious decision.

This, however, is not a choice.

This feels like my body is closing a chapter I’m not ready to finish. As though a door is shutting somewhere while I’m still calling out, “Wait, hold on a moment!”

Unfortunately, your body doesn’t ask whether you’re ready for that.

I see it in the mirror too. Or perhaps I’m actively looking for it, which is entirely possible. Suddenly, I’ll notice a new wrinkle. I used to be able to mask a bad night’s sleep; now my face tells the full story.

For a long time, I was the youngest. The baby of the group. The one for whom certain life stages still seemed far away. I haven’t been that person for a while now, I know that. But knowing and feeling are two different things. Sometimes it feels as though I’m falling apart. Far too dramatic, of course, as if I’m creaking through the house and someone ought to call a repairman.

It’s not that bad. But sometimes it feels that way.

I still want to jump in puddles with my son when it rains. I want to hold him upside down and tickle him until he’s breathless with laughter. I don’t want to have to think about every movement: take it easy, you’re not twenty anymore.

Most of the time, I don’t. I jump, I lift, I run around. Not always gracefully, but I wasn’t particularly graceful before either.

What helps me is staying active. In addition to walking, I do some exercises at home to stay strong and flexible. For my muscles, tendons, and balance—everything I’ve suddenly realised I need to maintain. It doesn’t make life perfect, but it does make me feel better.

First, I had to get my vitamin D levels back up before I had enough energy to even start. I’ll talk more about that next month. According to medical standards, my levels weren’t dangerously low, but they were low enough to leave me struggling.

For now, I’m mostly noticing that two things can be true at once. I can feel too young for menopause and still seek out what helps me. I can be frustrated by my reflection and jump in a puddle with my son on the same day. I can be hard on myself, even though I probably need to show myself a bit more kindness.

I’m not ready for this stage. Not for the word. Not for the feeling. Not for the idea that my body is already changing while my mind hasn’t caught up.

But I’m not written off. I’m still here. Sometimes grumbling. Sometimes sweating over a board game. Sometimes aching from exercise. And sometimes outside, with wet shoes, muddy trousers, and a child laughing harder than I can keep up with.

Maybe I don’t need to know exactly what stage I’m in just yet. Maybe, for now, it’s enough to be a little gentler with myself. To not write myself off just yet. And to step into the next room, even if I glance back at what I’m leaving behind.

Anneloes is 39 years old and writes for SeeMe-nopause about women, health, and menopause as it manifests in real life: sometimes straightforward, sometimes confusing, and sometimes only recognisable in hindsight. She works with language, health, and women’s stories, also writes books, lives with her wife and their son, and has discovered that even when you’re immersed in the subject, it’s still possible to miss your own signs.