Menopause Entered the Chat. Nobody Warned Me About the Rage.

I was 45 when I had my hysterectomy.

After seven years of pain, endless appointments and fighting to be heard, I finally had the operation that gave me my life back.

But I also said goodbye to my womb. The place where my babies had grown. A part of my body I hadn’t wanted to lose, but one I’d reached the point of accepting I couldn’t keep.

I’d already had quite enough adventures with my reproductive system, thank you very much.

Apparently, nobody told perimenopause.

Because somewhere along the way, she entered the chat.

And she was furious.

Firm but fair. Until the can-slurping incident.

I’ve always had a strong personality. I was in charge in the fire service. I was once described as firm but fair, which suited me nicely.

Then something changed.

A colleague noisily slurping from a can could trigger a level of anger I barely recognised. Not a mild irritation. Not an eye-roll. My jaw would clench, my fists would tighten, and I’d have to breathe through it and ask people not to speak to me for a moment, because the intensity genuinely frightened me.

And then there was Ian.

My lovely husband had committed the unforgivable crime of wearing flip-flops. The same flip-flops he’d worn for years.

Flip. Flop. Flip. Flop.

And just when I’d recovered some composure, he’d have the audacity to breathe loudly while I was trying to read.

I held myself back and stepped away from those moments. But the sheer force of the feeling was new to me, and it was no laughing matter in the moment. If anger ever feels difficult to control, it deserves support, not dismissal as “just hormones”.

Was it rage, brain fog or the missing sleep?

I’d reach the bottom of a page and realise I hadn’t absorbed a word. I’d read it again. And again.

Names of everyday objects vanished from my head. Sleep, which had once been something I could rely on, seemed to have packed its bags and moved abroad.

Was I exhausted? Was I losing concentration because I was furious? Was the poor sleep making everything worse? Or were hormones involved?

I didn’t know. And that uncertainty was almost as frustrating as the symptoms themselves.

No periods. No obvious signposts.

Most conversations about menopause begin with changing periods. Mine couldn’t.

After a hysterectomy, you no longer have menstrual bleeding, regardless of whether one or both ovaries continue to function. I believe my ovaries were retained, but after everything that happened, I need to check my records to be certain of the details.

Nearly five years later, I’m fairly convinced my hormones have followed my uterus out of the building. Unfortunately, nobody left a forwarding address.

But how do you know whether you’re in perimenopause or menopause when you can’t count twelve months without a period?

There is an answer. NICE guidance says that for otherwise healthy people over 45 who have had a hysterectomy, clinicians can identify menopause from the type and combination of symptoms rather than period history alone. The ovaries — not the uterus — are the main source of reproductive hormones. If ovaries remain, they may keep producing hormones after surgery, although menopause can sometimes arrive earlier than expected.

It isn’t possible for me to confirm my own stage of menopause from a blog post. But knowing that the absence of periods doesn’t prevent a menopause discussion is something I wish I’d understood sooner.

The Great Body Reshuffle

Can we talk about the boobs?

Because apparently, while several parts of my body have decided to stop cooperating, my breasts have launched an ambitious expansion programme.

They’ve grown. Quite considerably, actually.

Ian is delighted, naturally.

I, on the other hand, would quite like to know where they’ve come from and whether they intend to stop.

And then there’s my stomach.

I’ve always been active. Fire service, martial arts, regular training, plenty of exercise. I’ve generally understood how my body responds to food and movement. I used to have a pretty decent abdominal section without having to devote my entire life to keeping it there.

Not anymore.

My legs? Happy to participate.

My bum? Responding nicely.

My arms? Fully committed to the programme.

My midsection?

Meh.

Diet? Meh.

Exercise? Also meh.

It has apparently declared independence from the rest of my body.

And my mind starts wandering. Is it menopause? Is it the hysterectomy? Have my internal organs decided to rearrange the furniture now that there’s an empty room downstairs?

Who knows? The honest answer is that body shape can change in midlife for several reasons, including hormonal changes, ageing and shifts in body composition. A hysterectomy doesn’t simply leave organs free to move into an empty space and create a new tummy. New or persistent abdominal swelling deserves proper assessment, and new or unusual breast changes should be checked too.

I don’t necessarily want my twenty-year-old body back. I’d just appreciate being consulted before my forty-nine-year-old body starts renovating itself.

When the witch took matters into her own hands

I’ve always had a fascination with herbs and old remedies. I make my own skincare and love exploring historical herbal books and botanical ingredients. This isn’t a passing fancy for me. I’ve spent years learning what I like to use, making my own preparations and paying close attention to how I feel.

If I’d been born a few centuries ago, I’m fairly sure somebody would have accused me of witchcraft. They might not have been entirely wrong.

After years of medical appointments, I felt drained by the prospect of beginning another complicated journey. I didn’t want to start HRT at that point. That was my personal choice, not a judgement about anyone else’s treatment.

I tried a herbal supplement that seemed to help my mood enormously. At work, the guys could apparently tell when I’d missed a day or two — and were quick to ask whether I’d taken it!

But the supplement wasn’t cheap. So naturally, the witch went looking for other things she could make.

I put together a magnesium foot spray using magnesium salts, filtered water, clary sage, lavender and other ingredients I’d chosen. Clary sage became my new bestie. And castor oil? That’s my holy grail in so much of what I make.

And do you know what? It helps me.

I sleep better. The overwhelming irritability eases. I feel more like myself. If I go a few days without it, my sleep starts falling apart again and that frightening rage returns. When I start using it again, things settle.

I know exactly the difference I’ve noticed in myself. What I can’t say is whether it would help someone else. I can’t tell you which ingredient makes the difference, either. But I won’t pretend my experience hasn’t happened just because I don’t have a clinical trial in my bathroom.

There isn’t good clinical evidence that these topical preparations rebalance hormones or reliably treat menopause symptoms, and essential oils can irritate skin if they aren’t used safely. That’s important information — but so is being able to talk honestly about our own experiences.

HRT is an option for many women. There are also non-hormonal medical approaches, lifestyle support and complementary practices to discuss. You don’t have to choose the same route as me, or anybody else.

So where does that leave me?

I’m approaching 50. I have my health and my life back after years of illness. I’m stronger and more active than I once feared I’d ever be again.

And yet, some days, I hardly recognise the way my mind or body responds.

I’m learning that being informed doesn’t mean having all the answers. Sometimes it means knowing the questions to ask:

• Could these symptoms fit perimenopause or menopause, given my hysterectomy?
• What other causes should we consider, particularly for severe mood changes, sleep problems or changes in my body?
• What options are available if I don’t want HRT right now?
• What changes would mean I should seek further assessment?

That’s what I want for every woman using SIS: somewhere to keep her experience in her own words, notice what changes, remember what she wants to ask, and go into an appointment feeling a little more prepared.

Not because SIS can diagnose menopause. It can’t. But because the story of what’s happening to you matters.

And if Ian could perhaps find some quieter footwear, that would help too.

If you’ve had a hysterectomy and lost the usual menstrual signposts, read our guide to recognising menopause without periods. And if you’re weighing up different approaches, explore menopause choices beyond one-size-fits-all advice.

Seen. Informed. Supported.

— Tamalyn 💗

A note on health information

This is one woman’s personal experience, not medical advice. Please seek medical advice for concerning or persistent symptoms; urgent help is appropriate if you feel at risk of acting on violent impulses. Personal experiences with oils are not evidence that they treat menopause.