Life After Menopause: The Surprises Nobody Warned Me About

Let me tell you something. Insufferable hot flashes were not my telltale sign that menopause had arrived. Sure, I had the occasional personal summer, but I noted them in passing. Didn’t even need a fan. I thought I was breezing through.

I was not breezing through.

Looking back, what was actually happening was quieter and heavier. Chronic fatigue that no amount of sleep touched. A creeping depression that had no obvious cause. A falling away from things that had always anchored me — like hitting the gym with the clockwork dedication I’d maintained for years. There were days I’d come home from work and cry without knowing why. My life was fine. I was not fine.

Those are all signs and symptoms of menopause, courtesy of the hormonal changes happening beneath the surface. The body is doing something enormous and doesn’t always announce it with the symptoms you were expecting.

Welcome to Post-Menopause. There Are More Surprises.

I am now settled into post-menopause, and I want to talk about what nobody puts in the brochure.

First: urinary urgency. Let me explain the difference between regular urgency and what I am describing. Regular urgency is when you sort of have to go, you do the mental calculation, you decide you can wait, you get to your front door and do a little pee dance but ultimately make it. That is not this. This is: wake up, have to go, get up to go, and immediately start running because it is coming and it is not negotiating. Urinary urgency is a real and common post-menopausal symptom and I am here to normalize the conversation.

Here is menopause in a nutshell: women trade in one pad for another. And while I am genuinely thrilled to be done with the one we needed in the first half, I am still adjusting to the one required in the second. That’s all I’ll say about that.

The Camera Angle Problem

Never from below. Ever. From above, always. And if the shot is level, chin forward, baby.

These are things I never thought about before — back in the days when I too was a tight skin. I am now acutely aware of an increasingly ill-defined jawline and what the menopause belly community refers to simply as the belly. I am still coming to terms with both.

I remember seeing Eve Ensler’s The Good Body on Broadway. A significant portion of that play is her making peace with her stomach. At the time I genuinely had no idea what she was talking about. I understand completely now. The body changes. The way it looks changes. The way it feels changes. And making peace with that is its own ongoing practice — not a destination you arrive at but a conversation you keep having with yourself.

Dating in Post-Menopause. I Said What I Said.

Don’t get me started. In my head I am solidly in my forties. My energy, my interests, my general outlook — forties. My dating pool, however, has different ideas.

I am not pulling men in their forties. I know this. I have accepted this. What I have not yet accepted is men in their late sixties and seventies. My head is not there. I am working on it.

And then there is New York City itself, which presents its own unique obstacle course. Dating apps — I cannot. Men my age or five to ten years younger may actively want to have children. I’m sorry, what? I respect that journey. It is not my journey. I am still figuring out where exactly my journey is, and I’m doing it with as much humor as I can manage.

Being a health and wellness coach does not make me immune to the very human experiences I help my clients navigate. If anything it makes me more useful — because I have been in the fog, I have cried without knowing why, and I know what it takes to find your footing again.

What I Am Actually Doing About All of This

Here is where I land. Not in defeat, not in denial, but in honest recommitment to the habits that make the difference.

Sleep. Seven to eight hours. Non-negotiable. When I skimp I suffer and the next day knows it.

Alcohol. I cannot handle it the way I once did and I have stopped pretending otherwise. One drink too many means a wrecked night’s sleep, a skipped gym session, and a morning I’d rather forget.

Lifting. The key to aging better is lifting heavy. I have returned to the gym with intention and I am not playing around.

Nutrition. I am leaning hard into the Mediterranean diet — fruits, vegetables, fish, and all the olive oil my kitchen can hold.

Meditation. This practice has been part of my life for years but it carries different weight now. It is less about stress management and more about self-acceptance. Showing up for myself as I am, not as I was.

The Bottom Line

I have accepted where I am. I am still accepting it, because acceptance is not a one-time event — it is a daily practice. I am making improvements where I can, laughing at what I cannot control, and leaving the door open for a little assistance should I decide to walk through it. Wink.

What I know for certain is this: waking up every day and doing everything I need to do for myself, by myself, is not a small thing. It is everything.