🌿 When Perimenopause Reopens Old Wounds: A Heart‑to‑Heart for My CNBC Sisters

I’m going to be really honest, friends, the last little while has been rough. My childless grief has been louder than usual, and a big part of that is perimenopause. No one prepares you for how intense the emotional rollercoaster can be, or how it can stir up grief you thought you had learned to live alongside.

For me, perimenopause has felt like life’s cruel way of whispering, “Remember? You couldn’t have children.” Even when I’ve been in a fairly grounded place with my story, this season has a way of poking at old wounds. The grief has always been there, I’ve made peace with that and lately it feels like I’m starting from scratch, and honestly, it sucks.

I’m sharing this because I know I can’t be the only one feeling this way. That old, familiar anger toward my body has crept back in. That feeling of betrayal, of not being able to do the one thing it was “supposed” to do. And I don’t think any childless‑not‑by‑choice woman should have to go through this, yet here we are, navigating something we never asked for and can’t avoid.

I know what helps me: prioritizing self‑care, asking for what I need, leaning on the resources available to me, things like HRT, anxiety medication, rest, boundaries, and community. I’m doing all of that to the best of my ability… and it still feels heavy. Some days it feels like the universe is saying, “Oh, you thought you had figured out how to carry this? Let’s open that wound again and sprinkle in some salt.”

So here I am, managing as best I can. And if you’re in this place too, I want you to hear this clearly: Please forgive yourself.  

Forgive yourself for not feeling like yourself.

For snapping at people you love.

For crying over things that seem small.

For having zero patience.

For feeling angry at your body.

For being human.

Perimenopause is a lot. Childless grief is a lot. The combination can feel like too much and you are not too much.

What I keep coming back to are the little things that help me feel tethered: a warm cup of tea, a bubble bath, going to bed early, a snuggle with my dogs, a quiet moment with my husband, a good book, a chat with a best friend, a walk outside, sunlight on my face. These tiny acts of care don’t fix everything, but they soften the edges.

And I think that’s what we need most right now, to soften the edges. To stick together. To validate ourselves and each other. To let the tears fall. To ask for forgiveness when needed. To practice gentleness even when it feels hard.

If this speaks to even one of you, that gives me peace. And if you’re feeling this way too, I want you to know: You’re not alone. I get it. And I’m right here with you.