What Millennial Women Owe the Next Generation: Let's Talk About Perimenopause
I didn't know what perimenopause was — and I was already in it.
I had heard the word, but in my mind it belonged to a different season of life. A later one. I thought you had your kids, made it through the baby years, and then things were supposed to get easier.
That's the phase I felt like I was finally entering. My youngest was around three or four. I had three kids, I had survived the thick of it, and I remember thinking — okay. This is where things start to feel lighter.
And that's exactly when things started to feel off.
When It Started
It came on slowly. In ways I almost talked myself out of noticing.
I couldn't think as clearly as I used to. Simple things felt harder than they should have. It was fog. Like I was trying to think clearly and just… not getting there. I was distracted in a way that didn't feel like me.
The exhaustion was different too. Not the tired that comes from three kids and a full life. I know what that feels like. I've lived that.
This was something else.
Something underneath it. An exhaustion that sleep didn't fix and that I couldn't explain away no matter how hard I tried.
I stay active. I've always taken care of myself. I left a career I'd built for years because I knew something needed to change. I went on a women's retreat alone — something I had never done — because I was chasing a version of myself I felt slipping away.
I was not someone who ignored her body or her instincts.
But I almost ignored this.
Because I didn't have the language for it. I wasn't thinking hormones. I wasn't thinking perimenopause.
I was just thinking — I don't feel like myself. And I don't know why.
What I Didn't Know
I didn't know perimenopause could start in your 30s.
I didn't know it could look like this — like brain fog, bone-deep exhaustion, and a version of yourself that felt slightly out of reach.
And I didn't know there were ways to support it.
That's the part I keep coming back to. Not that I went through it — but that I went through it without understanding what was happening in my own body.
I spent that long feeling off, trying to figure it out, when there was actually an explanation.
The Part That Surprised Me
When I finally went to my doctor and she recommended HRT, I was caught off guard.
HRT felt like something for women much older than me. Not someone in her late 30s with small kids, still in the middle of everything.
Even though I trusted her completely — I didn't start.
I had the prescription. I held onto it. And I chose not to fill it, not because I didn't believe it could help, but because I didn't know enough about it or anyone else doing it.
I had no one to talk to about it. No friend who had been through it. No one who had said me too or here's what I know or here's what helped me.
I felt alone in it. And when you feel alone in something, it's easy to wait.
So I waited.
For a whole year.
What Changed
When I went back the following year, my symptoms were worse. My levels had dropped even more.
And something shifted for me in that appointment. Not fear — clarity. I could see it plainly. This wasn't something I needed to push through or figure out on my own. This was something my body needed support with. And support was available.
So I started.
And the fog lifted. My energy came back. I started to feel like myself again in a way I hadn't in years — and I hadn't even fully realized how much of myself I had lost until I started to come back.
That's the part that's hard to explain. You get so used to not feeling good that you forget what feeling good actually feels like.
Why This Matters Beyond Just Me
Now I look around and I wonder.
How many women are exactly where I was? Feeling off. Pushing through. Telling themselves it's just stress, just being busy, just part of life. Not realizing there might be a real explanation for what they're experiencing — and real support available to them.
How many women are holding a prescription they haven't filled because they don't know anyone else doing it?
I was one of them. For a year.
How many are waiting another year?
What We Owe Each Other
We are a generation that talks.
We've opened up about mental health in ways our mothers never did. We've been honest about the hard parts of motherhood, about marriage, about identity, about the things that don't look pretty on the surface. We've made it more normal to say what's actually going on.
And we've changed things because of it.
This should be one of those conversations.
Not whispered. Not only in doctor's offices. Out loud — between friends, over coffee, in the comments section, on the phone. The way we talk about everything else that matters.
Because when we stay quiet, the next woman walks into this the same way we did. Alone. Without language. Wondering what is wrong with her.
What We Owe Our Daughters
This part matters so much to me.
I have two daughters. And I think about them navigating this someday — in their 30s, in the middle of their own full lives — and I want them to already know. I want them to recognize what's happening in their bodies. I want them to have the language I didn't have. I want them to walk into a doctor's office and advocate for themselves with confidence instead of sitting with a prescription they're afraid to fill.
They shouldn't have to figure this out alone.
None of our daughters should.
They should grow up knowing what perimenopause is, what it can feel like, and what support looks like. They should know they don't have to push through something that has an explanation. They should know sooner — so they don't lose a year, or two, or more, to something that could have been addressed.
That starts with us talking about it now.
The Shift
For me, this wasn't about one solution. HRT was part of it — a significant part. But it was also about finally understanding what was happening in my body and learning to take care of myself in a new way. Paying attention to my nervous system. Getting the mental load out of my head. Moving my body in ways that actually felt good. Raising my standards for how I wanted to feel.
It was awareness that changed everything. Once I understood what I was working with, I could actually work with it.
Let's Start Talking
We don't need to have all the answers.
We just need to stop staying quiet.
Talk about it with your friends. Ask how they're really feeling. Share what you've experienced. Be the one who brings it up — even if it feels early, even if it feels strange, even if you're still figuring it out yourself.
That's how things become normal. That's how women feel less alone. That's how the next generation moves through this with clarity and confidence instead of confusion and self-doubt.
And I really believe — with everything in me — that's what we owe them. 🤍
If this resonated with you, save it and send it to a friend who needs to read it. The more we share, the more we normalize — and that's how things actually change.
-Rachel
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