Menopause, Mood Swings, and Rage

A Guide to Knowing When To Run From Me

“I’m Fine”

It begins quietly.

So quietly, in fact, that I almost believe myself when I say it:
“I’m fine.”

There’s no yelling, no tears. Just a tight-lipped smile and a sense of eerie calm that even I don’t fully trust. I move through the motions of the day—packing lunches, answering emails, putting in a load of laundry like some domestic automaton on autopilot.

But inside? I am simmering.

Behind that forced smile is a mental ledger. I am cataloging everything—every small slight, every inconvenience, every ignored request. The wet towel on the bed. The socks that somehow never find the laundry basket. The unanswered “Do you need anything from the store?” that morphs into “Why didn’t you get coffee?”

It’s all going in The Vault.

And The Vault has a very low threshold these days.

“Are You Kidding Me Right Now?”

Then, without warning, the switch flips.

What starts as a mundane frustration—say, an empty milk carton put back in the fridge—suddenly becomes the moment. The moment when the dam breaks. The moment when I go from “relatively stable adult” to “walking embodiment of millennia of unacknowledged feminine labor.”

It begins with a sigh.
Followed by a raised eyebrow.
Then comes the monologue.

At first, it sounds logistical:
“How hard is it to throw the wrapper in the trash instead of next to it?”

But within seconds, I’m off the rails and barreling into philosophical terrain.

“This is exactly why women are exhausted. This is why I haven’t felt peace since the ’90s. This is why the patriarchy is still standing — because I’m too busy doing six people’s jobs at home to topple it.”

Key phrases may include:

• “For the love of GOD.”
• “Do I have to do everything around here?”
• “I am one inconvenience away from starting a new life in the forest.”
• “Watch. Out.”

At this point, loved ones should stop talking, stop moving, and for the love of their safety—stop breathing too loud.

The Hormonal Hostage Situation

Menopause isn’t just hot flashes and night sweats. It’s a full-body, full-soul transformation. And yes, that includes a hormonal rage that feels like being possessed by a barely domesticated wolf.

Estrogen is declining. Progesterone is unreliable. And my ability to “let things go” is officially out of service.

Things I used to shrug off now feel personal. Deeply personal. Existential. Like the future of civilization depends on someone picking their shoes up off the damn floor.

And while part of me knows I’m overreacting, the other part—the part holding a spatula and giving an impromptu TED Talk about emotional labor—is fully committed to the bit.

The Morning After

Eventually, the storm passes.

I wake up feeling tender. Vulnerable. A little ashamed of the volume, the intensity. But also, oddly proud. Because beneath the fury was a truth I’ve spent a lifetime trying to silence: I’m tired of being invisible. I’m tired of carrying the weight of the household like it’s a secret side job I never signed up for.

And menopause, for all its chaos, has stripped away my ability to pretend I’m not.

There’s a strange liberation in that. A voice I didn’t know I had is now at full volume. And sure, she might be yelling sometimes, but at least she’s finally speaking.

How to Love Me Through It

To those living with menopausal women — partners, kids, coworkers, innocent bystanders — here’s your guide:

1. Don’t say “Calm down.” Ever. Just… no.
2. Pick up after yourself. It’s not hard. You’re not a woodland creature.
3. Offer snacks. Dark chocolate is best.
4. Say thank you. For all the unseen, unthanked things.
5. Give space when needed. And a hug when it’s safe.

Mostly, remember this: menopause is not a breakdown. It’s a recalibration. A rising. A clearing out of things that no longer serve us — including silence, patience, and the illusion that we’re “fine.”

Because we’re not always fine.
But we are real.
We are done pretending.
And we are finally, gloriously, unapologetically — loud.