Somewhere in the haze of early parenthood, I clocked another great tectonic shift happening in my body.
Perimenopause crept in so gradually for me, and was masked so comprehensively by the post-partum hormonal tidal waves, that I didn't really notice it until it was a juddering, seismic fault line crossing everyday life.
Every body's menopause is different.
For me it manifests in erratic sleep, manic productivity followed by catatonia, a mild furnace that kicks in unprompted and when least desired (though, this is pretty manageable in my case), weight gain that is completely beyond my understanding or control, intermittent patches of grey cotton wool in my executive function, and - the most cringe-inducing of all - neuro-linguistic flips that have me standing on the podium calling oboes "clarinets", trumpets "turnips" and inventing numbers like eighty-eleventy-forty-twelve.
My family and colleagues, bless'em, have gotten REALLY good at translating. I genuinely cannot fault their grace and understanding.
And now there is something new to add to the list.
This week - a gloriously happy week with some wonderful young musicians - has been punctuated by liberal groundswells of tears: when the musicians crescendo; when a tutor engages with me in a warm, collegial way; when I'm thanking someone; when a coathanger is hanging in an unexpected direction; or when I finish a cup of tea.
Tears.
All the tears, everywhere.
It is completely out of my control, so I've just let them flow and been honest about what's happening, to anyone who asks (a glorious feminine *upgrade*, according to a fantastic reel I saw the other day). The accompanying inner monologues of shame, acceptance, vulnerability, strength (the list goes on) are relentless and ever shifting in their hue and opacity.
The media coverage of Rachel Reeves' tears in Westminster last week (particularly the nastier corners: I'm looking at you Piers Morgan) is, therefore, of particular interest to me.
Vulnerability from leaders - female leaders, in particular - is not just taboo, but repugnant, apparently. Grounds for resignation, even. I don't know the real cause of Reeves' tears, and it's frankly none of my business.
I mean, let's be honest: of all the outrageous and emotionally out-of-control things sitting MPs have done in that building over the years (Michael Heseltine going apeshit and swinging the mace around in parliament, Eric Joyce head-butting colleagues, and the bell-end who was caught in the chamber watching tractor porn), having a spontaneous blub when you're having a shite week at work is a pretty tame one.
The problem is, when you're a leader - and in particular a leader in the public eye - unless you live in an emotional Fort Knox, your vulnerability is in full view. And for bullies or those masking their own insecurity, vulnerability is low-hanging fruit.
The awesome thing about perimenopause is you have no choice.
It's a stray Saint Bernard that just keeps turning up and slobbering all over you while you're wearing silk trousers. And as someone in a public leadership role, without the option of retreating to a cool, dark room when the need arises, you take the slobbery, muddy-pawed mutt with you wherever you are expected to be seen, scrutinised, idealised. Perimenopause is now part of the show.
Well, so be it. There's no inspiring takeaway or SEO-appeasing list in this one. This is just a shout out to everyone who bears witness to the people in their life going through this, without judgement, who find ways to accommodate and support, and who allow their understanding of the person in front of them to adapt as it needs to.
So, here's to all those standing on literal and figurative podiums, who are weathering everything their ovaries throw at them when little less than perfection is expected of them by public and colleagues alike. Fucking, power to you.
And to the generations before us who were pioneers as women leaders, and had no instagram memes to steer them through with humour and advice, let alone feminist support structures in their workplaces, may your (probably mildly osteoporotic) Goddess bones rest easy.
We'll see you on the other side.
Enjoyed the blog? Subscribe to our newsletter to receive it delivered straight to your inbox
