In honour of International Women’s Day March 8th, this one is for all of the women out there who will one day be perimenopausal, menopausal, and for the people who love them. Bear with me, as this blog might feel a little self-indulgent, and maybe even TMI. If you’re uncomfortable with talking about change, aging, and the reality of women’s bodies, this might not be for you.
I remember my first period. I was in grade 6, at drama camp, in the middle of a hot Ottawa summer. I wore a pad akin to a diaper and track pants for the whole camp. Not exactly ideal in July. We didn’t talk about periods in my family—whether it was because of my generation or because I was raised Catholic, gynecological health simply wasn’t discussed. All I knew was that now I could have babies, and I was officially a “woman.”
Eventually, through Cosmopolitan magazine, older cousins, and awkward conversations with friends, we fumbled our way into understanding “the curse.” I wish I knew then what I know now: that the female reproductive system is extraordinary, something to be celebrated and honoured. If I’d understood my hormone system better, I could have spared myself a lot of suffering over the decades.
Fast forward 41 years, and I’m still learning from this miraculous body. It is, truly, a finely tuned machine that knows exactly what to do and when. If I listen to it and support it through proper diet, sleep, exercise, yoga, and meditation. The more I connect to my body, the more I can hear its feedback and respond accordingly and lovingly.
My thirties were a blur of cancer treatments, raising kids, and simply trying to stay afloat. My forties became about reclaiming my agency, my sexuality, and my strength. Then, in my mid-forties, came the dreaded and whispered-about word: perimenopause. For me, heavy periods ended with a uterine ablation, the best thing I could have done at that point. And here’s where I realized something vital: I only learned about that option by talking to other women. This is my first point: We must share our stories! Silence has always surrounded menopause, and women’s health in general as though it’s embarrassing, unimportant, as though menopause marks the “end” of womanhood.
Well, I’m here to tell you: that’s a load of bullshit.
Yes, menopause changes us. Yes, society makes it harder by layering on impossible beauty standards and constant reminders that youth is prized over age. I’ve asked myself: would I feel better with fewer wrinkles, with firmer skin, with less sag? But those things wouldn’t erase the hot flushes, the dry skin, or the changes to my body that are part of this transition. What has shifted me most is realizing that menopause is not a death sentence—it’s a rite of passage. It’s an honour to step into the role of crone, of wise woman.
This isn’t just poetic, it’s evolutionary. Our ancestors relied on women past childbearing age to ensure the survival of the tribe. Younger women tended to children, hunters went out for food (and often came back with less than needed), while the grandmothers, armed with wisdom, memory, and skill kept the gardens alive and the people fed. Without aging women, there would have been no tribe.
And here’s where elephants come in. Elephant herds are led by a matriarch, the oldest female. She is no longer reproducing, but her memory and knowledge are what keep the family alive. She remembers where the water lies in a drought. She knows how to protect her herd in danger. Without her, the family falters. With her, they thrive.
Humans are no different. Anthropologists even have a name for it: the Grandmother Hypothesis. Communities survived because post-menopausal women carried the knowledge, cared for grandchildren, and held the social fabric together.
So why do we still treat menopause as something shameful, something to hide? The truth is: menopause is not the end of womanhood, it is the beginning of matriarchal power. It is the moment when we step into our fullest wisdom, our deepest knowing, and our truest selves.
And here’s what I’ve come to understand most: although my body is aging, my confidence is stronger than it has ever been. My love of life is deeper. My wisdom keeps me alive and awake. I no longer measure myself against the impossible standards of youth, because I know that I can still thrive for decades to come.
Like the elephant matriarch, I am not less because of age—I am more.
Written by Nicole Whitman