We developed the first iteration of our menopause course five years ago and have been delivering and refining it ever since. My own menopause sailed sweatily over the horizon many years ago, and more recently, I've been running menopause programmes in the workplace alongside our wider Human Upgrade work. I also have a female partner (how very modern of me) who's in the full throes of perimenopause.
All of which is to say, I'm not approaching this from the perspective of a subservient 1950s housewife. No disrespect to any trad wife or similar.
You do you.
With your pinnie.
But during Menopause Awareness Month, any man would need nerves of steel to say what I'm about to say, so I thought I'd take one for the team. I'm aware that menopause predominantly affects women (although some trans men and non-binary people experience it too). I'm also aware that, historically, we've done an abysmal job of recognising what women go through in midlife, let alone supporting them effectively.
The growing awareness, education and conversation are long overdue. I'm delighted we're finally taking it seriously, although there's plenty left to do. (Is that enough of a disclaimer?) Because there's another group I'd like to bring into the conversation.
The men who want to get it right
Husbands, partners, fathers, brothers, sons, friends and colleagues. Men watching someone they've known for years deal with a whole new set of struggles, an unwelcome and bitter cherry on top of decades of striving through the workplace, childcare, possibly caring for ageing relatives, the patriarchy, and everything else that tends to land in women's laps. And now this BS?
There are thirty-seven very common symptoms of perimenopause, with between eighty and a hundred reported clinically depending on where you look. It's like a particularly evil pick 'n' mix, where she gets an assortment of her least favourite physical and psychological symptoms, sometimes whole mouthfuls of them at once.
While she's navigating pain, discomfort, disrupted sleep, and hormonal changes that may affect her mood, patience, and emotional responses, perhaps their relationship has changed in ways that have blindsided him. And perhaps he desperately wants to help without making matters worse. She's on the front line dealing with it, of course, but that doesn't mean he is unaffected.
I know, I know, world's smallest violin, etc. But I'm going there.
Some men are dismissive or insensitive — perhaps he just is a git. I know a good many people across the gender spectrum who are on the gittish/insensitive/dismissive continuum. But I also know plenty of decent, thoughtful men who genuinely care about the women in their lives. Men who'd be mortified to think they'd got things wrong or hadn't helped when they should have.
There's a difference between not caring and not knowing
I think it's easy to confuse a lack of understanding with a lack of concern. Less that he doesn't care, more that he doesn't dare. If he says the wrong thing, he's insensitive. If he says nothing, he's heartless.
I find that silence can come from uncertainty as often as indifference. When the subject is something as personal, unpredictable, and potentially extraordinarily difficult as menopause, finding the right words isn't a walk in the park.
I remember the first time I was bereaved and suddenly thinking about all the people I'd previously said "sorry for your loss" to, without any real understanding of what those words meant.
Then I got it. You can intellectualise an experience, but until you've felt it, you can't entirely understand it. Not really.
I think that's partly why when I see the current swathe of male "menopause coaches" popping up on Insta and Facebook, they can be greeted by pitchforks.
Bold move, dude.
Bless.
Imagine being on the other side of the conversation
I have a male friend whose long-term partner I adore. They're as close to a model couple as you could get. She's always been confident, energetic, and sociable.
For the past two years, she's barely slept more than an hour or two at a time. She's seriously considering leaving her very good job, despite her employers being reasonably sympathetic, because it's just too overwhelming. She's getting upset by things that wouldn't have bothered her before and dreading going to work because of it.
He's lain awake trying to work out, in his words, how to 'fix it', knowing his suggestions are rarely overly welcome. She doesn't necessarily know what she wants him to do either.
If he gives her space, she feels abandoned. If he doesn't, sometimes the sound of his breathing is enough to make her fantasise about all kinds of ways to silence it.
And they desperately love each other. They communicate constantly and understand that this is affecting both of them. He's great. She's great. It's just a really difficult situation.
In hypnotherapy, I often talk about a psychological concept called the support gap. Essentially, the help someone offers isn't necessarily the help the other person needs.
My friend wants to make things better. His partner wants him to understand how difficult things are. He feels helpless because he can't fix it, and she feels frustrated because his suggestions aren't helping, and then feels guilty for snapping. And often neither of them knows what would help anyway.
Inclusion means everyone
Even at work, we want managers to recognise when someone might need support, colleagues to respond sensitively and people to feel comfortable discussing menopause without embarrassment or judgement.
But if our education and communication are largely directed towards women, we risk overlooking some of the very people whose understanding could make a difference.
That doesn't mean asking women to explain every symptom, excuse inappropriate behaviour or take responsibility for educating everyone else.
We run menopause workshops, but they're purposely for everyone. Fairness, inclusion, parity, sensitivity, and privacy are all everyone-issues.
Towards the end, we broaden the discussion to make it relevant whether you're experiencing menopause, have been bereaved, are undergoing treatment, have a newborn baby, or are dealing with any number of things that make life difficult. Whatever your gender, there will be times when life is extraordinarily hard. It's not a competition. Some understanding from the people around you can make an enormous difference.
And the support gap is just as relevant here. A manager may be desperate to find a solution when someone really needs to be listened to. A colleague might avoid saying anything for fear of intruding, when a little acknowledgement would be welcome.
Being supportive isn't the same as having all the answers. It's just as much about knowing how to listen, asking what would help, and respecting someone's privacy.
It's resisting the temptation to offer a solution before you understand the problem. Or judging whether a coffee run would be better received, anyway.
Making information easily accessible and helping people feel confident enough to join in with these conversations is a decent start.
It's good for people, good for business, and good for camaraderie. It's nicer to work somewhere you look forward to going because people have each other's backs.
Menopause isn't an explanation for every change in behaviour, performance or emotional response, and nobody should presume to diagnose a colleague or partner. But more knowledge can make difficult conversations easier.
It's only 14 generations since women were burned as witches, in some accounts, for symptoms we'd now associate with menopause.
We've come a long way since that, but there's still much work to do. And there are men who genuinely want to listen and understand, who deserve to be included in the conversation. These things aren't mutually exclusive.
Menopause predominantly affects women, but if we're serious about making workplaces more supportive, we need to make sure we invite everyone to the table.
Especially those who are doing their best to get it right, whilst sometimes making a royal hash of it.
I'd particularly like to hear from the men on this one. Those of you who've found yourselves trying to help, wondering what to say or deciding it might be safer to say nothing at all.
I'm also interested in how you've navigated things, what you've found helpful, and what you wish someone had told you sooner.
You're welcome to disagree with me. In common with many women whose oestrogen has left the chat, I'm considerably less worried about what people think these days.
Bring it.
;)
Reference
Crowley, J. L., & High, A. C. (2020). Validating the support gaps framework: Longitudinal effects and moderators of experiencing deficits and surpluses during supportive interactions. Communication Quarterly, 68(1), 29–53.