Alison Brahe opens up and shares her journey in her new book about menopause

Now that I’ve crossed that invisible line into menopause, into the second half of my life, I look around me in wonder . . . and sometimes despair.

How did I get here so fast? For a long time, even as I was working at different jobs—as a birth assistant and teacher—I still wondered what I was going to be when I ‘grew up’.

Guess what? I’m here. I grew up. I also grew out. That to happen fast too.

I wonder if that’s important? Getting physically bigger. Perhaps I needed to take up more space in this world. Perhaps keeping small emotionally kept me small physically.

Maybe you are like me and are struggling with age and all its symptoms. Maybe you are also like me and are so sick and tired of the messages we receive about body shapes and wrinkles. Maybe you are also like me and are ready for a bigger, better second half of your life.

Some of you readers may remember me way back in the eighties and nineties as being a model, mostly known as a Dolly cover girl.

Menopause has me thinking a lot about what my ‘story’ is as a female. As I look back on my life, I feel this through-line. A direct link between myself as a young girl who knew nothing about her body and the way it was changing and who I am now.

Some days I look in the mirror and love what I see, love how I feel the lines on my face caused by laughter and smiles. There have been times since moving back to Australia I’ve felt uncomfortable being recognised from an old Dolly mag. I feel embarrassed, as if somehow I might let that woman down with the way I look now. Their childhood pin-up girl—now a mother with arm flaps and dodgy knees.

Telling the truth

When I first began to share my feelings about beginning perimenopause, I could feel the restraints around this topic. Did I even want to admit I was in perimenopause? It’s not like saying I was pregnant—no one burst into tears of joy and congratulated me. Small outfits were not knitted and presented with joy. As for baby showers, now it was more like a glass of wine (with lots of ice) and some tissues. That’s about as much of a celebration most women get.

I certainly never asked any women, including my mum, about menopause.

The society we live in speaks loudly about aging in general and menopause is part of that category. Pretty much it’s, ‘Your body is about to change for the worse’, ‘Get ready for sleepless nights’, ‘Sex is over’ or ‘You’ll be fat and depressed’.

I believe we need to talk about menopause; we need to talk about how we are feeling about it all—the loss of our period/fertility. What all of this means to us.

We need to, because there is a slippery slope of somehow feeling that menopause is the death of something—our femininity, our womanliness. I’m throwing down my hand-held battery operated fan and saying, HELL TO THE NO.

I want to use menopause as a beginning. Mother Nature can’t be wrong, right?

She can’t have created us to hit a midlife number and expect us to lie down and be done with life, fun, sex, feeling good.

My beginning

I was around the age of 45. I’d been dealing with changes in my body for a while. At first I joked about it, then I worried about all the things that might happen. Then it got real. The sweats, mood swings, weight gain; changes in my skin, my hair. My laundry list of vitamins and tonics skyrocketed.

I started exercising again after basically barely moving my body for twelve years when I ‘accidentally’ lost my fitness on the hospital floor after giving birth to my third child. Still, the weight gain, the aches, the joint issues. And along came perimenopause.

I noted a change in my cycle. I’d always been regular, give or take a day or two, but then I noticed I’d have a cycle every two weeks, or I’d have a cycle that was so unbelievably heavy I could have been a shoe-in for a remake of Carrie.

Oh, and the belly grew, yes she did.

Let me put it this way: my ‘nether regions’ seemed to have disappeared under a fairly good-sized muffin top. I mean, I caught a glimpse if I heaved the belly upwards and sucked in, but generally that ‘zone’ was gone.

Look, I’m not blaming perimenopause entirely for my weight gain—there are factors such as genetics, stress and lack of sleep. Mostly, though, I’d stopped exercising. And just in case no one ever mentions this . . . when you stop moving your body it causes weight gain.

There it is, in black and white. What a revelation, right?

I was a full-time preschool teacher, and my husband travelled constantly, so I had three kids to look after on my own. There was no time and certainly no energy for exercise. It was so far down my list of priorities to take care of my health through exercise—it was just a fleeting thought. Add the hormonal shifts happening in my body and, well . . . the tummy, thighs and bum took on a life of their own. All three decided, ‘Let’s get this show on the road and grow, shall we, and let’s invite that party animal cellulite along too’.

The number of times I had to explain to people, ‘No I’m not pregnant, just fat’ was embarrassing. Convincing people that I really, truly was not six months along was ridiculous. I loved my pregnant belly and shape during all three of my pregnancies. But this looking pregnant without actually being pregnant was very unsatisfying.

Strangely, though, I had cravings like a pregnant woman, cravings for things I know I should not be eating, mostly sugar, red wine and potato chips (extra salty). Man, I craved them.

Who am I kidding? I still do.

I’ve since found out that both menopause and ageing affect your metabolism. I used to be able to cut things out of my diet and exercise to maintain a healthy weight, but now, nothing was shifting. No matter what I changed. My energy level to actually do exercise was almost flatline, so the weight continued to blossom.

I stepped into the arena of perimenopause with nothing left in the tank. I had beautiful friends telling me I needed to take care of myself, and I had read self-help books about needing to look after ‘me’. I understood the theory, though I never took action.

It’s one of those time-machine moments where I wish I could go back and tell myself to go a little easier.

Other symptoms like brain fog, anxiety and mood swings I passed off as just my feelings around leaving America—I didn’t connect them to perimenopause. Looking back, I was definitely going through a lot more, physically, than I realised. There was no time to rest and recuperate. Three kids, one dog, and a whole life to pack up, while riding everyone else’s emotional rollercoasters, was one of the most draining experiences I’ve ever gone through.

So, if you are just at the beginning of perimenopause, or still in it, self-care needs to be at the top of your to-do list.

I say that like it’s an easy thing to do. For me, it wasn’t. Self-care? I didn’t even know what that was half the time. Sometimes I thought online shopping could be considered ‘self-care’. Apparently, it’s not. Unfortunately, neither is falling asleep on the couch after overdosing on chocolate biscuits.

Self-care is elusive if you’ve never treated yourself to it. Especially if you’re a mother, or work, or both, or are a woman and were raised to put other people ahead of yourself.

Fever, in the morning, fever all through the night . . .

Before I hit perimenopause, I watched other women reach for a fan or a piece of paper to get some relief from the heat. My girlfriends stripping off layers as the hot flush lit them up from the inside.

I didn’t understand what they were really feeling.

Well, I do now! For me it’s a tingly all over, head-about-to-explode feeling. It’s as if someone has shot me full of adrenaline and turned the heat to extreme. They are so random as well, for seemingly no rhyme or reason, at rest or out and about, I suddenly find myself engulfed in sweat.

Night-time is a different beast.

And what a beast it is . . . The hurl of the bedclothes across the bed, the windows can’t be open enough, and getting back to sleep can take hours.

Again, it blows my mind that programmed into our bodies is future menopause. It cannot be undone, denied, avoided. All those Kardashian women—menopause. All those Victoria’s Secret girls—menopause. Anyone you may have compared yourself to, felt less than as you watched Instagram posts of her youthful body, yep—menopause. It’s coming for those ladies too.

We can get ready for it. I want you to get ready for it. I wish I had.

I truly believe we can/must have all our feelings around this topic, and this extends to many things: aging in general, body image, fertility, expectations of women, career change, marriage/divorce/relationship breakdown, depression, anxiety.

I intend to keep doing exactly that: HAVING. ALL. MY. FEELINGS.

New sense

On the flip side, the benefit—yes that’s right, I said it, the benefit—of all this shifting and changing is that I have a new, emerging sense about my life.

I am done with coming in second, third or last place.

I feel like I’m waking up to a new sense of myself. And I like it.

One aspect about getting older I hear about over and over from women is this wonderful new attitude of not giving a crap. This has begun to take shape for me too. Yes, I care just as much for the people and things that I love, but I don’t overthink the small or petty crap—people not liking me, spending all day in my pyjamas, or saying what I want to say when I want to say it. Turning down anything I simply don’t want to do. Of course, my people pleaser flares up every now and again, but generally I’m grateful I’ve joined the Don’t Give a Crap Club.

This is my favourite part about menopause. This is the freedom and the joy that can replace any sadness and loss.

Tips for falling in love with you

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the cutest of them all?

1. Cut the negative talk. I know, easier said than done. I still look at myself some days and lament about some part of me that I find ugly. This is not helpful. Finding just one thing you like about yourself and focusing on that alone can help shut down all the crappy negative talk. Compliment yourself as you would your best friend.

2. Gratitude is a cure all for so many negative feelings. There have been times when I’ve looked at my legs and thought, ‘Hello you beastly, dimply dragon legs. How the hell am I going to love you?’ But these legs of mine, they work—a little rusty at times, sure, but they get me around just fine, so for that, I’m grateful. I still have all my bits and pieces and generally I’m in good health, and that alone gives me an enormous sense of gratitude.

3. Forgive yourself. This is a big one. I am so much harder on myself than anyone else in my life, but continuing to punish myself for saying or doing the wrong thing never helps. I have to forgive myself for all the things I didn’t achieve or finish. Hanging on to past mistakes keeps me trapped in the guilt.

4. Let go of the idea of being perfect. What even is perfect? I have driven myself crazy with comparisons to what other women are wearing, doing, saying, being. From thinking I’ve not given my kids the best school lunch, to comparisons for the best ‘beach body’. I’m exhausted from attempting to be perfect. I’m so over ‘perfect’. Because, really, perfect is simply being 100% me.

5. Do something wonderful just for you. We are constantly told this, in women’s magazines, from self-help gurus and in parenting tips. To make time for ourselves. I’ve found my desire to want to do more for myself has grown as I’ve aged, and I’m grateful for that. The idea that sacrifice is the normal way for women to operate is no longer valid to me.

Now as I shift into my ‘me zone’, how do I begin to be okay with finding myself first in line? It’s exhilarating and most definitely undeveloped. Is this okay? Is it alright that I leave the room and close the bedroom door for an hour to read my book and drink tea in peace? That I step back from the constant expectation that Mum will cook, clean, shop, take care of the house?

The good girl people pleaser is completely horrified, but she’s no longer the loudest voice in my head. The loudest voice is seductive and she calls on me to say, Yes—be you, go for it, unshackle the role you’ve been in. I’m like a runaway train. The good girl, I hope, will never rule the roost again.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Alison Brahe-Daddo (@alidaddo)

Menopause quiz

I’m clearly not a doctor, a therapist, a naturopath or life coach. But if I can make you laugh a little, make you feel not so alone, and even sprinkle in some positivity for you, then I am happy. Very happy.

1) Do goldfish really have a memory of three seconds?

If they are female and aged between 40–60, then yes.

2) Can you lick your elbow?

If it means cooling myself off in a hot flush then yes, I will find a way.

3) How many calories does sex burn?

Don’t care, the walk to the fridge for chocolate will be more enjoyable at this point.

4) Which mammal holds the record of having the shortest duration of sexual intercourse?

The chimpanzee, at an average of three seconds. Or a menopausal woman who could possibly do it in 2.89 seconds.

5) Which Tasmanian animal is known for its fiery temper?

Sheryl, she’s 48 and six months into perimenopause.

6) What TV character must have sex every seven years?

Mr Spock . . . my dream guy.