I could tell you my story of what it’s like to live with perimenopause as a neat timeline of doctors’ visits, symptoms, and endless women telling me I’m “too young.” But honestly? I can’t remember it all. Some parts have been awful — the anxiety and heart palpitations being the worst — followed closely by sleepless nights and the surprise redistribution of body fat (that one was a real shocker).

But what really matters isn’t the checklist of symptoms. It’s how it feels.
That’s how I want us to connect — through the shared feelings. And I want you to know that however your symptoms show up, you’re not alone. There are so many women feeling lost, fed up, and unsure of themselves, quietly walking this same road right alongside you.

Imagine this: you’ve been plodding along the same path for years — juggling work, home, family, the million invisible tasks that make up daily life — and suddenly, the ground shifts beneath your feet. You’re still on the same road, technically, but everything feels different. The air is heavier, the landscape uneven.

That’s what perimenopause feels like. At least, that’s what it’s been like for me. It’s still you, but your body and mind start speaking a new language — and you haven’t got a clue what they’re on about.

When you start looking into it (and I am all too aware, the internet is overflowing with information now), you’ll find all sorts of explanations of what perimenopause is and how your hormones are changing — fluctuating, sometimes multiple times a day. One week you feel calm, clear, capable. The next, you’re in tears because someone put the cups away in the wrong place. You walk into rooms and forget why you’re there. (Although, to be fair, I think that happens even before the menopause years — our minds are constantly spinning with everyone else’s needs. It’s no wonder memories go missing, only to resurface at the most random times)

Sleep starts playing hide-and-seek. Moods swing. Energy dips without warning.
And for me? My confidence took a nosedive — not ideal when there wasn’t all that much to begin with. You start questioning not just how you feel, but who you are inside it all.

Now, add hypothyroidism into the mix.
I was diagnosed at around 17 or 18, after a few difficult life events. The doctors first assumed I was depressed — which, to be fair, I was a bit — but I also knew something deeper was going on. By the time I got to doctor number three, she finally decided to test my thyroid “just to rule it out.” And what do you know — hypothyroidism.

Ever since, I’ve been no stranger to the health challenges that come with a chronic condition. One thing I’ve learned is that “normal levels” don’t always mean optimal levels. That lesson has served me well as I’ve gotten older — especially when it comes to advocating for my own health.

Coping with perimenopause and hypothyroidism

So if perimenopause is like running uphill, hypothyroidism is doing it with ankle weights on. The thyroid affects energy, metabolism, and temperature — so when it’s underactive, it amplifies everything. The fatigue becomes bone-deep. Brain fog rolls in like mist. You feel cold, sluggish, sometimes oddly detached from your usual spark.

And just when you think you’ve got a handle on it? The hormones shift again, and the whole cycle restarts.

Some days it feels like swimming through treacle. Other days, you feel almost normal and wonder if you made it all up. (You didn’t.)

Here’s the truth: living with perimenopause can be confusing, exhausting, and incredibly isolating, so when you add hypothyroidism to the mix too it can be crazy. I have found clarity in ways I didn’t expect and those moments have come off the back of a harsh lesson at times. It forces you to stop. To listen. To tune in to your body’s signals instead of pushing through them like you always have. It teaches you to ask for help, to question what you’re told, and as I mentioned to advocate for your own health.

This is a season that demands gentleness and rewards self-compassion.
When you slow down and pay attention, you start seeing patterns — foods that help, rest that actually restores you, movement that soothes rather than drains. You start noticing other women quietly living through the same thing, and suddenly there’s connection instead of comparison.

These women have found ways to skirt around talking about why they feel the way they do, maybe consciously and maybe they just don’t know, its mad that, even with all the noise, this is still such a little talked about subject, well not me, not now, I tell all my girl friends, my sisters, whom are all younger than me, about every little symptom and what I have done to help myself feel better and most of all I tell them, don’t let it get as bad as I did, don’t close the door when your body is telling you to listen, talk, ask for help if you need it I mean google it at the very least but just stop, listen and do..

I won’t pretend it’s been easy — because it hasn’t. My patience has been tested and snapped more times than I can count. My sense of humour has failed on several occasions. And honestly, there have been days where all I’ve wanted to do is nap.

But through it all, I feel like I’m developing a kind of wisdom that only comes from walking through the trenches. I’m learning what truly deserves my energy, who cares, and what matters most — mentally, physically, and emotionally.

So if you’re not there yet and you ask me what it’s like, I’ll tell you this:
It’s a mixed bag — messy, tiring, and sometimes lonely — but also full of unexpected clarity. You lose parts of yourself, yes, and you’ll grieve that. But you also find new parts, or rediscover old ones that had been buried for years.

You begin to live slower. Softer. More intentionally.
And once you stop fighting the changes and start accepting them, acknowledging them, there’s peace — and even a kind of quiet beauty — waiting there for you.

What It’s Really Like to Live with Perimenopause — My Story (Ish)

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