Around 2014, my health began to unravel in ways I never expected. It started with blurred vision due to ocular migraines that were disorienting and frightening. Soon, heart palpitations followed. I quit smoking, sugar, and coffee, hoping to regain control over my health. I was already seeing a chiropractor for chronic neck and back pain, but when I told her about the migraines, she warned me that I was at risk of a stroke and refused further treatment until I got more medical answers. That was a shock.
Soon, pain crept into my joints and hips, so intense that doctors mentioned the possibility of hip replacement surgery down the line. Meanwhile, my menstrual cycles became erratic – first heavy, then nonstop. I bled for six months straight at one point. I was physically drained, and emotionally, I was sinking into a fog of depression and anxiety deeper than anything I’d experienced before – this felt darker, hopeless, with intense suicidal thoughts. Due to the brain fog, on one occasion, I forgot my own sister’s name. Given a family history of dementia, I feared the worst. I thought maybe this was it.
In 2016, during a holiday in Portugal with my husband Stephen, I experienced a sudden flooding event – a week’s worth of bleeding in 15 minutes. It was terrifying and totally uncontrollable.
Mental & physical agony
Back home my symptoms multiplied: explosive rage, relentless insomnia, night sweats, hair falling out in clumps, breathtaking pelvic pain, bleeding gums, anxiety. My body was unravelling non-stop, thread by thread.
I saw 15 different specialists, each offering a new theory – coeliac, PCOS, polyps, but nothing helped. I worked with GPs, psychologists, gynaecologists, sports physiologists, dermatologists, naturopaths, sexologists, gastroenterologists, physiotherapists, and even a periodontist. Still, no one had a clear answer. The response was always the same: “You’re just stressed.” “You’re burnt out.”
But I had thrived in high-pressure roles for nearly two decades, earning promotions in a male-dominated industry. When one day my boss said, “You seem really anxious lately,” it hit me: I had changed, and I didn’t know why.
For years I was trapped in survival mode – constantly tracking symptoms and overhauling my lifestyle, desperate for answers. At one point, I counted 31 symptoms. They didn’t come and go; they just kept stacking on top of each other.
I cannot remember the exact time that I first heard the word ‘perimenopause’, however a friend mentioned she was having an ablation “because of perimenopause”. Around the same time, during a laser appointment, the beautician said she thought the pigmentation on my face was due to perimenopause. That stuck with me.Through my own research, I began to suspect perimenopause was behind my symptoms. I reached out to colleagues and older women for clarity but still felt lost. In desperation, I even called Lifeline twice. I was spiralling, and no one seemed to understand the depth of what I was experiencing.
In 2018, I was made redundant without warning – labelled “difficult” and “aggressive”. Officially, it was due to a restructure, but deep down, I felt it had more to do with how I was silently struggling through perimenopause. Six months after that, I left another job, not because of the work itself, but because I simply couldn’t cope with my untreated menopause symptoms.
I didn’t know I could go to the Fair Work Commission. I didn’t know I had rights. We often don’t, until it’s too late. The silence and ignorance around menopause left me isolated, broken, and invisible.
Answers at last
In 2021, a colonoscopy to rule out bowel cancer became an unexpected turning point. Heavy bleeding began that day, and the gastroenterologist said, “This is hormonal, maybe perimenopause.” It was the first time a doctor had named it, and I finally felt seen. The results confirmed it: this was a women’s health issue.
But instead of relief, I felt rage. I was losing my career and sense of self to a common, treatable hormonal condition. That realisation broke something in me.
It took another year to receive a formal diagnosis. In the meantime, my symptoms worsened. Depression, insomnia, chronic pain and brain fog left me barely functioning. One day, my husband, a nurse, looked at me and said, “If I saw you in the community right now, I’d have to section you.” It was the wake-up call I needed. I knew I had to get help.
I asked my gynaecologist for oestrogen therapy. She resisted, convinced I was too young and influenced by outdated medical concern about the safety of Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT). When she finally prescribed it, within two days of using the estradiol patch, I felt a shift – the fog began to lift, the anxiety eased, and my mind started to clear. It felt like coming back to life. Over the following months, I worked with doctors to find the right combination of bioidentical hormones, supplements, and lifestyle changes.
Slowly, the pain eased, my memory returned, and the exhaustion that once ruled my days began to fade. HRT hasn’t been a miracle cure, but it’s given me hope and the strength to reclaim my life.
A path forward
Today, I’m the founder of Mimi Moon Meno, committed to helping women feel heard, supported, and empowered through this often-overlooked life stage. I’ve spoken at conferences, corporate events, and to the Australian Senate Inquiry into Menopause to help shift the conversation. Thanks to advocacy, there’s now $573.3 million in government funding for women’s health including menopause care and improved access to HRT through the Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme – but there’s still much work to do. At a recent event, a young woman told me her mother was made redundant during menopause. I told her: “That’s unfair dismissal. She has rights.” Awareness is the first step toward change.
In my former roles in the social housing sector, I spent years helping older women at risk of homelessness, and now, my own generation, Gen X, is facing the same crisis, driven by also untreated menopause. Without a supportive husband, a mortgage-free home, and the means to pay for healthcare, I could have been one of them.
This is why I speak out. Because menopause is about more than hormones – it’s about dignity, security, and justice. I continue to navigate my own journey, and while I’m surviving, no woman should have to fight this hard just to be well.
