Menopause Didn’t Break My Marriage—It Showed Me What Was Already Broken

Last year, I found myself a daily visitor on a real estate website, scrolling through listings for one-bedroom units. Not because I wanted a change of scenery—but because I was planning my divorce. I was mapping out a future where I could afford to live alone. Not in rage. Not in drama. Just in stillness.

At the time, my body was in full-blown rebellion. Perimenopause had kicked down the door and taken over every part of my life. My hormones were surging and crashing like tidal waves. I was battling mood swings, insomnia, night sweats, and a near-constant sense of being emotionally frayed. But it wasn’t just the hot flushes or the bone-deep exhaustion that had me fantasising about a solo life—it was the dawning realisation that I was done. Done regulating everyone else’s emotions. Done carrying the weight of harmony on my back.

And here’s the thing: I’m not alone.

A recent study by The Family Law Menopause Project and Newson Health Research and Education, shows that 7 in 10 women (73%) who responded blame the menopause for the breakdown of their marriage. Seven in ten. That’s not a coincidence—that’s a silent epidemic.

Let’s talk about the why.

I watched the Netflix series Adolescence recently, and it hit me like a punch to the gut. In every storyline, the women were doing the work of regulating the people around them. A wife tiptoeing around her husband’s moods. A teacher de-escalating a volatile student. A psychologist absorbing the trauma of a teenage perpetrator.

It wasn’t fiction—it was a mirror. Women are taught from birth to be the emotional shock absorbers of the world. We moderate, soothe, placate. At home, we’re the peacekeepers. At work, the steady hands. We say, “It’s okay,” even when it’s not. We keep the machine running. But when menopause hits, that carefully controlled system crashes. And for many of us, it’s the first time we stop saying yes to that role.

This was my story. As a former refugee my husband has suffered from depression and anxiety throughout his adult life and I’m his support network. For the twenty eight years of our marriage this was an ongoing battle that we both fought. As I entered menopause I found the pressure of regulating his emotions, while I was so fragile and struggling with my own, and felt like I was suffocating under the pressure.

Let’s get biological for a moment. When perimenopause begins, women’s estrogen and progesterone levels nosedive. These hormones regulate mood and stress responses—so as they crashed, I felt it everywhere. Oxytocin, the hormone that made me feel affectionate and bonded, also drops. That warmth I once felt toward my husband began to fade, as did my patience. And then there’s sleep—or the lack of it. Sleep deprivation didn’t just make me tired. It stripped away my ability to filter, to hold my tongue, to see the bigger picture. Without rest, my patience went out the window.

I remember pouring out all my rage, and resentment to my husband, and as I finished my rant, he would blink away tears. “Should I be telling you this?” I asked him. “If it helps you,” he said. But over time the feelings didn’t dissipate, or get better, or give me more clarity. Instead the rage built.

I found myself in a constant rage over so many things. Slowly I began realise that it wasn’t other people, it was me. My first moment of self-realisation was when I nearly flipped a table at work over an innocuous email that a coworker sent. He’s one of the sweetest people I know, and yet I was in a rage and imagining doing him physical bodily harm. The second moment was when my daughter and I were watching television and she began singing. Usually I revel in these moments when she is full of joy, yet all I felt was rage. I had to send her away and it took me an hour to calm down.

That’s when I knew that this wasn’t something that I was in control of. I was a victim to my biology and no breathing exercises were going to calm this down.

It’s easy to blame menopause for relationship breakdowns. But sometimes, menopause doesn’t create new problems—it just rips the blindfold off.

I’ve had so many conversations with women who are filled with resentment about the uneven domestic labour at home and they’ve had enough. The HILDA report found that “In couples where both partners work full-time, the lack of balance was still apparent with women’s housework and caring time sitting at 55 and 56 per cent respectively.” That wasn’t my story. In fact, I’m the one who does the least amount of domestic labour and didn’t know how to use my washing machine for three years (and yes, it was deliberate weaponised incompetence).

My marriage was affected by my complete exhaustion over emotional about supporting him and others. I started drawing boundaries about support both my husband, and other people in my life. Having spent a lifetime of dealing with my mother’s bipolar disorder I was well and truly tapped out of emotional reserves. I didn’t have anything left for other people. There’s a reason that we are told to put on our oxygen mask before we help other people. It was time for me to put on my oxygen mask and focus on breathing.

By the time we reach perimenopause, many of us are running on fumes. We’ve spent decades juggling careers, children, relationships, responsibilities. We’ve been the emotional scaffolding for others while ignoring the cracks in ourselves.

Menopause brings our needs into sharp focus. It asks: What about you? This is not a moment to white-knuckle your way through. It’s not the time to keep swallowing your needs for the sake of others’ comfort. It’s a reckoning. And it’s a chance to set new terms.

There is a newfound joy in finding strength to step away from people who bring emotional chaos and are energy vampires. For so long I found myself being drawn to people who were big in their emotions, now I needed to find the quiet. Most importantly, I felt no guilt in stepping away. For so long I felt obliged to take care of people. Now I was guilt free, and revelling in the freedom to just be.

This isn’t about blame—it’s about partnership. If you’re with someone who wants to walk this path with you, they need to understand that emotional labour must be shared. That your wellbeing is not optional. That this isn’t a “phase” you’ll snap out of—it’s a fundamental, hormonal, life-altering shift. And they need to meet you in it. Not as a hero. But as a grown-ass adult who pulls their weight.

My husband needed to find other ways of dealing with his dark emotions. While I would still be there for him as his wife, I could no longer carry the burden of being his only support system. I developed a pivot phrase that I used, which while cruel, did the trick. “I’m your wife, not your psychologist.” As I stopped reacting to his emotional turmoil, he learnt that I well and truly meant it when I drew that boundary. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I had nothing left to give. Slowly, our relationship shifted where we practiced more kindness, and learnt to step away and have a time out when emotions ruled us.

I never thought menopause would become a defining force in my life. But here I am—tired, raw, rebuilding—and I’ve never felt more in tune with what I need.

I’m not saying divorce is the answer for everyone. But I am saying that menopause gives us the chance to finally listen to ourselves. To say, “Enough.” To say, “Me, too.” To say, “I deserve more.” Because we do.

Menopause didn’t break my marriage. It reminded me I don’t need to break myself to stay in one. Now that I’m on Hormone Replacement Therapy to deal with my hormones, and antipsychotic to deal with my insomnia, I am feeling happy and in control.

My marriage is in a much better place and we are able to walk side by side. This is a story I’m seeing played out with so many other women in my circle. For some women they have to break away, for some they have to take a break, and then repair and move forward in a new formation.

While I don’t believe in forever, or happily ever after, I believe in growing together and that’s what we’re doing (for now).

Amra Pajalic is an award-winning author of memoir Things Nobody Knows But Me about her mother’s battle with bipolar.

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