Losing my mum cracked something open in me that I’m still trying to understand. Grief has become a kind of quiet companion, sometimes loud and demanding, sometimes soft but always there, sitting just beneath the surface everyday.
I didn’t expect these two experiences to collide. I didn’t expect that the sadness of missing her and the hormonal shifts of this stage would blur together in the way they do. Some days, I can’t tell if the tears I’m fighting back belong to my grief or to my changing body. Often, it feels like both.
Perimenopause has made my emotions feel louder, more unpredictable, and grief amplifies every one of them. Some days I feel fragile in a way I don’t recognise. Other days I wake up angry, at my hormones, at the unfairness of her absence, at the sheer exhaustion of trying to keep moving forward, then there are moments when I feel completely numb, as if my heart has gone quiet just to protect itself.
But in the middle of all of this, I’m learning things about myself I didn’t know before. I’m learning to let myself rest without guilt. I’m learning to allow the tears instead of swallowing them down. I’m learning to ask for help, something I’ve never been good at. I’m learning that grief doesn’t just take; it also reshapes. It softens. It reminds you of who and what truly matters.
Navigating perimenopause while grieving my mum has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever lived through. But it’s also reminding me that I am still here, still growing, still capable of holding love and loss at the same time. I’m finding my way, unevenly, imperfectly and I know she would be proud of that.
If you’re going through anything like this, I hope you know you’re not alone. This is hard, yes. but you’re still becoming and there’s strength in that becoming, even on the days it doesn’t feel like it.