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Illustration by Nijah Smith
We gathered on a Saturday morning in the bright and high-ceilinged yoga studio above a café in an older brick building at the edge of downtown Victoria. Climbing the narrow stairs, I felt the same awkwardness I always feel when joining a group activity, caused in part by my tendency to arrive at exactly the starting time, only to realize that almost everyone else had wisely come early in order to get settled in.
My friend was one of the organizers and asked me whether I wanted a reclining chair or a nest. “What’s a nest?” I asked. Turns out it’s a yoga mat with a collection of pillows and a blanket.
The exact same exchange was repeated by the other woman who arrived a few minutes after me. “What’s a nest?” she asked.
I am amused by this now, considering the purpose of our four-hour gathering. Eighteen women, most of us choosing to sit or lie on our nests, had come to this Menopause Gathering on a chilly day in February with a limited sense of what to expect. Eighteen women who, like me, had likely spent much of our adult lives building some kind of nest – as part of a couple, or for our children or workplace – and tended to that nest, usually at the expense of tending to ourselves.
In the last decade – the most demanding and exhausting 10 years of my life – I realized that caring for myself was at the bottom of the long list. As leader of a provincial political party, work had wrestled its way to the top and was able to consume almost all of my time, thoughts and energy. Kids were next on the list, husband below that, then home and garden, and finally – me. Time with friends had all but disappeared. My nest is full, but my tank is empty.
The Menopause Gathering was an act of self-care for all of us; a decision to spend four hours learning about what is going on in our bodies.
Menopause is like a freight train of symptoms that all show up just when our careers, our children, our relationships and our aging parents come together into a giant and teetering Jenga tower of demands on our time and energy.
That day, the awkwardness of meeting as strangers quickly gave way as we shared our experiences – hot flushes, night sweats, exhaustion, brain fog, erratic periods – and the sense that we were finally being heard. By the end, we’d laughed together and cried together.
It was a shock to realize that I’d been experiencing years of symptoms of perimenopause and that, at 53, I was uninformed about what was happening, or what I could have been doing to mitigate the symptoms and potentially harmful effects of this transition. Only recently did I learn that so many of my symptoms were connected to menopause – something that had never been mentioned by my doctor.
When I finally asked for hormone replacement therapy, it brought a swift and noticeable improvement – no longer woke up drenched in sweat and my mental clarity returned. “I feel like myself again,” I told a friend. Even my husband remarked that I seemed more at ease.
The Menopause Gathering was a revelation – not just for the information, but for the solidarity it fostered. Many felt, as I had, that there was no time for self-care in the chaos of midlife. One attendee joked about her “swamp butt” during cycling, a humorous yet poignant reminder that even our everyday activities can become more challenging during this phase.
Part of the struggle with menopause stems from the way our society treats this time in a woman’s life. As Dr. Jennifer Gunter explains in her book, The Menopause Manifesto, menopause is often framed as the beginning of a woman’s decline. For centuries, women have been viewed as less valuable once they are past their reproductive years. This pervasive attitude has silenced discussions and has contributed to the shame many feel when discussing symptoms or seeking treatment.
When picking up my first HRT prescription, the pharmacist asked me in a hushed tone if it was for menopause. I replied loudly, “Yes, it’s for menopause!” deliberately pushing back against the shame I was expected to feel.
When I had young children, I was inundated with advice on child-rearing. Public-health nurses, doctors, magazines and TV segments all offered guidance on how to manage teething, illnesses and developmental stages. Why is menopause so overlooked? The absence of reliable resources leaves women to fend for themselves, often in the dark about what’s happening in their bodies.
We need menopause to be part of mainstream health conversations. Community centres should offer classes on menopause, just as they do for prenatal care. Workplaces must adopt menopause-inclusive policies, recognizing that women in their 40s and 50s are often at the peak of their careers but also navigating significant hormonal changes.
In the months since the first Menopause Gathering, I’ve made a point of highlighting the stage of life I’m in. I recently introduced myself to a crowd of hundreds as “the only leader of a political party in full-blown menopause.” It’s one small way I can use my voice to push us toward being a society that rejects the silence and shame around menopause.
Sonia Furstenau lives in Victoria.