Are we still not talking about menopause in the office?

My top five MENO-WHILE-WORKING moments. I have thoughts on workplace improvements

Jun 24, 2025

My first menopause reckoning as a working woman happened at 10,000 feet. More followed—in meetings, at big events, during the commute. What’s a hot-flashing, flash-bleeding, emotional equivalent of an exposed tooth nerve to do?

#1

Traveling home from Las Vegas on a particularly windy day, I thanked my lucky stars to find myself seated next to a handsome man on the Southwest flight. He had dark hair and muscular arms that could easily operate the emergency doors.

He’d been on a golfing trip with his buddies, and I’d been at a work event. We’d both had a beer (or two) while waiting for the flight, and chatted breezily until the plane lifted from the ground.

His face was calm and tan. I felt the color drain from mine. We were hurtling through space in a tin tube, bouncing and careening, buffeted by gusty winds.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Keep talking,” I said, resting one trembling hand on his arm. The plane dropped. I gripped his arm while he told me about— I have no idea what he said. The engine roared, then went silent, and I held my breath until I realized we’d reached the magical altitude where flight attendants unclip and start moving around.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, releasing my grip.

“When we were on the ground,” he said, “you seemed so cool and put together.” He couldn’t have been more patient with my panicked reaction, but he looked stunned. “Do you think it could be menopause?” Asked the handsome man.

There it was. In the span of 10,000 feet, I’d aged from confident businesswoman to sweaty, hysterical old lady.

#2

Stripped naked in the Ladies room, drenched in sweat, during the aforementioned Las Vegas work event.

#3

Meeting a colleague’s husband at a Boston offsite for the first time, slurring my words and forgetting my own name. (stone.cold.sober, in case you were wondering). And I might as well combine this with another clueless encounter.

After a long and chaotic queue, I came face-to-face with a different colleague, in a London hotel elevator. Twenty years younger, gorgeous, an aromatherapist and serenity coach on the side. She greeted me warmly. I felt puffy, fat, and hadn’t slept well in months. My expression must have been a mix of panic and exhaustion. She smiled and said serenely, “Yah, that was a lot.” I turned away to hide my tears.

#4

After moving to Vermont, I’d commute to the Boston office once a month or so, leaving home at 6 am. One day, I realized (an hour into the drive) that I’d left home without my laptop. Felix was kind enough to bring it to me at a rest area halfway between us.

The exchange complete, I gave him a smooch and watched him drive away, only to discover I was locked out of my car. (No, he didn’t have the keys.) Twenty frantic minutes or so later, I found them in the restroom trash can. In the fucking trash can!

Which brings us to

#5 — my career-ending MENO AT WORK moment

“The agenda is set,” I said, focusing on the top-stitching of my European clogs while Boris & Natasha continued pressing their case over the phone. They had “concerns.”

The high-tech office’s sleek furnishings clashed with the patinaed brick walls, thick wooden beams, and cast-iron columns of the former textile mill.

I took a deep breath and pushed away from the table, my head in my hands. I knew I should listen, ‘take the feedback’, find appeasement. I’d been branded as bossy, too directive, and uncollaborative before, and though I knew my assertiveness would be typed differently if I were a man, I had learned to pack my moxie deep and as tight as gun powder.

“We need to move on,” I interrupted.

“Well,” Natasha huffed, “I guess, if you don’t want to be collaborative.”

With a scratch and a hiss, the match was lit. The flame kindled deep in my chest and raced through my body like wildfire. Sweat soaked the back of my neck and the band of my bra.

Their intervention might have proved valuable; just as likely, their concerns would mire progress. No matter, with every syllable uttered, I heard condescension, smugness, whispers of pity—well, actually and okay, Boomer.

“Stoooopppp.” My voice shook. Poor dear.

“Stop fucking talking!” I forgot where I was. She’s losing it.

“STOP FUCKING TALKING!” I screamed. OMFG

A red-faced squall surged from my toes and swept through my gut, gathering steam and velocity. It wasn’t a tech bro power-flex yell employed to instill fear (and later reported on their reviews as “commands respect”). It was a primal scream, the likes of which might have roiled up from the clenched uterus of a woman giving birth.

I hurled unintelligible fury at the UFO-shaped telecom device until its green light turned red.

I didn’t get fired that day, but I decided to leave. A year later, I gave my notice and began my midlife reinvention.

No regrets, but sometimes I wonder, what if I’d taken a breath? What if I’d understood what was happening in my body, and had been able to excuse myself to cool down? What if someone had asked if I was okay?

That was nearly eight years ago. In these times when diversity, equity, and inclusion are grounds for dismissal and erasure, are we still not talking about menopause at work?

Menopause is trending everywhere else

Perimenopause sort of feels like a GenX trend—social media, the wellness industry, and celebrity brands are all over it.

Whatever Nevermind

recently reported, the menopause market for is currently “about $18 billion and could reach $27 billion by 2030.” No wonder celebrities like Drew Barrymore, Brooke Shields, and many others are cashing in.

Miranda July

made perimenopause cool, sexy, and a bit desperate in her award-winning, best-selling novel, All Fours. You can read my marginalia here:

Annotations | ALL FOURS by Miranda July

Catherine H Palmer

October 14, 2024

Read full story

Except at work, where it’s “Don’t age yourself”

That’s what a female manager (a few years my senior) once said to me. She didn’t mean it in a “what-not-to-wear” context. Nearly 80% of women report experiencing ageism in the workplace, according to a report from the Society of Human Resource Management 1

I recall women, including me, waving a file folder in front of our faces or joking while removing a sweater. We’d make obtuse jokes to ensure everyone would laugh it off. No big deal—nothing to see here.

Just a drastic—but manageable!—hormonal shift marking the end of my fertility with intense and unpredictable physical and emotional symptoms.

Why we have to talk about menopause at work

The U.S. Department of Labor under the Biden-Harris Administration published a brief covering “Menstruation and Menopause at Work” 2 which outlined the importance of women workers to the economy—optimizing their performance and productivity (it should go without saying), helps businesses optimize profit.

One in 10 U.S. workers is a woman aged 55 or older. Implementing policies to support women’s physical and mental health throughout their lives helps employers retain skilled and valuable resources. Full stop.

The Dept. of Labor report offers guidelines. Here’s my wish list:

Health insurance that covers birth control, abortion, and while we’re at it, gender-affirming care
Paid family leave. Childcare resources and subsidies.
Access to water, bathrooms (talking to you, Jeff Bezos), and breaks as needed.
Flexible work hours, remote work, and job sharing.
Private, safe, and clean spaces to support the needs of menstruating women, pregnant and nursing mothers, and people experiencing menopause symptoms.
Training all workers, especially male managers, in destigmatizing menstruation, childbirth recovery, and menopause.

Tell me your meno-at-work stories! What would you add to this list?

Amid Life with Catherine Palmer

Annotations | ALL FOURS by Miranda July

Discussion about this post