My husband turned my menopause into a running joke—at home, with friends, even in public. For years, I smiled through it while something inside me shrank.
My name is Irene. I’m 52, and I was married to Rick for 27 years. He was charming to everyone except me. Whenever I had a hot flash or forgot something, he laughed it off as “menopause brain.” I told myself it was harmless. It wasn’t.
The breaking point came the night Rick invited his boss, David, over for a high-stakes dinner meant to secure a promotion. Rick warned me to “behave” and not “get emotional.” I cooked, dressed nicely, and endured him talking over me all night.
Then he crossed the line.
When I adjusted the thermostat, Rick laughed and said, “She’s going through the change—menopause.” He expected a laugh.
David didn’t laugh.
The next morning, David called me privately. He told me what Rick had done was unacceptable—and that he suspected Rick wasn’t being honest at work either. I started paying attention. Late-night calls. Strange meetings. Lies.
I followed Rick one day and gathered proof. With David’s help, everything came out. Rick wasn’t promoted—he was quietly demoted.
That was enough.
I filed for divorce and moved into my own apartment. For the first time in years, the silence felt peaceful.
Rick made jokes to feel powerful. Menopause didn’t weaken me—it woke me up.
I thought it was the end of something.
It was the beginning of everything.
