
🎧 Dear Menopause: Thank You for Saving My Life
One year ago, Sam Galloway entered surgical menopause following a hysterectomy and oophorectomy. After years of debilitating perimenopause, she expected menopause to be another battle. Instead, hormonal stability brought unexpected gifts: stability, certainty, clarity and the beginnings of cognitive recalibration. In this deeply personal follow-up to “Dear Perimenopause: F**k You”, Sam reflects on the first year of surgical menopause, neurodivergence, sensory overload, mood stability, cognitive changes, self-advocacy and what it means to stop trying to become the person you were before perimenopause. This is not a story about menopause being universally positive. It is one neurodivergent woman's story about finding unexpected relief after years of hormonal chaos. Content note: This episode discusses suicidal ideation, reproductive loss, miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, medical trauma and mental health. Hello and welcome to Divergent Menopause, previously known as The Autistic Perimenopause: A Temporary Regression. I am Sam Galloway (she/her), an autistic ADHDer (AuDHDer), and a surgical menopause survivor. I write Divergent Menopause to share what many of us are never told until we have to find out the hard way. Thanks for joining me on this wild midlife ride! 🎢 Dear Menopause, One year ago today we became acquainted with each other when I emerged from my elective gynaecological surgery that gifted you to me. Even though I told my doctor last month that I think the honeymoon period between you and I has now worn off, I am still utterly enamoured by you! Happy First Anniversary to us! If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I am not sure I would still be here. Not only have yo usaved my life, but you have given me so many precious gifts that, now combined, vastly improve my quality of life. Stability. Thank you, Menopause, for the gift of stability. During the surgery, my uterus, cervix, one remaining Fallopian tube and - best of all - my ovaries were all removed. Yes, you are a medical and surgical Menopause and I know that many people see that as a bad thing, but I think you are The Best Thing that could have happened to me. Before we made things permanent between us, I had dallied with you. My hormone blockers induced a temporary, reversible chemical menopause was a great trial, but nothing else even comes close to you. Temporary ovarian suppression gave me some relief of my turbulent perimenopausal pre-menstrual dysphoria disorder (PMDD), but when you came along after my surgery I knew you were the real deal. My dear Menopause, you have stabilised my mood so that I am no longer at the mercy of my hellish hormonal flux. No more “good week” versus “bad week”, and no more rapid mood de-escalation. No more waiting to find out just how low I will go, this time. It is no exaggeration to tell you that you have saved my life. No more intrusive thoughts nor threats of harming myself or my family. No more suicidal ideation. My mental health and mood stability are at an all time high. Well, my mood itself is not at an all time high, but nor would I want it to be. Instead it stays within a narrower range of “safe” for the first time in my life. Does that feel boring sometimes? Yes, a bit. But it’s about time my ovarian hormones weren’t running the show. Certainty. Thank you, Menopause, for the gift of certainty. One of the worst things about Perimenopause for me (and there were so many horrendous things to choose from!) was the chronic uncertainty. It spiked my anxiety just wondering how long it was going to take. Would I be one of the lucky ones who has a shorter 8 year perimenopause, or would my transition have taken a lengthier 14 years? There was no way of ever knowing. It was a waiting game, and, as a neurodivergent ADHD woman with absolutely no sense of the passage of time, it had already felt like a lifetime of peri had consumed me. How I hated the changes that were occurring during The Change. I never knew what whack-a-mole symptom was going to ruin my day next. The sheer horror of having no control over my symptoms was abhorrent to me. My Autism makes me want to call the shots, or at least have a copy of the manual memorised. But there is no manual for neurodivergent perimenopause. No manual either for neurodivergence, nor for the menopause transition. What a sick joke to put us through all this prolonged uncertainty without a roadmap nor with the reassurance that we would survive the journey. My dear Menopause, you gave me the roadmap. All signs were pointing to you by the end. If my exhausting self-advocacy for my elective hysterectomy and oophorectomy (ovary/ies removal) hadn’t gone to plan, I had no hope of continuing on that road for the long haul. The certainty you have given me is multi-layered. The relief from being certain that I will no longer experience menstrual bleeding is enormous. Sensory overload came with every bleed I had ever had, and that s**t accumulated beyond belief over my three decades of menstruation. No more menstrual cramps ever. Now whenever I get a pelvic twinge, I can be pretty confident that I will find relief in using the bathroom - that my bladder or bowel is the culprit and that my lagging interoception won’t lead to me sitting on the sofa in a puddle of blood because Taskmaster hasn’t finished yet. As for the blood itself - the always shocking vibrancy, the smell, and its viscosity as it pooled then poured - I can’t even… Every perimenopausal bleed triggered me. After my five pregnancies, all planned and wanted, with only two children to show for it, every bleed I had in my thirties took me straight back in my mind to a time when I was losing a baby. Two early miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy. When I met you, Menopause, it was my second major gynaecological surgery. Both saved my life. One ended a pregnancy, the other ended my fertility. I know that so many women are saddened by the loss of their fertility when you reach them, Menopause, regardless of their status as parents or not. But I needed you. You healed me from the medical trauma that had come before you. The first time I had woken up after in recovery, my abdomen covered in freshly sutured incisions where the laparoscopic camera and surgical tools had shortly before accessed my innards, I was screaming at the nurses to give me my baby back. Thus I was heavily sedated in my secede surgery when you arrived, Menopause, and I was glad of it. There was no question that I had wanted my reproductive organs removed, because it gave me the certainty of never losing a baby or a pregnancy again. Clarity. Thank you, Menopause, for the gift of clarity. The certainty you gifted me was accompanied by the clarity that the way I could see things from then on, no longer tainted by the highs and lows of my ovarian hormones. No more uterus after surgery meant no more progesterone needed to maintain the health of my uterine lining which meant no more progesterone intolerance which meant no more suicidal ideation. Yes, I could rephrase that dreadful sentence but now I have the clarity that what is left of my lifetime is short. My finite time and precious energy therefore hold greater value, and I need to stop wasting it with my formerly pedantic ways. Although I still do not sense the passing of time (Menopause, you have not cured my neurodivergence as I gratefully knew you would not), I now fully grasp the value of it. And that is why I still spend hours on the sofa watching Taskmaster and building LEGO sets. Not because I am in too much pain to move and need something else to focus on, which was the case over a year ago, but because I have now survived Perimenopause and, in my mighty wisdom and clarity, I know that the mighty Taskmaster Greg Davies and his assistant little Alex Horne are worthy of my valuable time and attention. Knowing where to spend and invest my time now is only half the story though. My dear Menopause, you now tell me when we are rapidly approaching a waste of our time, and we swerve it together. (Although, alas, my doom scrolling habit has not yet evaded me…) These days it is so much easier to ignore the b******t that surrounds us. Your gift of clarity comes with a wonderful capacity to moderate my tolerance for others. Namely, I have lowered my tolerance threshold so we can avoid anyone who doesn’t like this unmasked Menopausal version of me. Conversely, your presence brings with you an improvement of my rational responsiveness. I am less likely to meltdown, shutdown or become mute during times of stress and confrontation. My responses are more deliberate, and I can take a pause before I speak. My impulsivity is better moderated and, as and when I lose my s**t, I know it was deserved and not just a hormonal reaction. Recalibration. Thank you, Menopause, for the gift of recalibration. Perimenopause absolutely tore my highly masked undiagnosed neurodivergent self to shreds. I was already struggling to function in this world, when peri was established I was in tatters. No part of me was untouched by the hormonal flux. I regressed significantly, losing independence and self-care skills, reduced mobility, disengagement from everyone around me. It was jarring and terrifying, and many times I felt as though I was losing my mind. My cognitive regressions felt enormous, although they went largely unnoticed by others. Perhaps a combination of my residual masking capacity and the fact that most of my intellect was experienced in my inner world and had gone unseen for so long, I no longer felt like the same person anymore. My sensory calibration was wrecked, and I had no energy left to pretend everything was fine. And so I hid away at home, and kept my disturbing difficulties to myself. There I could control the sensory inputs and just about cope with them. It shrunk my world beyond belief. After surgery, the constant uniformity of my hormone levels caused my brain and body to operate on a steadier trajectory. In this last year I have been able to adjust to the constancy, giving my drained brain a chance to recalibrate. Although slight, the small regains to my cognition and information processing feel vast. I am beginning to picture where I left things again. When I use a multi-storey car park now, my vehicle is no longer inadvertently abandoned as I can visualise where I left it. When I am hungry, I can now visualise what is in the fridge, freezer and pantry, and make an informed decision to eat chocolate for lunch (even though I am supposed to be mainlining protein these days). I can remember how many pumps of oestrogen gel I applied in the morning and where, and whether or not I have taken my medication. I can’t remember the punchlines in the Taskmaster banter, but we can’t expect miracles. There are 21 series and counting that have already been aired so far. Plus I love finding jokes funny every time I hear them! My dear Menopause, this recalibration is perhaps the greatest of gifts. I am not chasing the version of myself I was before Perimenopause stepped into the scene and tried to throttle me. She was thin but thought she was fat, and she was depressed and thought that was acceptable. She naively thought that one day she could chase her Masters degree with a tasty PhD. Ha! I wouldn’t even have the attention span to fill in the application form these days, never mind test one hypothesis for years on end and defend a thesis. Yawn. (Not really, I would f*****g LOVE to do a PhD. Sigh…) But having a glimmer of hope that my perimenopause-induced cognitive and information processing regressions may now be reversing is inspiring. Shortly after my surgery, during my blissful month in bed where I could do nothing but manage my pain relief schedule, sleep off the general anaesthetic and build LEGO (Concorde, Botanical Gardens and Tuxedo Cat sets!) whilst obviously watching Taskmaster repeats, I renamed my publication and community. Previously The Autistic Menopause: A Temporary Regression, I held on to the hope that my regressions were indeed temporary. Divergent Menopause was birthed from my still raw pelvic bowl, honouring both my transition from perimenopause to surgical Menopause, and becoming inclusive of all my neurodivergence and my neurokin. Time has dragged on rapidly this past year whilst I waited to see if my brain would regain lost and lagging skills. It hasn’t fully, but I know now with clarity and certainty that my hormonal stability is nurturing my menopausal recalibration. Today holds enormous significance to me, but I know it is still very early days in my Menopause. Please know that I am grateful for the gifts of stability, certainty, clarity and recalibration(ity) that all compound to enhance my quality of life. I am looking forward to spending the rest of our lives together, Menopause. Cheers, Get full access to Divergent Menopause at samgallowayaudhd.substack.com/subscribe


















