When Rage Took Over: My Menopause Breakdown and Breakthrough
I didn’t expect the rage.
Not the slow simmer, “ugh I’m annoyed” kind. I’m talking about full-blown, body-heating, throat-closing, someone-breathe-wrong-and-I’ll-throw-this-coffee-mug kind of rage.
No one talks about it. Not the books. Not the polite websites. And definitely not the wellness blogs with gentle affirmations. But I’m going to. Because I’ve snapped more times than I’d like to admit—and each time, it’s felt like I’ve turned into someone I don’t even recognise.
It happened during one of those on-call nights at the caravan park.
You know the ones—where you foolishly think you’ll get a quiet evening, maybe a snuggled on the couch and some bad telly night.
Instead, I turned into the after-hours crisis centre for confused campers.
The first call? “I’ve booked on-line and no-one is at reception.”
The second? “I’ve locked myself out of my cabin.”
Then came the jackpot: “There’s no hot water in my room.” This call came from 4 different rooms.
I tried to stay calm. Put on my helpful voice. Gave the usual, “Let me look into that for you.” But the truth?
I had no idea how to help. I’m not qualified. I’m not a plumber. I’m not a sparkie. And I’m sure as hell not the manager who can decide whether to give you a full refund because you are not a happy camper.
I could feel it bubbling. That tight, chest-squeezing fury. The kind that has no logic, no filter, no warning.
One more call came in, and that was it.
I cracked.
I slammed the phone down harder than necessary, stomped around the room, waving my arms like a menopausal air-traffic controller and shouted,
“I can’t do this! Why is it all on me?! I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing!”
Rage. Full volume. Hot flush hitting at the same time just to really spice things up.
That’s when my wife stepped in—calm as a cloud, like she was dealing with a toddler mid-tantrum (and honestly, I wasn’t far off).
She just looked at me with those grounded, don’t-freak-out eyes and said:
“Babe… you can’t fix everything. You’re not meant to. You can only do what you can do.”
And just like that, it was like someone popped the balloon. I deflated. Sat down. Breathed.
Because she was right. I was trying to fix everything, take on every problem, carry every stress. And it wasn’t just that night—it was becoming a pattern. Work stress. Menopause symptoms. Pressure to perform. I was carrying the weight of it all—and it was cracking me open.
Once I calmed down, my wife sat beside me, and said:
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on?”
And I lost it. Told her everything. The pressure, the self-doubt, the exhaustion, the feeling like I was failing at everything.
She didn’t try to fix it. She didn’t judge. She just listened. And reminded me: “You’re doing the best you can. That’s enough today.”
Sometimes that’s all we need—a soft place to land when the rage feels too big.
The answer? Nothing is wrong with me.
This is menopause rage. It’s hormonal, it’s chemical, it’s physical—and it’s very, very real. It’s not just mood swings. It’s volcanic. It makes you lash out, then feel like the worst human alive five minutes later.
But here’s the thing: I didn’t see it coming. No one said, “Hey, menopause might make you want to punch your laptop and sob into your pillow on the same day.”
So, if you’re feeling this too? You’re not broken. You’re not alone. You’re not a bad partner, or bad mum, or bad woman. You’re just human. Going through some absolutely crazy body stuff.
I still snap. At flies. At the TV. At the coffee machine that dares to drip too slowly.
But now, I recognise it. I own it. I laugh about it (eventually). And I keep showing up—even when my rage monster wants to cancel the day.
If you’re raging too… Come sit with me. We can scream into a pillow, then laugh at the fact we just cried over a accidently stepping on an ant.
This is menopause, baby. It’s messy, it’s wild, and somehow… it’s still ours.
Have you experienced the rage? What set you off? No judgment here.
Written by Shan, 46