Menopause in your 20s? My journey.

Going through menopause in your 20s isn’t something most women expect, but that’s exactly what happened to me when I underwent hormonal therapy for endometriosis. The treatment was designed to mimic the effects of menopause, shutting down my menstrual cycle in the hope of giving my body the break it needed to ‘reset’ and alleviate the relentless pain of endometriosis. On paper, it made sense. But nothing prepared me for the emotional and physical toll this treatment would take.

Looking back, I can honestly say I was scared. It felt like I’d been plunged into a world I didn’t understand. I was disconnected from my body in a way I hadn’t anticipated. My cycle, which I’d never paid much attention to before, suddenly felt like something precious that had been taken away. I felt out of control—my body no longer followed its usual rhythms, and that sense of disconnection was isolating. It was like floating through unfamiliar territory with no roadmap to guide me.

The hot flushes were the first real sign that my body was going through something. The sensation was surreal: liquid heat would surge from my feet, through my body, and up into my face. My skin would burn, and sweat would appear out of nowhere. I became paranoid about how I looked and smelled in public—constantly checking for sweat patches, worried that others would notice. I’d joked with my mum about her hot flushes in the past, but the moment I experienced it myself, I quickly shut up. I realised just how overwhelming it could be, and those jokes seemed cruel in hindsight.

Then came the anxiety. It wasn’t just the kind of stress you feel before a big meeting—I've had anxiety since my teens and this was certainly comparable; a deep, unsettling fear that I couldn’t explain. My heart would race, and I’d get shaky, almost as if I were on the verge of a panic attack. Sometimes the palpitations were so intense that I thought something was seriously wrong with me. The worst part was the unpredictability; I never knew when it would hit, and that can certainly leave you constantly feeling on edge.

On those days when I felt okay, I threw myself into my work. I wanted to make the most of the good days because I worried about how I’d perform when the bad days returned. I didn’t want my colleagues to think I couldn’t handle my job. I’m so grateful to my manager at the time, who was incredibly understanding. She knew what I was going through and gave me the space I needed without judgment. Having that support made a huge difference, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling of isolation.

It wasn’t just the physical symptoms that weighed on me; I also had to confront fears about my future. At such a young age, I was already being forced to worry about my fertility. What if my cycle didn’t come back? What if the endometriosis had done irreversible damage? Would I be able to have children? Society places so much pressure on women to become mothers, and I started questioning my identity, even though having children hadn't featured on my radar before. Who was I if I couldn’t fulfil that role? The uncertainty was suffocating. And this isn't unusual; emotions such as grief or a sense of loss are really common with the realisation that the fertile years are over, even in women who do have children. 

Alongside the anxiety came insomnia, which only compounded my exhaustion. Some nights I would lie awake, my mind racing, unable to shut off the constant loop of worry. And even when I did manage to fall asleep, it was a shallow, restless kind of sleep that left me feeling drained the next morning. I’d often wake up with my muscles feeling heavy and my body sluggish, as though I was carrying the weight of the world.

Endometriosis had already introduced me to bloating and pain, but during this treatment, it felt like everything was amplified. My body, my emotions, my thoughts—all felt out of my control. I was living in a state of limbo, waiting for the treatment to end and for my cycle to return, hoping that I could reclaim some sense of normality.

When my cycle finally restarted, it was an enormous relief. I felt like a part of me had come back. But while the menopause was temporary, it left a lasting impact. It gave me a glimpse into what natural menopause might feel like, and as I approach that stage of life, I feel more prepared for 'the worst'. I know how to manage the symptoms, and I’ve developed coping strategies that work for me. More importantly, I’ve learned that menopause—whether it’s medical or natural—doesn’t have to be something we suffer through in silence.

In the UK, millions of women are currently going through menopause. According to recent statistics, an estimated 13 million women are either peri- or post-menopausal. Between 5% and 30% of these women experience early menopause, under the age of 45, and some go through it even earlier. Every woman’s experience is different. Some women sail through it with minimal disruption, while others, like me the first time around, find it more challenging. But what’s certain is that every woman will go through it at some point.

It’s time we stopped making jokes about menopause. I’ll admit, before my own experience, I made light of it with my mum—laughing about her hot flushes or her sudden mood swings. But now I understand how much those jokes can hurt. They minimise what is a very real, often difficult transition, adding stress and frustration to what is already a challenging time. We shouldn’t be making light of something that affects every woman’s physical, emotional, and mental wellbeing. It’s not funny, and it’s not fair. And it also causes women to fear 'the worst' but without the luxury of knowing that they have the tools to withstand it. Many women who come to me for help seek intervention from their GP as soon as they notice symptoms because they are scared of what's ahead. And that's not their fault! Listening to scare stories like mine (and worse!) will bring caution. But the reality is that medication like HRT and antidepressants are being prescribed unnecessarily because of this fear and anxiety.

Menopause isn’t a one-size-fits-all experience. For some, it’s worse than others. For some, it’s just different. But it is a universal part of womanhood, as natural as puberty. And just like puberty, it doesn’t have to be something we dread. With the right support and even a little bit of preparation, menopause can be manageable, even empowering. It’s a transition, not an ending.

What I went through was extreme because it was a medically induced menopause. My body fought it every step of the way because it wasn’t ready. But natural menopause doesn’t have to be like that. Your body is designed for this change, and with the right tools and knowledge, you can manage the symptoms and keep control. You don’t have to feel lost or disconnected from your body like I did. And you don't have to fear the journey ahead. There are people like me who are here to help you navigate it.

So, let’s keep talking about menopause. Let’s share our stories, listen to one another, and stop making it something to joke about or fear. With the right support, it doesn’t have to be horrific. It’s just another stage of life, and it deserves to be treated with the same respect and understanding as any other. If you ever need support or just someone to talk to, reach out. You don’t have to go through it alone.

If you'd like Sarah's help to manage your menopause transition or to educate and support your workforce on all things women's health, drop her an email. She offers online support as well as face-to-face treatments in Leyland, Lancashire. An award-winning women's health specialist, she's helped thousands of women with their menopause, endometriosis, adenomyosis and other period, emotional and physical issues since she started Halcyon in 2008. And she's helped organisations save tens of thousands of pounds (and more) in recruitment and retention costs, by educating teams on how to minimise the impact of symptoms at work and supporting staff members to take control of their own health and wellbeing.