The menopausal women everyone forgot

“Oh, that’s right – of course you will get the menopause too.” I hear this at the hairdresser’s, in the bar with friends of friends, you name it. It usually comes after a conversation about the menopause – centred around women who have had children or who have male partners, unlike me. Yes, Melanie, childless lesbians can get the menopause. I am standing in the shower at 3am trying to cool my body temperature down, which is currently in air fryer mode – 200 degrees in five minutes – while my heart’s racing. Yet I can’t remember where I put my keys because my brain fog is so bad that I am using ChatGPT to help me find basic words… Yes, I too have all the symptoms, including the rage, Melanie, and you would do well to remember that as I sit here with my fork having a baked potato for lunch. No matter how much I move, eat healthy and get 10,000 steps in a day, I cannot rid myself of this ridiculous joey pouch that makes me look like a kangaroo. I have the mobility of a slug, all the while I am in a permanent pool of my own sweat. So yes, I do have symptoms. Finding women attractive does not stop the cycle of womanhood. This dried-up old barren womb of mine still maintains the same cycle as yours, even though I don’t need to take the kids to swimming lessons, join the PTA, or worse, join the street WhatsApp chat. Menopause, perimenopause, oestrogen, progesterone, patches… Thankfully conversations around these things are very much out in the open and mainstream in 2026. However, as a childless woman who identifies as a lesbian, how open are these conversations to those of us who didn’t pursue motherhood, or those who were not granted that gift? I see countless articles along these lines, such as “The menopause made me rethink my marriage to a man I lived with for 30 years and during one hot flush I thought, ‘You are not for me any longer, Adrian. I am off to a retreat in Goa’” or “Seeing my children off to university made me realise my menopause was the catalyst for my new chapter of hot yoga and being vegan”. It is amazing that women are so open about these conversations. No longer are the words “HRT” and “menopause” mouthed quietly over the garden hedge as two women try and console each other over “The Change” while pegging out washing. So much shame was once attached to the menopause. It’s actually ridiculous that only now can we talk openly and frankly about a medical process that happens to all of us who were born biologically female. But what about the childless? What about us women who, for some like me through choice, and for some through circumstances, never had children? Does our menopause count? If, like me, you present as a tomboy, butch lesbian or masc woman, does our womb matter? Sometimes, during those “I’m perimenopausal” conversations with doctors (mainly male, I will admit), they look at me as if they have realised I still have a womb. Yes, I know – a butch lesbian with a womb. What did you think was in there, a rusty old tumble dryer? I’ve had a doctor say to me: “Susie, you cannot be menopausal. You’re only 45. We only consider menopause for 46-year-olds and above.” It was 10 days before my 46th birthday. Who knew our wombs were so time and date-conscious? It’s almost as if our menopause doesn’t count. And what about those who haven’t had children but wanted to? I see it have a deep effect on them. They are not bitter, just sad that for whatever reason they see the chequered flag fall to signal the finishing line; for them to know they won’t ever have that feeling of giving birth. They have a menopause too. I didn’t have any of the feelings of grief or regret that many of those women have. My biggest menopause concern is about the Egyptian thread count on my bedding and the tog rating of my duvet, to try and manage eight hours’ sleep without the need for a dry robe in the morning just to get to the bathroom. I cannot imagine that trying to balance a career, family life and the menopause is easy for my sisters… and let’s think about the men too. After all, their pronoun is in the word menopause. It’s not easy living with anyone going through this and it’s not easy to go through. However, fellas, if you think it’s tough for you and the kids, try being a menopausal woman who is living with, and in a relationship with, another menopausal woman. That is what I consider a jeopardy relationship where anything can happen for three weeks of the month as we are both a little prickly. So you, sir, can count yourself lucky. You take the kids swimming and let her bask in a cold shower and some 600-thread-count Egyptian cotton bedding.Now don’t get me wrong, it is a wonderful thing that we all talk so openly about the menopause – this hellish, unforgiving, hormonal-driven car crash our wives, partner, sisters and mothers all go through. But maybe we need to be mindful that it also affects the childless through choice or circumstance – they should be in the conversation too. This week I have been… Roasting… I headed to London, which my friends told me had cooled down. It had – from 42 degrees to 33. The differential in those temperatures means nothing to a woman with pale Celtic skin from Scotland. In the scorching early afternoon sun, I drank a litre of water and went off to Hyde Park, which appeared to have no grass left and where everyone was looking for shade. After that I went to the hotel for air con and a cool shower, which was completely pointless as I then walked in jeans for 25 minutes. I genuinely felt like I had completed a Hyrox. I met a friend for dinner and drinks – both being Scots in London in that heat we obviously had to keep hydrated with electrolyte-infused, carb-based drinks. Or as many of you will know it, lager. Visiting… Westminster Abbey. Weirdly I’ve never been. So I left the comforts of my air conditioned hotel room to have a mooch around. I also went to the Churchill War Rooms. It was very interesting and – more importantly – cool. Now here is my thing. English history is fascinating, rich, and varied. But can we stop calling it British history? Can we explain that 1603 was the monarchial union and 1707 was the political union that formed Great Britain? This isn’t just a grumpy Scot making a fuss. Celebrate English history by all means – but let’s at least agree on where English history ends and British history begins. Shopping… In the heat, I did what any self-respecting middle-aged lesbian would do: off to an outdoors shop for hiking shorts. I zoomed about London, little white legs out on display, factor 50 on, while looking like I was about to scale a mountain in the Scottish Highlands. It was a relief to return to Glasgow: 19°C and rain. London is magical, but I’m not equipped for the heat. Susie’s show Coming of Rage will be at the Edinburgh Fringe 5-30 August. Tickets and info: susiemccabe.com