Menopause Finally Gave Me a Reason to Stop Faking It

Forgetting names used to send me into a silent, panic-fueled spiral — until menopause gave me the most liberating hack of my life.

Last week, at a friend’s party, a woman waved at me from across the room. I smiled, nodded… and immediately blanked on her name.

Her face was familiar; the rest was a total pressure-filled mystery.

As she made her way over, my brain raced, scrambling for a memory that simply wasn’t there.

I felt sick.

We swapped hellos.

I took a sip of wine, pretending I was about to say something so meaningful the universe needed to hold its breath.

And suddenly, a new voice cleared its throat inside my head.

It was my new pal, Madame Menopause.

“Darling,” she purred. “You’ve never had a head for names. Blame it on me.”

With that simple internal whisper, I now had the perfect, socially acceptable excuse for having a less-than-stellar memory.

No need to fake it anymore.

She who-could-not-be-named interrupted me to apologise for not messaging through the new school group.

Madame Meno P purred with satisfaction.

I took another sip before begging forgiveness for my crap menopausal memory... Were we connected on Facebook?

“The universe should issue name badges with instructions to bring them out when you hit forty-five,” I joked.

And the woman sent me a friend request with an empathetic smile.

I can’t remember her name now, mind you. But I haven’t got a glass of wine in my hand and she’s not standing next to me, so it doesn’t matter.

I’ll claim that teeny, tiny glorious mind-over-menopause win!

With a bit of PMA — Positive Menopause Attitude — not only had I got myself out of an awkward situation… but my menopause “condition” had actually saved the day!

Who’d have thought, eh?!

You see, this is exactly the kind of delightful surprise PMA is all about.

Finding freedom, humour, and self-acceptance in moments that once felt fraught with fear.

Forgetfulness is part of life — Menopause just gives me a handy excuse, ha ha!

The truth is, forgetting names is a basic feature of being me, GK, for decades. Call it a known bug in my system that’s caused me no end of discomfort over the years.

Now be assured, I’m not trying to convince you that menopause is a breeze. Madame Meno P has made things worse — but, at least, it’s kindly, given my rubbish memory a halo of legitimacy.

Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I think that’s worth celebrating. With PMA in my meno-toolkit, I actually feel empowered.

“… menopause has kindly given my rubbish memory a halo of legitimacy.”

So, I’ve started leaning into my memory lapses.

And it’s a hoot!

If I bump into someone I’d rather avoid, Menopause gets the credit.

Conveniently forget a meeting I didn’t want to attend? Madame Meno P takes the blame.

Forget bringing a birthday present (I hadn’t bought!) to a party? That now deserves a round of meno-applause.

By applying a dollop of PMA each time, I’ve turned what used to frustrate me into moments of mirth and reassuring self-compassion. Not only can I enjoy these memory lapses now — I’ve given myself permission to see them as successes, not failures.

They fuel my PMA-powered freedom.

“Not only can I enjoy these memory lapses now — I’ve given myself permission to see them as successes, not failures.”

The whole perimenopause thing has become a valuable reminder that I can cope with whatever strange situations I wander into. I’m just changing the way I do it.

Forgetfulness doesn’t have to be a weakness, and sometimes it’s a genuinely useful tool, ha ha.

With PMA, I see this truth, lean into it, and cut myself some slack.

Now, the things I forget, the names that escape me… they’re insignificant compared to what matters: a friend waving, the ensuing laughter, and the shared moments of empathy with a like-minded pal.

Menopause is prompting me to look past my imperfections — yes, it’s a long distance look, and my eyesight isn’t what it was, but I’m managing — and celebrate these daily little victories instead.

“With PMA, I see this truth, lean into it, and cut myself some slack.”

I’ve started telling people upfront: “I’m terrible with names. Menopause is my excuse. I’ve simply decided to knit my own monkey.”

Most people laugh. Repeat back ‘knit your own monkey’ with a quizzical nod and accept I’m a mad menopausal woman who’s comfortable living with knitted primates instead of cats.

But women-in-the-know take note. They see I’m knitting my own monkey — owning my story, my quirks, and biological plot twists, and putting PMA into action.

The more I lean into that, the more I feel the benefit of humour and self-acceptance transforming my everyday menopause moments into tiny victories.

So, the next time you wish the earth would swallow you because you can’t remember the name of someone you last saw forty years ago, take heart, my friend.

You probably wouldn’t have remembered it ten years ago either! And at least now Madame Meno P can shoulder the blame.

“I’m knitting my own monkey — owning my story, my quirks, and biological plot twists, and putting a PMA into action. The more I lean into that, the more I feel the benefit of humour and self-acceptance transforming my everyday menopause moments into tiny victories.”

Through PMA, I’m choosing to knit my own monkey… do menopause my way.

And you, dear lady, can knit your own monkey too… It’s fun, it’s liberating, and it’ll give you a good few yarns to share with the girls.

Like the sound of that? Come and join me on Facebook — I’ve got plans to turn this menopause lark into the baboonas cahoonas!

Big hugs and keep positive!

GK Kingsley

Helping women find freedom, humour, and self-worth in menopause and midlife. YOU still have a yarn to tell…. It’s time to knit your own monkey! 🧶🌸💪✨

Originally published on Medium: Menopause Finally Gave Me a Reason to Stop Faking It