Sometimes, as women, we carry the weight of the world like it’s our job. (Spoiler alert: it isn’t.)
Menopause and caregiver fatigue often arrive hand-in-hand during midlife, creating a perfect storm of emotional and physical exhaustion. Many women find themselves juggling the hormonal shifts of menopause while caring for aging parents, grieving loved ones, or supporting a spouse through illness. It’s no wonder so many of us feel bone-tired, even when we’re deeply grateful for the lives we’ve built. This isn’t weakness—it’s reality.
We set sky-high expectations for ourselves, soldier on through emotional minefields, but often forget that we’re human too, messy, marvelous, and occasionally bone-tired humans.
OK to be tired. It’s OK to take a break.
Today, I’m speaking from the heart, wide open, no filter, about menopause and caregiver fatigue. It’s OK to be tired. It’s OK to take a break. It doesn’t mean you’re doing life wrong. It just means you’re human, and possibly a human who’s been holding space for everyone else for a little too long. In midlife, you might get a short-lived break from caring for your children and grandchildren but for many of us, that gap closes fast as we step into caring for aging parents, a spouse, or other loved ones. And sometimes? Those seasons of care overlap like a perfectly timed emotional pile-on.
Over the past several months, my family has been riding the emotional rollercoaster of illness, loss, and all the quiet chaos that follows. My lovely mother-in-law recently passed, and after her celebration of life wrapped up, the wave of “what now?” hit me. I adore what I do. I feel incredibly lucky to work with amazing women every day. But loving your life doesn’t make you immune to exhaustion. You can feel grateful and still feel like you need to lie down for, oh, a week or two.
This, my friends, is a version of what care workers and support givers often call compassion fatigue. And yes, it’s real. No, you don’t need a title or a uniform to earn it.
I believe menopause and caregiver (compassion) fatigue come in layers.
Sometimes it sneaks in quietly and you find yourself unable to focus, dragging through tasks, struggling to tap into your usual spark. That’s where I am right now. And I’m practicing what I preach: I’m giving myself permission to feel it, rest, regroup, and eventually return.
Here’s the deeper truth I want to share: I love my husband and will be there for my father-in-law. But I feel their grief like it’s stitched into my own heart. I want everyone, every single person in this cycle of change, to heal, and to move forward in a way that feels right for them. Not how they think they should. Not how society scripts it. But in a way that truly supports their body, heart, and soul.
And in the process of healing, we need more than just time – we need tools.
This is where Nutrition, Connection, and Gentle Movement come in.
They’re not luxuries. They’re lifelines.
Nourishing your body with simple, real food helps bring your nervous system back online. It reminds your cells that you’re safe, that you’re being cared for.
Connecting with others whether in a quiet conversation or a shared cup of tea that grounds you, reminds you that you’re not alone.
And gentle movement. Whether it’s chair yoga, stretching, or just a walk in your own rhythm, it helps your body release what your heart might not have words for yet.
Self-care isn’t selfish. It’s not optional. It’s critical.
And it’s deeply, unapologetically deserved.
We all need that permission slip to:
pause.
breathe.
let the dishes sit in the sink or the emails go unanswered.
and to fall apart a little so we can put ourselves back together with more honesty and care.
If anything in this resonates with you, take it as a sign. Not from me, from your own wise self. Give yourself space. You don’t need to be “on” all the time. The world will keep turning, and you’ll return to it more whole, more grounded, more you.
After 60 years, I’ve learned this: The best way forward is through alignment with body, energy, and intention. When those pieces click into place, the flow returns. And when I’m in that flow, I can serve and love and show up fully for the people who matter most.
But first, I rest.
And you can too.
P.S. I see you. I hear you. And if you’re ready to take steps toward feeling better, I’m here to help. A 30 minutes could be the start of something life-changing.
