Menopause changed her—and him too

For many couples, menopause can be life-stage reckoning, often with rude awakening. (Representational image credit: Kampus via Pexels)

It’s something most couples never quite prepare for. It arrives not with a single event, but through a slow and quiet unravelling. A mood that hangs heavier. A sentence left unfinished. A look that once invited conversation, now saying, not now. For many men, menopause enters the home like fog—without drama, without announcement, but with unmistakable presence.

We speak about menopause more now than we ever did, and that is long overdue. Women’s experiences, often dismissed or misunderstood, are finally finding voice. The hot flushes, the disrupted sleep, the plummeting hormones, the sense of loss and disorientation—all of it deserves attention, respect and care. But somewhere in the middle of this shift, something else is being missed. The man standing beside her. Often confused, often hurting, often silent.

Menopause didn’t just change her. It changed him too.

He doesn’t say much about it. Perhaps he doesn’t have the words. Perhaps he’s learnt not to centre himself when she is going through something so physically and emotionally demanding. But that doesn’t mean he’s untouched. He’s the one who feels the unpredictability but doesn’t understand its rhythm. He’s the one who wants to reach out but doesn’t know when it’s the right time. He’s the one who wonders where the laughter went, or why everything now feels so delicate. And in trying not to be hurtful, he quietly absorbs the hurt.

At midlife, so much is already in motion. Or rather commotion. Careers may no longer be climbing, as they did so far. That adds pressure to do everything right, to get to the finishline well. Children may be pulling away to find their own wings. Parents, once strong, may now need care. The space between partners—once filled with energy, plans, movement—can quietly grow still. And into that stillness arrives menopause, seeking patience, softness, and a reinvention of intimacy. For many couples, it is life-stage reckoning, often with rude awakening.

There’s also a quiet grief that men rarely name. Not for the partner herself—she is still there, strong and loved—but for the way things used to be. The way her hand once found his at random. The shared jokes. The late-night laughter. The casual playfulness. The sense of ease. He misses those things, even when he understands why they’ve changed. And in the absence of words, that grief settles somewhere between guilt and longing.

There’s a particular loneliness that comes from walking beside someone you love and not knowing how to help. And men, conditioned over a lifetime to be problem-solvers, find that helplessness especially hard to carry. The partner who once offered comfort with ease now worries whether even his concern might be misread. Even affection feels uncertain. Touch becomes tentative. Words become careful. The silences grow longer.

And if he dares to say he is struggling too, he risks being misunderstood. The tone has to be right, the moment has to be right, the words have to be perfect. If they aren’t, he’s quickly cast as insensitive or worse, a chauvinist. As if sharing one’s own pain means diminishing someone else’s. As if being confused or overwhelmed makes him selfish. But what he wants is not attention. What he needs is not sympathy. It is simply the space to say—this is hard for me too.

This is not to compare burdens. Women bear the weight of menopause in their bodies, and the world is only just beginning to understand its depth. But acknowledging the emotional toll it takes on men does not take anything away from that truth. It adds to it. It deepens the conversation. It strengthens the bond between two people who are both, in very different ways, changing.

India, too, is changing. Slowly, unevenly, sometimes uncomfortably, but moving all the same. Not so long ago, we did not speak of menstruation. It was tucked away, hidden in cupboards and wrapped in newspaper. Today, we speak of periods in classrooms and campaigns, in films and family chats. That shift matters. And if we have found the courage to talk about the beginning of the reproductive journey, perhaps we are now ready to speak about its end.

Perhaps we are ready to understand what menopause really means for a woman. And perhaps we are mature enough to understand what it does to the man who walks beside her. He, too, is navigating change. He, too, is learning. Not perfectly. Not always with grace. He is trying to be present, to be strong, to be kind. But he also needs understanding. Not blame. Not silence. Just understanding.

There are no WhatsApp groups for men to speak about this. No safe spaces to say, I feel lost. No friendly aunties telling them it’s just a phase and it will pass. But even patience needs oxygen. Even strength needs a place to rest.

What makes a relationship survive this phase is not pretending everything is the same. It is recognising that everything is changing, and choosing to walk through that change together. It is giving each other the grace to be uncertain, and the courage to speak—even if the words are clumsy at first.

Menopause may be her biological journey. But it can be their emotional one too. And if both are allowed to be seen in their fullness, it can become a chapter of deeper connection. Because in the end, it changes her. It changes him. And if they let it, it can change the way they love—more humanly than ever before.