The darkness crept in slowly. It took 18 months to learn what was really happening
Monday, 8 December 2025
It started with sleepless nights and a sadness reporter Nadine Roberts couldn’t name. She thought she was losing her mind. Instead, she found a story few were telling and a system failing our wāhine. This is her first person account of her struggles with perimenopause.
Content warning: This story discusses suicide, and may be distressing for some readers.
I open my eyes, but nothing’s changed.
It’s another day, like the one before and the one that will come after and the dread that threatens to drown me is constant.
For the past 18 months I have felt like a voyeur outside the bubble that is me. I’m watching myself move, think, breathe, but I’m not familiar with who that person is.
I drag my legs free of the sheets and try not to look at the sneakers that haven’t moved in many months, triggering familial emotions of guilt and shame.
I’m fat.
I wear black all the time to hide myself and I have this sense of being done.
It’s what evolution’s telling me, I tell myself - this is what happens when your ovaries dry up - ‘Decline and Fall’ comes to mind - and all of it says, “You’re no longer needed. Why are you here?”
These thoughts are constant and although I fake it at work, I’m dogged by a sense of hopelessness and wake up wondering how nice it would be to fall into a deep sleep … forever.
I do know I’m in trouble - simply because of the mental health history in my family.
Neither Dad nor my sister could beat the beater. They both took their lives in middle age.
So I’ve been pro-active in my depression struggles - but here’s the kicker.
You can think you have a handle on your mental health, you can even be medicated, but perimenopause and more importantly, my hormones, don't give a shit.
They stalk and chip away at my self esteem. I can see it happening, but I can’t stop it.
The more the body resists any form of control like running, restricted eating, no caffeine, early nights, the more discombobulated I felt.
And nothing changed.
Eventually I will break down in front of my doctor, Tania Cooper, and confess that I didn’t care if this was my last day. To be clear I wasn’t saying I would make it so - just that I had no opposition to dying, other than a deep feeling of peace within my chest when I thought about it.
The thought of all of it going away was appealing - except for the three beautiful daughters who need their mother.
By this stage, I had already been down the menopause rabbit hole and spent a fortune on natural alternatives that did nothing.
I was prescribed melatonin for lack of sleep, which, more than anything, was tearing apart my life.
It didn’t work.
Waking up over and over again with aching twitchy legs with the mattress swallowed in sweat and my skin stinking like it had been marinated for hours in a slow cooker became normal.
It’s a horrible feeling, compounded by a society that promotes youth, so that when I check the news (which is my job), I am further flattened by a parade of women in their 50s and 60s who look like goddesses.
I know they are what wealth can buy, but the thoughts that dog me in this superficial society is that I’m letting the side down. They seem to be managing the change of life magnificently - so why can’t I?
Then there’s the endless podcasts and articles that have allowed menopause to be sidelined to just three words, fogginess, hot flushes and grumpiness.
If only I was that stereotypical woman.
I don’t understand.
No-one’s talking about depression. Those that talk about menopause are glamorous women who seem to have all the answers for the physical ailments, but say nothing about the exhausting dialogue in my head.
And there’s mum … she never mentioned this to me. ‘Am I just being weak’, I keep asking myself? Wouldn’t it be easier for everyone if I just disappeared?
It’s a silent battle.
At a time of life when I should be at the peak of my career, self-doubt plagues me.
With confidence shot, I struggle to interview people, or answer the phone.
Once I get home, I shut the door and hunker down. I don’t want to go anywhere, but I know isolating myself is not helping either.
Nobody at work knows what’s happening. I don’t want them to know. There are times when I have to take a day’s sick leave because I simply can’t front and it’s only sheer determination that makes me get out of bed on the other days.
I don’t tell my boss it’s because of the menopause because that’s not in my sphere. I have no idea that hormones are toppling me but I do know that my “mental weakness” is costing me professionally because I’m not the driven journalist I once was.
Then there’s the fear of the dreaded “hysteria” stigma. Just what label will I be given if I mention menopause when I finally get a diagnosis? I’ve spent my life fighting female stereotypes of “she’s emotional” when I passionately advocate for something. God knows what colleagues will think the next time I tear up.
Except I do know … ‘she’s a crazy woman’ comes to mind.
And all I want is to sleep and wake up feeling like me again - not this dumbed down sad version of myself where joy can knock at the door - but it sure as hell can’t come in.
Before I find out what the problem is, I suffer my first panic attack at 46 and think I’m having a heart attack. I go to an older male doctor and am told I’m okay, I’m just a bit stressed. I need some time off.
But I’m no more stressed than normal. In fact life has been very settled.
It scares me because it’s another sign that I have no control over my body.
Maybe the biggest illusion was thinking that I ever did.
Do you have a story? Email nadine.roberts@stuffdigital.co.nz.
But I’m lucky. My husband notices I’m deteriorating and makes me see Dr Cooper who seems to understand and wants to help. She talks about perimenopause.
Peri what?
She explains what’s happening to me. “It’s like puberty in reverse,” she says. “It can cause all sorts of mental and physical symptoms.”
I’m relieved. “I thought I was going crazy,” I weep.
“You’d be surprised by how many women say that to me,” Dr Cooper reassures me.
We start me on Hormone Replacement patches and I change my antidepressant.
I also take sleeping pills.
Slowly, bit by bit I come out of the quagmire.
I don’t want it to sound easy, or to imply that HRT is solely responsible for the upturn in my mental health. That would be too simplistic and quite frankly dangerous.
If I’ve learnt anything it’s that one size doesn’t fit all.
In reality it’s been a holistic journey. First of all I had to get my sleep right (there’s a reason they use sleep deprivation as a torture device). Then I changed my diet. No sugar, gluten and lactose (I learn I have an intolerance brought on helpfully by menopause), caffeine and most dairy.
I don't over-exercise anymore, but I do run regularly.
Clean living 24/7 isn’t always fun but it is the reality for many women right now and thankfully some of the equilibrium is returning.
As I research more, I find an online forum where hundreds of women are posting cries for help every day.
I’m staggered at the level of mental distress expressed. I’m staggered at the many women who share shocking responses from doctors when they try to raise the issue with them.
From ‘you’re too young for menopause’ for a 37-year-old (Dr Cooper scoffs at that), to dismissive attitudes towards HRT, it’s a wide and varied response.
Many say when they tell their doctor they are just like me - suffering mental health distress - they are told, like me at one stage, that they are just stressed.
It can be like banging your head against a brick wall, and it’s clear it’s not like for like when it comes to our GPs.
So I began an investigation to learn how significant this issue is and easily found examples of women quitting jobs, steering clear of leadership positions and ending relationships because of undiagnosed perimenopause symptoms.
My investigation led me to one brave husband who shared a heartbreaking story of loss that could have been prevented - in the hope that something changes.
And me?
Well I found answers — but I shouldn’t have had to look this hard.
No woman should.
Read Nadine Roberts’ Special Report on the links between mental health and menopause here.
Where to get help
1737, Need to talk? Free call or text 1737 to talk to a trained counsellor.
Anxiety New Zealand 0800 ANXIETY (0800 269 4389)
Depression.org.nz 0800 111 757 or text 4202
Lifeline 0800 543 354
Rural Support Trust 0800 787 254
Samaritans 0800 726 666
Suicide Crisis Helpline 0508 828 865 (0508 TAUTOKO)
Yellow Brick Road 0800 732 825
thelowdown.co.nz Web chat, email chat or free text 5626
What's Up 0800 942 8787 (for 5 to 18-year-olds). Phone counselling available Monday-Friday, noon-11pm and weekends, 3pm-11pm. Online chat is available 3pm-10pm daily.
Youthline 0800 376 633, free text 234, email talk@youthline.co.nz, or find online chat and other support options here.
Aoake te Rā 0800 000 053
If it is an emergency, click here to find the number for your local crisis assessment team.
In a life-threatening situation, call 111