If you had told me ten years ago that midlife joy would look like laughing over chin hairs and debating portable fans, I’d have called you crazy. But here we are—me, Jenn Sherman, and Pam “Sunny” Sunshine —proving that friendship is the secret weapon every woman needs to survive “the change.”
Menopause blindsides you in ways no WebMD article ever prepares you for. Maybe your mom mentioned a hot flash. Maybe a doctor ran down some vague symptoms. But nothing prepares you for shedding hair, forgetting your keys (again), or needing to carry a fan in your handbag.
Sunny and I met almost 40 years ago. We have been through it all together: our wild post-college single days, walking down the aisle as each other’s bridesmaids, having babies at the same time. We’ve been through thick and thin, through the best and worst of times. And because of it, we’re the kind of friends who finish each other’s sentences—and show up uninvited, wine in hand.
Our menopause journeys, however, couldn’t be more different.
Sunny got the dubious honor of kicking things off at 50. “Happy birthday to me!” she said, only half-joking. What started as a few hot nights soon turned into an eight-year adventure complete with mood swings, brain fog, hair thinning, and yes—the world’s best collection of handheld and portable fans.
But Sunny had the most incredible attitude. Her personal menopause mantra? “I’m not dying. I’m just hot.” I admire the hell out of her for it, and am constantly praising her for her humor and resilience.
On the other hand, I slid into menopause at 55 with a relatively easy ride. No real hot flashes. The occasional warm night where I’d kick the covers off and grumble at my husband, but nothing close to what Sunny’s endured. Sure, there were moments—brain fog, mood swings, low-energy days. But overall? I got off easy.
What’s made this stage of life bearable—even beautiful in its bizarre way—is the honesty we’ve cultivated between us. No filter, no shame. We talk about everything: the sudden appearance of wiry chin hairs, navigating the bedroom with our husbands, and the fear of feeling invisible in a world obsessed with youth. We laugh so hard about it all, which is the way we do things in this 40-year friendship.
The truth we’re discovering is that menopause isn’t an ending. It’s a transition—a shedding of hormones, expectations, and yes, sometimes actual hair—into a whole new you. And who you have beside you for that ride matters. Sunny’s taught me that you can be eight years deep in this mess and still find something to laugh about. I hope I’ve shown her that even when you skate through with fewer symptoms, you can still be an ally, a cheerleader, and an occasional chauffeur to Sephora when the mood swings hit.
If you’re navigating this chapter too, find your Sunny. Be someone’s Sunny. Get yourself a portable fan, a new lip gloss, and a friend who makes you laugh until you cry—because midlife isn’t a crisis, it’s a club. And trust me: Never leave home without a tweezer.
