The Midnight Menopause Club

There was a time when we both slept like logs.
Head down, lights out, eight solid hours.

Now?
Now we lie there like two owls in a staring contest.

She’s tossing, turning, kicking off the duvet, pulling it back on, sighing, muttering, and checking the clock every ten minutes.
And me? I’m just lying there, pretending to be asleep — because I know better than to ask, “Can’t you get comfortable?”

The 3:00 a.m. Hot-and-Cold Tango

It always starts the same way.
First, she’s boiling. Duvet off. Window open. Fan on.
Then five minutes later — freezing. Duvet on. Window shut. Fan off.

It’s like sleeping next to someone who’s simultaneously camping in the Sahara and the Arctic.

And you learn fast that there’s no logic to it.
One minute she’s shoving her leg out from under the covers, the next she’s wrapping herself up like a burrito.

Sometimes, I wake up mid-spin — she’s flipped the entire duvet like a magician revealing a rabbit.

It’s chaos, but also kind of funny, once you stop being tired enough to cry.

The Bedtime Routine (That Never Works)

We’ve tried everything.

Herbal teas.
Lavender sprays.
Meditation apps with soft voices saying things like, “Let go of your day…”
(Which is hard to do when she’s shouting, “Turn that whispering man off!”)

There’s the magnesium, the chamomile, the early nights that somehow turn into late ones, and my personal favourite — the 10 p.m. declaration:
“I’m not tired at all,” followed by her yawning so hard she nearly dislocates her jaw.

The Hormonal Hijack

It’s easy to underestimate how much menopause messes with sleep.

The drop in estrogen and progesterone doesn’t just cause hot flushes — it affects everything: body temperature, mood regulation, and even melatonin (the sleep hormone).

That’s why she can feel exhausted all day but wide awake the moment her head hits the pillow.

Her body’s saying “Sleep,” but her hormones are shouting, “No chance, love — we’ve got worrying to do!”

The 2:47 a.m. Thought Spiral

You know it’s bad when she’s staring at the ceiling, sighing, and then whispers, “Are you awake?”

You lie very still.
You don’t move.
Because if you answer, it’s game over.

“Just thinking,” she says. “About everything.”

And that’s when the night-time monologue begins.

It’s rarely light chat. It’s big stuff:

• “Do you think I’ve wasted my life?”
• “What if we move house?”
• “Why did I eat that cheese earlier?”

Sometimes it’s deep, sometimes it’s nonsense, but it always arrives in the early hours — right when your brain’s least equipped to respond intelligently.

The Duvet Divide

There comes a point where you consider separate duvets — or even separate beds.

Not out of resentment, but out of survival.

Because no matter how much you love someone, being woken up every hour on the hour by a combination of snoring, sighing, and duvet-thieving tests even the strongest of bonds.

We tried sleeping apart once.
She hated it.
Said the bed felt “too big and too quiet.”

So we’re back together, in the nightly battle of the blankets.

I joke that we don’t sleep together anymore — we just don’t sleep together.

Midnight Madness

There’s a special kind of delirium that hits around 3:30 a.m.

You’re both awake, half-crazed, and suddenly find the stupidest things hilarious.

Once, after her third trip to the loo, she climbed back into bed and said, “If I get up again, I’m just going to stay standing.”

We laughed so hard we cried — and it was that laughter, more than anything, that finally made us relax enough to drift off.

Menopause might steal sleep, but it gives you some cracking comedy material in return.

When She’s Wide Awake

Some nights she just gives up.

You may find her downstairs at 2 a.m. with the TV on, blanket wrapped round her shoulders, a cup of tea in hand.

Sometimes she’s reading. Sometimes she’s scrolling. Sometimes she’s just being.

And you will learn not to tell her to “come back to bed.”
Because she will — when her mind and body are ready.

The worst thing you can do is turn sleeplessness into another source of stress.

The Emotional Toll

Sleep deprivation changes everything.

It makes her anxious, foggy, emotional — and sometimes, snappy. (Usually at me, because I’m the nearest living object.)

And I get it.
When your body feels alien and your brain won’t switch off, patience wears thin.

That’s when it’s important to remind yourself: it’s not personal.
She’s not mad at you — she’s mad at her hormones.

Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is offer a cup of tea and a hug.

Or better yet, just listen — even if it’s 4 a.m. and you can barely see straight.

The Partner’s Survival Guide

1. Don’t complain about being tired.
   Trust me, she’s always more tired.
2. Invest in a fan.
   Or two. Or three. You can’t have too many.
3. Get separate blankets.
   It’s not betrayal. It’s strategy.
4. Be kind about morning moods.
   If she’s quiet, don’t take it personally. If she’s grumpy, give her space (and coffee).
5. Learn her rhythms.
   Some nights she’ll sleep fine. Others will be rough. Be flexible — and patient.
6. Find the humour.
   You’re in this together. Laughing at the chaos is healthier than fighting it.

The Day After the Night Before

The morning after a sleepless night can go one of two ways:

1. Zombie Mode – She’s exhausted, silent, powered only by caffeine.
2. Fake Cheerfulness – The “I’m fine!” routine that fools nobody.

Either way, kindness helps more than words.
A coffee handed over quietly. A smile. A “Rough night?” and a gentle squeeze of the hand.

Because she’s not looking for solutions — she’s looking for understanding.

The Return of Rest

Here’s the good news: the sleepless nights do ease.

It might take time — and a few fan replacements — but eventually, her body finds a new rhythm.

The nights become calmer, the mornings brighter.
And you both start to feel human again.

Sleep returns like an old friend — a little unpredictable at first but welcome all the same.

The Silver Lining

In the strangest way, those sleepless nights bring you closer.

You talk more. Laugh more. Share more ridiculous 3 a.m. thoughts than you ever did in your twenties.

You learn the true meaning of patience, and that love isn’t just romance — it’s making tea at midnight for the woman who can’t stop sweating and apologising at the same time.

And somewhere between the hot flushes, the laughter, and the yawns, you realise:
You wouldn’t trade her — or this stage of life — for anything.

Because she’s still her.
Still wonderful.
Still yours.

Just a bit… warmer.