#7
brain fog
Or When Your Brain Goes on Holiday
and Forgets to Tell You
Ever found yourself standing in the kitchen, wondering why you went in there? This one's for you.
Menopause brain fog can mean forgetfulness, misplaced glasses or words that vanish mid-sentence. This funny, honest guest post is for women who recognise themselves in these moments, and the people who love them.
After twenty or thirty years of remembering things for everyone else, perhaps it's time someone gave you a hand.
Below, you'll find The Kitchen, The Glasses, The Remote Control and Those Blasted Words, followed by a little message for the men and a Second Spring Takeaway.
Meet Edina Schneider, our first guest writer
I first came across Edina on Facebook. Her posts on completely different topics caught my attention, which is why I was so surprised when a funny piece of hers about menopause suddenly popped up in my feed.
I thought the way she wrote about sex during menopause was brilliant: satirical, honest and deeply human. It captured exactly what matters to me too: that we can talk about these things seriously without losing our sense of humour.
It's no accident that Edina understands people so well. As a therapist, she's spent more than thirty years listening to what people never tell anyone else. Perhaps that's why she can write so openly and so hilariously about the things many of us only ever whisper about.
Although I had planned to share other writers' work on my site only later, I asked Edina straight away to write for the Mentor Mira blog. It felt like a crime not to share these wonderful pieces with my English-speaking readers too.
Since then, she has continued writing about menopause, and now there's a whole series for you to enjoy here. A little spoiler: the piece that first won me over comes later in the series. So it's well worth coming back.
I'm so happy and grateful that this new chapter begins with her.
And now, over to Edina for her own introduction to the series.
Mentor Mira
A Little Hello from Edina
My menopause series began with a simple Facebook post. I wasn’t planning to write a whole series, but women kept saying, “That’s me!” and men kept saying, “That explains a lot.”
In fact, despite the great big “WOMEN ONLY!” at the top, the first ten people to like it were men.
So I carried on. If my own body was going to behave this ridiculously, the least it could do was provide decent material.
That response showed me there was room for an honest conversation about this stage of life, with enough humour to help us through the awkward bits.
Health is my field, but menopause is also personal. I’ve studied it, and I’m living it. Believe me, the practical lessons aren’t always in the textbooks.
So this series is for women who could do with a little recognition and a good laugh, and for the men trying to understand what’s happening to the woman they love.
You don’t need any prior knowledge. A sense of humour will do. Preferably one that allows you to laugh at yourself.
Ladies, sometimes humour is the only survival kit we’ve got.
And gentlemen, consider this a free instruction manual.
Edina Schneider
Let’s start with the names
I used to think menopause was just menopause. Then I found out there was perimenopause, postmenopause, the menopausal transition, the change…
No wonder they call it “the change”.
By the time you’ve learnt what to call it, it’s changed again.
Anyway, let’s talk about brain fog.
If I can remember what I was going to say.
The Kitchen
You walk in.
Stop.
Look around.
“Why did I come in here?”
You open the fridge. Nothing. Close it. Then open it again, because surely there was something.
There wasn’t.
You start walking out. Halfway through the doorway, you remember.
Your phone. You were looking for your phone.
In the fridge?
No, hang on.
It’s in your hand.
The Glasses
You spend ten minutes looking for your glasses while wearing them. And the whole time, you’re wondering how you’re supposed to find anything when you can’t see properly.
Then you go to the supermarket and, of course, your reading glasses are at home.
Are you really going to ask a twenty-year-old:
“Excuse me, could you read the ingredients for me?”
Absolutely not.
Instead, you stand in the cereal bar aisle, pretending you’re making a very important decision.
You can’t read the ingredients.
You can’t read the best-before date.
You’re not entirely sure what flavour it is.
All the tiny letters have merged into one grey line.
At the till, you get your change out. Yes, I still pay with cash sometimes.
I live in Switzerland, where we have four silver coins that all look the same to me. Especially when my reading glasses are at home.
You turn them over. Hold them closer. Hold them further away.
Then you give up and offer the cashier the lot.
“Would you mind taking what you need?”
On the way home, you decide you’re buying more reading glasses. One pair for your handbag, one for the car, one for the kitchen.
That should sort it.
Until you need them. Then all three will be somewhere else.
The Remote Control
There are about twelve remote controls in your house, and you always pick up the wrong one.
Your partner has shown you which buttons to press at least ten times. Every time, you listen. You nod. You understand.
Next evening:
“What does this one do?”
He looks at you.
You look at the remote.
Honestly, you’ve never seen it before in your life.
Apparently, your brain couldn’t be bothered to keep that information. So here we are again, starting from scratch.
It’s like someone restores your factory settings overnight.
And after another full explanation, you press the button.
The telly stays off.
Something else starts humming.
Those Blasted Words
The best one is when you lose a word halfway through a sentence.
“I bumped into… oh, what’s her name… you know… the one who…”
No. They don’t know.
Neither do you.
You know her face. You know where she lives. You could probably tell them what she was wearing.
Her name? Gone.
Presumably, it’s wherever the missing socks are.
And everyone has advice.
“Write things down!”
Thank you. First, I need to remember what I was going to write down.
“Just concentrate!”
Oh, concentrate. Why didn’t I think of that?
I used to think getting older meant getting wiser.
I hadn’t realised I’d also be spending this much time trying to remember why I’d walked into the sitting room.
I like to think everything’s still in there. Someone’s just moved it without asking me.
Now every morning is a treasure hunt in my own head.
Some days, I find what I’m looking for. Other days, I find something I needed last Thursday.
Here’s a tip: when someone asks what you’re thinking about, just smile mysteriously.
They don’t need to know you’re wondering the same thing.
Mentor Mira Moment
From My Second Spring
Oh, I know exactly what Edina is talking about! I've had plenty of these little moments myself.
It's just a shame my flat isn't bigger.
With all the walking back and forth trying to remember what I went in there for in the first place, I'd easily hit my daily step goal!
And finally, a word to the men
If your partner has spent five minutes looking for the glasses sitting on her nose, before you make a joke, just remember what else she’s had in her head all these years.
Every birthday in the family. The doctor’s appointments. The shopping list. The children’s PE kits. Your medication. The dog’s vaccinations. And the fact that there’s only one dishwasher tablet left.
For twenty or thirty years, she may have been the one remembering things for everyone.
Now she could do with a hand.
So instead of:
“Why do you keep forgetting everything?”
Try:
“What can I do to help?”
And if you’ve noticed the dishwasher tablets have run out, buy some. You don’t need to wait for instructions.
We’re still the same women. We’ve just got a few new things to get used to.
And occasionally, we’d appreciate someone else remembering where the glasses are.
Your second spring takeaway
I’m learning to be a bit kinder to myself when a word goes missing, or I forget why I’ve walked into a room.
I don’t have to turn every lapse into a verdict on how well I’m coping.
I can laugh, ask for a hand, and let someone else remember the shopping list for once.
After years of keeping track of everything, that last part takes practice.
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