A Menopause Bedtime Story (That Ends Badly)
Once Upon a Time… Sleep Was Simple
I remember when bedtime was a fairy tale in itself: you got tired, you went to sleep, you woke up refreshed. The end.
No apps tracking your REM cycles, no scores judging your rest quality, and definitely no midnight negotiations with your bladder or thermostat.
These days, I find myself waking up at 3am, either to make a trip to the bathroom or double checking that the air conditioning didn’t suddenly switch itself off, wondering why it’s soooo hot… only to look at the other side of the bed and find my husband fully bundled under the duvet.
To make matters worse, the upstairs neighbor seems to have visiting family over. And they seem to have bought a new karaoke machine with Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” being the family favorite song choice.
I wanted ‘The Sound of Silence,’ but menopause-me plus my neighbor’s karaoke became ‘Killing Me Softly.’”
So I thought it would be a good idea to escape for a few days.
The Setup: Escape to Paradise (Or So We Thought)
My husband and I escaped to a beach resort, desperate for quality R&R away from Metro Manila’s chaos. I had visions of peaceful sleep: no traffic, no notifications, no annoying upstairs neighbors . Just me, Egyptian cotton sheets, and the promise of eight uninterrupted hours.
I should have known better…
Act I: Sleeping Beauty’s Expectations vs. Reality
The Fantasy: Drift off like Sleeping Beauty… graceful, serene, undisturbed for a hundred years (or at least eight hours).
The Reality: Night sweats that make you kick off the blanket, then grab them back when the chill hits. Joint pain that compels you to find a more comfortable sleeping position that ends up with you looking like a geometric puzzle.
But this particular night promised to be different. Resort bed. Blackout curtains. And as a bonus, the sound of falling rain that no app can replicate. I had all the tools for sleep success.
Then, as I was drifting off, an uninvited co-star made his grand entrance…
Act II: The Frog Prince (Who Refused to Transform)
Around midnight, a deep, throaty sound echoed through our room. And another. And another.
CROAK. CROAK. CROAK.
It had been raining when we checked in, and I later discovered that the puddles that formed were prime breeding grounds — the perfect amphibian love hotel. This wasn’t a charming frog from fairy tales but a horny one broadcasting his availability to every female within a five-mile radius.
Translation: While I lay there sleepless, this little Casanova was getting more action than I’d had in months.
My husband, blessed with the sleep superpower of selective hearing, slumbered peacefully. Meanwhile, I lay there calculating:
- Sleep Score Projection: Plummeting
- Tomorrow’s Energy Level: Doomed
- Frog’s Survival Chances: Diminishing rapidly
Act III: The Wicked Witch Emerges
By morning, the fairy tale transformation was complete. Forget Sleeping Beauty… I had become the Wicked Witch of the West Wing (our resort room).
Evidence of my witchcraft:
- Snapped at my husband when he asked, “How did you sleep, sweetheart?”
- Marched to the front desk to announce we were checking out TODAY after just one night (we’d booked three)
- Asked the resort manager if this particular frog species was endangered because I was seriously considering ecological intervention
- Inquired whether frog legs could be added to the breakfast menu as a “sustainable protein option”
I always had a soft spot for the misunderstood Wicked Witches anyway. How dare Hansel and Gretel invade her space and eat her house?!? The Sea Witch offered a legally binding contract—not her fault that the Little Mermaid didn’t read the fine print.
So I was completely empathizing with my misunderstood sisters and believed I had every right to wish this rogue frog ill will.
The Moral of This Menopause Tale
Sleep during menopause is already like trying to thread a needle while riding a roller coaster in a thunderstorm. We don’t need external amphibian assistance.
But here’s what that sleepless night taught me about the real villains in every menopause story:
- The cursed spindle of joint pain that pricks you awake just as you’re drifting off
- The magic mirror of self-doubt that reflects every imperfection at 3 AM
- The poisoned apple of hormonal chaos that makes everything taste bitter (including sleep)
Sometimes the best fairy tale ending isn’t “and they lived happily ever after” but “and she finally got some sleep.”
Ending: Home Sweet (Quiet) Home
We packed up and went home after one night. Our romantic getaway became a very expensive lesson in amphibian reproductive habits.
But back in our own bed (frog-free, thankfully), I had an epiphany: sleep isn’t just another menopause symptom to manage—it’s the foundation. Without quality sleep, everything else crumbles. The muscle building, the mood management, the patience for dealing with neighbors’ karaoke – it all starts with sufficient rest.
So while I’d failed at the resort relaxation mission, I’d gained valuable insight. And yes, I did research the protein content of frog legs (18 grams per 100g, if you’re curious). Waste not, want not.
The real moral: Sleep during menopause doesn’t need to be optimized, scored, or perfected. Sometimes it just needs to happen but preferably without a soundtrack of amphibian mating calls.
And they lived slightly well-rested ever after…
P.S.: Practical Sleep Tips for Fellow MenoSisters
Because we can laugh AND be helpful:
- Earplugs for surprise amphibian concerts
- Layers for the hot flash-chill cycle
- Realistic expectations (4-6 hours of decent sleep = victory)
Tag your fellow midlife warriors who know what it’s like to fight frogs, hormones, and husbands… all in one sleepless night. May your next tale have a happier, if not quieter, ending.
Carlos Vargas Gierke
