Perimenopause Gave Me The Clarity I Needed To Leave My Abusive Ex
(Photo: iStock)
I met Rahul* in the winter of 1998 through a family friend who ran an arranged marriage agency in India, where I lived at the time. I said yes after a 45-minute meeting, which was common practice in such situations, and we got married shortly afterward. I was 27 years old, and he was 30.
Following the wedding, I moved to Tanzania, where Rahul lived and worked as an expat. During the honeymoon phase, he said romantic things and put me on a pedestal. Even though there were early signs he had a controlling and aggressive side, I ignored them. When he cheated on me while I was pregnant with our first child about two years into the marriage, I forgave him. I thought I must have some kind of shortcoming.
In 2004, we immigrated to Canada. In private, Rahul could be verbally and emotionally abusive, and he continued to cheat. But from the outside, we were a picture-perfect family: we lived in an upper-middle class suburb, hosted parties for our friends and had successful careers in finance and corporate sales. I was full of energy, leading an active life and taking on most of the parenting.
At the age of 37, I gave birth to our second child. I decided to leave my high-stress job to focus on raising my children. I took on a part-time lunch supervisor job and volunteered as a parent council chair at my older child’s school. But Rahul was unhappy we lost my full-time paycheque and started seeing me as a liability.
Around this time, I began experiencing subtle changes in my body. At first, I was a little more fatigued, and I experienced the occasional foggy moment and a few unexpected mood swings. But by my mid-40s, it felt like my entire identity was crumbling. I was exhausted all the time—I never used to take naps but now I needed them to get through the day. The weight piled on. The brain fog was intense. And I developed various chronic pains. My sleep was erratic, and I would cry over things that wouldn’t bother me before. The symptoms were affecting all aspects of my life—my work, my social relationships and my family.
I thought there must be something seriously wrong with me. When I went to see my family doctor with Rahul, she explained that I was experiencing symptoms of perimenopause, and that it would “only get worse.” She didn’t prescribe menopause hormone therapy or anything else. I felt helpless knowing that it was common for women at my age to have these symptoms and there wasn’t much I could do about it.
Rahul was unsupportive. He would get irritated with my mood swings; he wanted me to always be happy. I was frustrated with myself, too. I felt inadequate for needing more rest, and Rahul would add to my shame. He would call me lazy and say that I was intentionally trying to avoid household chores. He would taunt me by asking, “Are you the only woman going through perimenopause?” and compare me to women who were working full-time. He would regularly put me down and call me crazy.
Rahul also thought I was using my symptoms as an excuse to avoid being intimate with him. He would jokingly say, “Maybe you like someone, maybe you’re having an affair.” In reality, he was the one cheating again, but I didn’t know it at the time. Sometimes when I refused to have sex with him, he forced himself on me.
One day, Rahul announced out of the blue that he wanted to separate. Soon after, I ended up in the emergency room with intense migraines caused by elevated blood pressure. The doctors couldn’t say for certain what caused it, but I suspect stress played a part.
I later found out that Rahul had wanted to marry his mistress, but he didn’t follow through because they broke up. So we continued to try to make it work. My perimenopause symptoms contributed to Rahul asking twice more for a separation that involved continuing to live under the same roof. In 2017, I finally agreed to this arrangement after getting an STD from his affair. Throughout the 22 years I was with him, I also considered leaving on six occasions. I stayed for my children, financial stability, a fear of retaliation if I left and a lack of confidence that I could manage life on my own. But by 2020, the deterioration of my physical and mental health pushed me to take action.
At this point, I was fumbling my words, stuttering and crying regularly. To make matters worse, in April—during the height of the pandemic—Rahul was fired from his job. It meant we were all cooped up together at home in a toxic environment. The arguing started affecting my children’s behaviour; my younger child started acting aggressively, and my elder one was spending most of her time in her room or at university to get away.
In 2018, during another tough period, I had reached out to a community services organization that referred me to a shelter support worker. I slowly started working with her to plan my escape, but didn’t feel ready to take the leap until two years later. Since I had to pack up my belongings and my kids’ things in front of Rahul, the support worker advised me to give him a window of a few weeks as a heads up for when I planned to leave—but not the specific date. During this time, he asked a lot of questions, tried to dissuade me, showed fake concern for the kids’ well-being and expressed anger over my plans. One day in December 2020, I finally left with my children, who were 20 and 12 at the time, while he was out. We moved into priority social housing for intimate partner violence victims. The next day he called again and again, but it was over. I finally felt safe.
I’m still in social housing and not working at the moment, but I’m looking for job opportunities and hope I’ll be able to move into my own place one day. Rahul didn’t make much effort to maintain a relationship with the kids, so they haven’t seen him in four years. They’re happy to be away from him. Still, the years following the separation continued to take a toll on my health. The stress of a contentious divorce that played out in court and the death of my father were all contributing factors. Now I’m coping much better with symptoms—which have continued after I reached menopause a few years ago at the age of 52—because life is less stressful.
My divorce was finalized last year. I see a therapist, and I pursue creative outlets such as painting and poetry. After my experience, I wanted to use my voice to help other women experiencing abuse so I trained in anti-gender-based violence measures. Now, mainly as a volunteer, I share my story, help with paperwork and share resources with women. I also advocate for more housing and community services, participate in consultations and forge partnerships with anti-GBV organizations. I’m happy doing this work; it’s given me confidence and purpose.
Even though there’s a world of a difference when I compare living in social housing to how I lived before—we have a much smaller space and the neighbourhood is not as safe—I’m grateful for this space. Even though I’m sad I lost my home, being free and in control of my life is priceless.
*The subject of this story is anonymous to protect her safety. All names are pseudonyms.
