This isn’t wellness, it’s a sh*tshow.

Hi lovely — fair warning, this one’s got some heat.

I had something else planned for this week’s post. Something thoughtful. Something tidy. Something nice.

But honestly?

F*ck nice.

I’m mad. I’m cooked. I’m over it. And I think it’s time to say out loud what so many of us are quietly screaming into the void.

Menopause has gone mainstream. And it’s a sh*tshow.

Not the experience itself (though, yeah, that too). I mean the marketing. The snake oil. The way every podcast bro with a mic and a mic’d-up jawline is now an expert in women’s hormones.

Welcome to the midlife cash grab, ladies.

Menopause — once ignored by medicine, written off as “just part of ageing,” and shoved under the rug of female silence — is now the hottest marketing angle of the year. And guess who’s cashing in?

You know the types. The “peak performance” podcasters. The “CEO mindset” blokes. The ones who definitely do nothave a uterus, but have a lot to say about yours.

It’s Joe Rogan, but make it bioidentical.

They’re slinging supplements, blue-light glasses, cold plunge tubs, and 17-step morning routines — all with the sincerity of a used car salesman at a Tony Robbins retreat. And somehow they’ve managed to convince millions that they care. That they’re helping.

What they’re doing is targeting women at their most vulnerable.

You hit your 40s, and things start to wobble — mood, sleep, memory, skin, libido, identity. It’s confusing. No one gave you a handbook. You’re overwhelmed, foggy, exhausted, possibly homicidal, and trying to hold your life together with coffee and a cracked emotional dashboard.

Enter the podcast gods.

They offer you certainty. Clarity. A cure. They talk fast. They sound smart. They sell hope in a bottle — or a download — or a seven-part “masterclass” — and they do it well.

And I hate it.

But the other night, a woman on Gruen (ABC) absolutely nailed it with this line:

“It’s like we’re paid less and sold more.”

F*ck yes, we are.

Because where medicine leaves a void, marketing will always fill it. Because some of it may as well be expensive chalk in a fancy jar. Because the desperation is real — and they know it.

We see it in the studio every single week. Women struggling to be heard. Women who’ve been dismissed or misdiagnosed or flat-out ignored. Women who are quietly unravelling while the algorithm tries to sell them collagen and “adaptogen elixirs.”

And yes, there are people doing good work — real work — in this space. I’ll keep recommending Dr. Louise Newson until I’m blue in the face. I’ll keep championing GPs like mine — the ones who don’t have Instagram followings and don’t need a stage to be worth listening to.

But most of what I’m seeing out there?

Garbage in high-production packaging.

So this post is a shout-out to the women feeling confused, conned, or just f*cking furious. You’re not imagining it. You’re not alone. You’re not broken.

And if this whole thing is making you rage-cry in the supermarket aisle while googling “why do I hate everyone and also can’t sleep?” — I see you. I’ve been you. I might be you again next Tuesday.

But I found help. Real help. And so will you.

Find a GP who listens. Block the bro-scientists. Talk to women who’ve actually walked through this. Come to a yoga class where we talk about this stuff openly and unfiltered. And don’t buy the damn chalk.

We deserve better. And we’re building it — one sweaty, hilarious, estrogelled mat at a time.

With love and a side of rage, Sades x