Undertaking a PhD is an arduous task for anyone and has unique challenges for different demographics. For a mature-aged woman going through perimenopause and menopause, though, a whole range of additional challenges can enter the mix. In my case, the associated hormonal changes exacerbated lifelong conditions that went undiagnosed in the past. 

Most people think and talk about the physical symptoms of perimenopause and menopause; hot flushes, difficulty sleeping, aching joints, etc.  What is less often discussed are the mental symptoms; and when they are, it’s usually quite vague and nonspecific such as ‘mood changes’ and ‘brain fog’.  There are many, many symptoms associated with menopause. In fact, I wrote to my friends once about how every symptom that was occurring in my life at the time was attributable to menopause.  What I was not prepared for was just how insidious perimenopause would be. I have since learned that the period where these changes start, and the length of time it can carry on for, is highly variable. Even when you have “officially” reached menopause (i.e., when you have stopped having a period for over 12 months), this does not always mean the end of symptoms.

This means that, particularly with the mental symptoms, you don’t always realise that what is happening to you is a part of the menopause and you can really start to doubt your sanity. Going through this change of life and not knowing, while trying to participate in academic pursuits like a PhD, can leave you feeling truly inadequate, irrelevant and incapable of contributing to your academic field. 

Mental Health Challenges

For me, my experience of menopause is only part of the story. Most of my symptoms were successfully treated with Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT). After a few months on HRT, however, I noticed some things were not getting better. These were the mental health issues. Feelings of despair and sadness. Feelings of inadequacy and a failed life. I struggled to find motivation to do anything, I was overwhelmed with just about everything and unable to simply function with my day-to-day work and home life, let alone have any capacity to study. I found myself spending significant parts of my day lying on the lounge playing mindless puzzle games.

None of this was particularly new to me. I’ve been in bouts of depression before. But this time it was so much more intense and so much harder to keep moving on.  The diagnosis and treatment of menopause meant that I was feeling much better physically, but after I was asked to revise and resubmit my first PhD milestone, the sense of rejection was just too much and mentally my world was crashing down.  

It wasn’t until my daughter told me that she might have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and that it was likely that she inherited it from me, that a new piece of my puzzle emerged.  What is this ADHD? I wondered. I started to Google it and investigate the symptoms, mostly because I wasn’t convinced that my daughter had the condition. I didn’t remember any aspect of her childhood that might have been considered ‘difficult’.  But then, I always doubted my abilities of being a mother, so it wasn’t outside the realms of possibility that I just didn’t notice (that’s a whole other blog for mothers with ADHD).  Funnily enough, the more I researched ADHD, the more I connected the symptoms to my own life.

ADHD: Connecting the dots

All my life I have had feelings of inadequacy, being too much, too extra and feeling like I was bad or wrong somehow.  My school reports talked about how I was ‘easily distracted’, ‘needed to take care of my belongings better’ or ‘had so much more potential if I just focussed in class’. Although I was quite social, I didn’t have many friends growing up, and those that I did have didn’t stand the test of time (I’m pleased to say that in my adult years, I have found a small handful of beautiful people who have been my friends for a long time). My family, though they are loving and kind people, would often joke about or scold me for always dropping things, losing things, not paying attention or being overly loud. In my work life, I have been considered overly intense or single minded, which is probably why I pursued a project-oriented career. I developed a sense of needing to do better, be better and wanting more. I really wanted to fit in and please people. Turns out, all of these are traits of ADHD.

Many ADHD symptoms are often talked about as typical in academia, things like procrastination, imposter syndrome and the negative effects of having your work rejected through the review process. ADHD, however, is an accumulation of these and a number of other symptoms which usually occur with greater intensity and have debilitating effects. The symptoms that are significantly impairing to completing a PhD include poor organisation and time management skills, an inability to sustain mental effort or focus, forgetfulness, and restlessness or being easily distracted.  There are also comorbid conditions associated with ADHD that can affect your study.  Things like Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), Auditory Processing Disorder (APD), Executive Function Difficulties and Dyslexia.

Something I have also learned on this journey is that the hormonal changes during perimenopause and menopause can exacerbate the symptoms of ADHD. So, while I was believing that procrastination and imposter syndrome and the inability to think clearly and put my thoughts down on paper and all of the other challenges were just part of life doing a PhD, the menopause was making these symptoms worse and creating a growing sense of failure and inadequacy.  Turns out, having all of these things at once, and so intensely, is not neurotypical. 

Struggling to Stay on Track

So, to add to my burden, I was forever trying to seek help.  I paid for coaches, writing courses, wellbeing courses, spending more and more of my time away from actually doing my PhD and just trying to function properly.  Of course, doing all of this just made me feel more and more hopeless.  I couldn’t understand how, after learning about how to navigate the challenges of doing a PhD, I couldn’t now just get on and do it. I was following all of the advice and using all the tricks and techniques, like the Pomodoro method and tracking my writing activity and setting a daily routine of writing something, anything, with the hope that I would just eventually flow into writing about my PhD topic. Yet, I still saw everything I did as wrong or inadequate and I would find myself paralysed. 

Of course, my supervisors didn’t understand, or to be honest, even know what was going on with me.  They would say things like, ‘You just have to stop jumping around and focus on one thing’, and ‘You just have to sit at your computer and “open a vein” (as a metaphor for starting the flow of writing) or ‘This is your last chance if you are going to continue in this program’.  Never once did any of them question whether my mental health was ok. Never once did any of them say that maybe I was neurodivergent because what was happening with me was not how most PhD students progressed. To be fair, I don’t think our academic leaders are equipped with the knowledge or understanding of neurodiversity (see Supporting Those Supporting Student Mental Health for more on supervising PhD students with mental health issues).  I had proven my academic ability in the past, during my undergraduate and honours programs, which is why I was accepted into the PhD program, so it was clear that I had the capability to complete a PhD. But no one ever questioned why I seemed to be struggling.  

Conclusion

Now that I have been formally diagnosed with ADHD and I’m getting therapy and trialling some medication, I have finally returned to my PhD program. I have a renewed sense of self-understanding and I am consciously being kinder to myself.  I no longer tell myself I’m stupid or not good enough.  I now recognise that I have ADHD and I have to navigate the challenges that brings and seek help when I need it. This is such a weight off my mind.  I’m finding that the intense pressures I was feeling that I associated with writing have decreased and I’m more easily finding the time to write.  Mostly because I tell myself that my ADHD is why I am procrastinating and I see that as a challenge to overcome, rather than a failure I have to accept. One of the superpowers of ADHD (and there are many) is that we will (usually) rise to a challenge when something is seen as such! 

I’m learning more and more about the mental health aspects of menopause and ADHD in mature-aged women.  In particular, I have found some amazing resources, particularly for women with ADHD, which include material on perimenopause and menopause and ADHD.  These include the ADHD Women’s Wellbeing Podcast, Tamara Rosier’s book Your Brain’s Not Broken, Sari Solden’s book Women with Attention Deficit Disorder, and ADHD Support Australia. 

I would encourage supervisors of mature-aged PhD candidates to be mindful of the impact of life changes and recognise that older candidates will often face unique challenges. I also hope that this serves as a reference to help understand the “triple whammy” of challenges of navigating academia, ADHD and menopause and that mature-aged women reading this recognise the uniqueness of their experience and what an amazing feat it is to undertake academic work as you navigate these changes. 

Kaylene Ascough is a part-time PhD student and a highly regarded transformation and strategy specialist, currently working for Airservices Australia on the most complex transformation of air traffic management in Australian aviation history. Her academic journey includes pursuing a PhD in Collective Responsible Leadership at the University of QLD Business School. She holds a Bachelor of Business Management (Honours) and a Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy/Business Ethics, among other qualifications. Throughout her career, Kaylene has actively contributed to the academic community and served on various boards and committees.

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