When my boss told me I’d “lost my spark,” I was already using most of my energy trying to figure out what was going on with me.
I wasn’t sleeping. Words I’d always had at my fingertips weren’t there. Things I’d done confidently for years suddenly took real effort.
I didn’t recognize it as perimenopause yet. I just knew I had to keep doing my job without anyone seeing how hard some days had gotten. So, I did what I think a lot of experienced women do. I masked it. I over-prepared. I compensated.
Somewhere in there, I started pulling back. I hadn’t lost my ambition, and I didn’t have less to offer. I just had less energy left over to show what I could do, because so much of it was going toward holding things together.
I hadn’t lost my spark. I’d put it on hold while I found my footing. The workplace, though, can’t tell the difference.
The quiet retreat
We talk a lot about perimenopause symptoms: hot flashes, sleep, brain fog, anxiety. We talk less about what a woman starts doing differently at work while she’s dealing with them.
She speaks up less in meetings because she’s afraid of losing her train of thought. She passes on the big presentation because she doesn’t know how she’ll feel that day. She turns down the stretch assignment because she’s barely keeping up with the current one.
None of those feels like a big decision, but each one feels like self-preservation. And added up, they paint a different picture of someone who used to look confident and ready for more. And when it comes to review time, that picture matters.
What reviews can’t see
Most review and talent processes look at three things: performance (what you delivered), leadership (how you led), and potential (what you could do next).
Your results may be as strong as ever, and your judgment hasn’t gone anywhere. But if you’ve stopped raising your hand and putting yourself forward, the evidence people have about your leadership and potential changes. In a talent discussion, that can sound like “She’s still delivering, but...” But she seems less confident. But she isn’t taking as much initiative. But I’m not sure she wants to advance anymore.
That unfinished sentence is how a hard season turns into a career story. If you’re not in the room, you may never know it’s being written.
What I wish I’d done
I don’t think the answer was working harder or hiding it better. Here’s what I’d do now.
Notice the pull-back sooner. I was so focused on what was happening in my body that I didn’t see how my behavior at work was changing. Ask yourself honestly: Am I speaking up less? Avoiding things I’d normally be excited about? Keeping my head down because it feels safer? Noticing isn’t judging yourself. It’s catching a pattern before someone else decides what it means.
Separate what’s happening from what you tell yourself it means. A hard day isn’t proof you’ve lost your edge, and a hard season doesn’t mean your ambitions have to shrink. I also wish I’d gotten good medical information sooner, instead of trying to figure it all out alone.
Find the words to ask for support. This one is tricky. When you’re worried about being doubted, admitting you’re struggling feels risky. But there’s a middle ground between saying nothing and sharing your whole medical history. You could say: “I’m dealing with a health issue that’s affecting my sleep and concentration right now. I’m addressing it, and I’d like to talk about what would help me keep delivering at the level I expect of myself.” Or: “I’d like to look at how I’m prioritizing my workload so I can focus on the highest-impact work.” Then say the part that matters most: “I’m not looking to step back. I want to make sure I have what I need to keep contributing and growing.” You don’t owe anyone a diagnosis. You do deserve a conversation about what would help.
Make your potential visible. This is the one I think about most. I knew what I’d accomplished, but I hadn’t thought about what I was showing people about what I could do next. Before a review, ask yourself: Where have I shown strategic thinking? What have I improved or simplified? Who have I helped develop? What bigger responsibility am I ready for? Then give your manager specific examples they can repeat. It’s much easier to advocate for someone’s potential when there’s evidence to point to.
Have a plan to stay in the room. I don’t mean a plan to snap back to who I was before, or a promise to push through symptoms. I mean a realistic way to protect your momentum while you work on feeling better. Over the next 30 days, I’d do three things: make one accomplishment visible, have one conversation with my manager about what support would help and what I want next, and raise my hand once for something I actually care about. You don’t have to fix everything in 30 days. You just don’t want a hard season to be the only story people have about you.
You haven’t lost your spark
I wish someone had told me that pulling back can feel protective to you and look like disengagement to everyone else. I also wish more managers understood the difference. Women shouldn’t have to carry the whole job of preventing assumptions about their potential. But until workplaces catch up, I want women to have the tools to protect their own momentum.
You can be in perimenopause and still be ambitious. You can need support and still be ready for more.
A season of change shouldn’t become a ceiling on your career.
Join me for Keep Yourself in the Room. On November 18 at 6 PM Pacific, I’m hosting a free, virtual Spark workshop for women who want to walk into performance conversations with more clarity. We’ll look at how performance, leadership, and potential actually get evaluated, figure out where your work may have become less visible, and build a practical 30-day plan. Whether you’re heading into a review or just trying to find your footing, I’d love to have you.
Register for the free Spark workshops here: https://www.spark-framework.com/book-a-spark-workshop
