The Menopause Revolution: What Orca Matriarchs Reveal About Women Over 50

The Unapologetic Power of Post-Reproductive Life

About five years ago, I walked out of the bathroom at a party with a piece of tampon wrapper stuck to my shoe. A friend, 15 years younger, giggled and pointed, expecting me to be mortified. But in my late 40s at the time, older than many in my social circle, it was a point of pride, a humble brag: I still had my period.

Menstruating—or not—draws an invisible line between women. As teens, we tracked who had started and who hadn’t. It marked the beginning of something: puberty, maturity, possibility. And later, when perimenopause and menopause arrive, there’s a similar shift. Only this time, “maturing” feels like getting old. And we are, on some level, programmed to dread that. As Phyllis Diller put it: “Maybe it’s true that life begins at 50. But everything else starts to wear out, fall out, or spread out.”

Whether we wanted children or not, menopause is a biological curtain call. But what if menopause isn’t nature’s way of being done with us, but its way of recognizing our potential beyond the reproductive years? What if women over 50 aren’t declining—they’re ascending?

The Grandmother Effect Is Real

Among all species on Earth, only a handful have females who live long past their fertile years. Humans are one. The others (and this may feel like a dubious honor, especially if you’re experiencing menopausal bloat) are whales: belugas, narwhals, pilot whales, and, most famously, orcas.

Like us, female orcas stop reproducing in midlife but live for decades afterward—not by accident, but by evolutionary design. It’s a rare nod from biology, allowing us not just to stay in the story long after fertility ends, but to become central to it.

In orca pods, senior females often assist in caring for young calves, giving mothers a break and strengthening the entire community. That support—practical, essential—is key to their value.

They also seem to serve as emotional anchors, with studies showing they help reduce social tensions within the pod. Their presence helps smooth over conflict and fosters cohesion—something less measurable but deeply necessary. In the wild, that kind of stability keeps everyone alive, and would be impossible if the elder orca were still strapped with maternal duties to her own calves exclusively.

They are the intergenerational glue. If orca pods would collapse without their grandmothers, why do we sideline our own?

Retirement from Reproduction

We don’t have dorsal fins or swim in pods, but there are other parallels. Some of us are mothers or grandmothers; some of us aren’t. But we continue to serve as mentors and contributors to our families and friends, our workplaces, our culture, and the younger generation.

Most species aren’t granted this biological “time-out” called menopause—though scientists aren’t quite sure why. For the vast majority, once reproduction ends, so does life. It’s not that they die young, but rather that their fertile years extend through most of their lifespan. Take female elephants, for example. They can live up to 70 years and continue reproducing well into old age, as if fueled by endless energy (and patience).

But in humans (and whales), fertility ends earlier. This release from reproduction grants us space to redirect that energy into other interests and ambitions—leading to legacies beyond children.

Post-fertility Value

Unlike orcas, we don’t all live in pods. Our families may be scattered, chosen, or complicated, and our functions far from traditional. But we carry purpose and knowledge—about how things work, how they fall apart, how they’re fixed. We’ve navigated upheaval and reinvention. And that has value.

This is the upgrade. This is when we become the strategists, the oracles, the ones who know exactly where to go when times get tough.

We can offer that to younger generations. We can offer leadership based on life experience. We can work on the problems that will shape the future—climate change, rising inequality, broken systems in need of repair—not from the sidelines, but from hard-won insight and experience.

Evolution doesn’t waste energy. If we’re still here long past fertility, it’s because we have a role to play—not just through children, but through the presence, insight, and impact we bring to the world. We’re not just here to survive—we’re here to guide.

We’re social peacekeepers, not passive elders. We mediate disputes, enforce norms, and hold communities together. We protect. We remember. We lead.

We pass down knowledge, traditions, and the kind of wisdom that only comes with time: creativity, resilience, perspective.

We’re living libraries—keepers of memory who know where the “feeding grounds” are, such as emotional nourishment, financial survival, creative solutions.

As Betty White shared: “My mother always used to say, ‘The older you get, the better you get. Unless you’re a banana.’”

We’re not done. We’re vital. We have more to give. We’ve seen ourselves through one phase of biology’s purpose, and we’re ready for the next challenge.