For the wives

Perimenopause Husband Smells Bad: Why the Ick Lands on Him

By Phil, The Perimenopause Husband

Perimenopause husband smells bad.

That's a real search. Enough women type it that Google finishes the sentence for you. Right under it sits another one. Perimenopause husband ick.

This one is written to her, the wife who typed it, and he's welcome to read over her shoulder.

I'm going to be straight with you from the first line. This one never came through our door. My wife never told me I smelt wrong. If she did, she kept it to herself, and I'd rather believe she didn't.

But its cousin did. In our house it was sound. The apple I'd crunch through standing next to her. The tapping on the bench. The way I breathe when I'm concentrating. On the hard days she could hear every one of them like it was inside her head, and she'd tell you it wasn't fair and she couldn't help it. Both true.

So when I read that search, I know exactly what's going on in that kitchen. Only the sense is different.

Why does my husband suddenly smell bad to me?

I'm not a doctor, and I'll keep this simple. In perimenopause her senses can change. Smell is one of them. Things she never noticed before can turn sharp, and the sharpest ones are usually the closest. His aftershave. His work shirt. The way he smells after a day on the tools, which was fine for twenty years.

I went and read what women actually say about smell in these years, in their own forums, because none of it came through our door. Six things come up, and I'll put them in the order women raise them.

Smoke that isn't there. This is the big one, by a mile. Cigarette smoke, something burning, a bonfire next door, and nobody else in the house can smell it. She goes looking for the fire. He says there's no fire. That turns into an argument in a lot of houses, and it's nobody's fault.

Her own smell changing. Second, and said often. Sharper, muskier, and a shower doesn't shift it. Some women say it was the first sign of perimenopause they had.

Everything turned up too loud. The washing powder, the bin, the perfume she's worn for years, other people. All of it stronger than it was.

Him. Fourth on the list, and said more quietly than the others, usually inside a conversation about something else. His cooking, his deodorant, the garlic on his breath, the smell of him after work. And nearly every time a woman says it, she asks the same question. Is it him, or is it my nose.

The last two are rarer. Her perfume turning sour on her own skin, or smells going dull altogether.

So if you typed the search this page is named for, you're in the fourth group, and the honest answer from the women who've been there is that it's probably your nose and not him. That's not a reason to put up with it. It's a reason to say so, once, plainly.

Two of the big hormones, oestrogen and progesterone, rise and fall with no warning and no pattern through these years. They have a hand in more of her than anyone tells you, including how the world smells. Over time they drop.

Most women say it comes and goes, and settles. If the change in smell is new, strong, won't go, or comes with anything else that worries her, see a doctor or a specialist in this field. That's theirs to look at.

Is it him, or is it me?

It's her nose. It's not him, and it's not her fault either.

And sometimes it's her own. Plenty of women say their own smell changes through these years. My wife noticed that in herself and said so. I never noticed a thing, and I'll be honest, that's what matters least. She noticed, so she wanted to do something about it, and that's hers to decide. For a bloke, the thing to notice is the new product on the bathroom bench, or the wipes you've never seen before, and to say nothing about them. That's not a mystery. That's a sign she's working something out, and it's one more quiet way perimenopause knocks before anyone's named it.

That's the whole thing to hold onto, from both sides of the bed. He hasn't let himself go. She hasn't gone off him. Something she never had to think about is now turned up loud, and he happens to be the one standing closest to it.

In our house, the sound version made me defensive. I thought I was being picked on. I wasn't. I was just the noise nearest to her.

What does the ick actually do to a marriage?

Nothing good, if nobody names it.

She pulls back a bit, because being close is harder than it was. He notices the pulling back and reads it as rejection. He gets quieter, or sharper. Now there are two people in the house with a problem and only one of them knows what it is.

A lot of the signs that go unnoticed work exactly like that. Small, unsaid, and then suddenly not small.

What should she say to him?

Here's one of the tools. There are plenty.

Name the one smell, once, and let him move it.

Not a list. Not a sigh when he walks past. Not three weeks of turning away and hoping he works it out. One sentence, on an ordinary day, with the reason attached. Your aftershave has turned on me. It's not you, my nose has changed. Can you leave it off for a bit.

That's it. He can move an aftershave. He can change a shirt before dinner. He can shower when he gets in instead of after tea. Every one of those is easy once he knows what he's moving and why.

What he can't do is guess. And a bloke who's guessing why his wife keeps stepping back from him will guess wrong every time, and usually in the direction that hurts most.

What should he do when she says it?

Move it. Don't defend it.

Not "I've worn this for fifteen years." Not "you never minded before." Not a review of her nose. She's told you the truth about a thing she can't help, and that took something. Say righto, and go and do it.

It's the same job as the sound. Turn yourself down. On the hard days, the noise you make and the smell you carry are yours to move.

What does it look like on the hard days?

It's loudest on a Storm Warning day, one of the five weather patterns we use in our house, the days she's irritable and snapping at things that never used to set her off. Every sense is turned up then, and he's the closest thing to all of them. On a Sunshine day, the days she's herself, the same aftershave is just an aftershave. That's how you both know it's the weather and not him.

If you're the one reading this, send it to him. He won't have found it on his own.

The whole story, and every tool I found along the way, is in Stepping Into the Storm With Her.