Bonus Episode - One Year Anniversary of My Hysterectomy

“You are not your own…”

This is a Bible verse I am deeply familiar with; there is not a time in my life where I remember not hearing it. It was the evidence used for making rules around what was allowable with our bodies–how to act, interact, relate, and live. Since we were ‘bought at a price’ we were to honor God with our bodies. 

For me that meant that external sources determined how I dressed, hair preferences, how I walked, talked, sat, relaxed, and how I was supposed to save my body for my future husband. I held deeply to the teachings of Eric and Leslie Ludy who preached that since God is sovereign and knows who I am going to marry, even holding hands with someone who was not my husband would be considered adultery. 

My body belonged to God and then my future husband. It belonged to my parents, the spiritual authorities, those who were older and wiser who could call me out for the choices I made with my body if they did not believe those choices to be Godly and honorable. My body belonged to all of the men around me who would scrutinize my clothing choices and my presence in any given context who could determine and judge me for making them stumble and lust. My body belonged to everybody. But my body did not belong to myself. 

Due to this, I carried an immense amount of shame for who I was inside and out. I didn’t trust my body–including internal, physiological cues for basic needs and safety. I believed that if I wanted something, then I actually deserved the opposite of it. I believed my body had the power to make men stumble, lust, and live in sin and that I was to blame for this. I learned that pain and suffering were not invitations to seek support, be alarmed, or get curious; instead they were invitations toward spiritual bypassing, silencing, and further evidence I could not trust myself. 

Despite leaving religion, the messages of hatred, distrust and non-ownership of my body did not disappear the moment I stopped going to church. In some ways, the impact grew. I had no experience listening to my body or believing that my body was my own, so I was prone toward continuing to override cues and allowing others to determine what my body did for them, despite lack of consent, safety, or desire.

***

I began working on my relationship with my body over a decade ago. I started with self-compassion work (by Kristen Neff) which was life-transforming and then was introduced to the work of Geneen Roth which changed me forever. I didn’t realize I was learning to listen to and develop a relationship with my body, but when I look back now, I see the foundations being laid. It would take me another 5 years to recognize that despite the work I had been doing, I still didn’t believe that my body was my own. And I was still deeply judgmental of myself. 

After beginning to work with a coach in an effort to build a relationship with my body, things began to shift. It took about another 18 months for my body to let its guard down, trust, and soften before I could truly lean in to the message that the Bible verse from years ago was wrong. I did belong to myself. I was my own. 

By this point I was also far enough in my trauma resolution work where I was learning to trust myself, relate to others differently, use my voice, say “no”, provide internal support when I was triggered, and more. What I see now is that I created an internal environment that was congruent with my desire for my body to belong to myself and experience inner-trust. 

There were a glorious couple of years where, despite my mystery symptoms and ongoing pain and suffering, I really loved the experience of living in my body. 

And then…perimenopause and fibroids and IUDs and surgeries and stress and did I mention, perimenopause?

***

Since you’ve read the previous episodes of this series, you’re familiar with the extreme amounts of pain and suffering I endured as I lived inside my body. While I did learn how to accept it and make accommodations when needed, this wasn’t without anguish and grief. There were many times where I would be face down on the floor in tears wondering why, after all of the healing work I had done, my body still felt like it was against me. …that someone outside of me was punishing me, controlling me, or taking delight in making me suffer. 

I didn’t try to hide that pain or frustration; I did let myself feel it. Coming to a place of acceptance doesn’t mean that everything is ok and you live your life unbothered. Instead, it’s holding the delicate tension of a dual reality: one where you wish and hope for things to get better and the other where you are present to what is actually happening around you. Some days, though, the hope for things to get better seemed almost non-existent. 

In the year leading up to  my hysterectomy, I noticed a marked difference in my symptoms. My body was acting up in all sorts of weird ways and despite my best efforts to remain embodied, there were times where I wanted to give up. Being embodied doesn’t mean we won’t experience any pain. Instead, it means that we will experience everything–including the pain. As I embraced embodiment, I was also embracing the pain. This time, though, it was devoid of shame. 

From February 2022 to February 2023, I had 3 surgeries and 2 other procedures requiring anesthesia. Fortunately, by this point, I had a team of medical providers who believed me, trusted my embodied experience, were trauma-informed, and actually listened to me when I told them the things that were going on. In every one of these procedures and surgeries that I had, the first thought I had when I woke up was “damn, my body is incredible”. I didn’t try to have that thought, nor was that the last thought I was thinking before I was put under, it just was natural. It was the evidence of my relationship with my body and helped me recognize that despite the mysteries and confusion, my body was still my own. 

***

But then…there’s perimenopause–which has shown up in my life full force post-hysterectomy. And often puts me back in a position of feeling like once again, my body is not my own. To be clear, I am not going through perimenopause because of my hysterectomy. I can clearly (now) see that I have been having perimenopause symptoms since I was 34 years old. (Yes, that’s quite early; I believe that genetics and trauma play a large role in this, but that’s a different story for a different day!) However, as I went through the process of untangling the messages of pain and suffering leading up to my hysterectomy, looking back with a different observatory lens has allowed different conclusions to be drawn. 

It’s medical knowledge and research that reveals that when someone undergoes a hysterectomy, they are at a much higher chance of going through menopause, on average, 4 years before those who still have a uterus. In part this is because the uterus provides the greatest amount of blood supply to the ovaries. So with this supply cut off, the ovaries have to work harder to produce the necessary hormones and continue their “duties”. 

I knew this going into my surgery but also felt it didn’t entirely apply to me since I was pretty sure I was nearly 6 years into perimenopause at that point. 

It was through the process of examining the messages of unnecessary pain and suffering along with my commitment to listening to my body that I finally relented and not only admitted that I was in perimenopause, but that I needed support and accommodations made. 

In Episodes 9 and 10 of this newsletter, I shared about the commitment I made to listening to my body–including the actions that I took to “put my money where my mouth was”. And it worked…my body began healing at a remarkable rate. Who knew that enough food, sleep, rest, and exercises along with HRT (hormone replacement therapy) could be so life changing?!? I was finally feeling like myself–which had been a long time coming! 

And then another crisis hit. …A crisis that required more energy, time, brainpower, and resources than the little bit I had built up in the previous couple months. It was one step forward and 14 steps back. 

After that was resolved, my company switched electronic medical platforms–a three week task that required many hours of overtime. I escaped to Minnesota (where I am originally from) for the month of August but this was right about the time that my book publicity began to ramp up. So, 70 podcasts, online publication interviews, meetings, consultations and a book release later…I was at the end of another calendar year and I was spent. 

My brain stopped working each day after about 3 hours of working, I was anxious, couldn’t sleep, had digestive issues, hot and cold flashes, and felt on the verge of panic most of the time. I heard that still, small voice inside me begging me, again, to stop, to slow down, and to rest. 

I listened. I couldn’t not listen. 

***

There has been a lot of grief with this. While I am proud of the work that I’ve done to resolve and recover from trauma, I cannot deny that 30 years of my life were spent in a high control religion and the better part of a decade was spent deep in the trenches of trauma work. I only had a couple years of embodied relief–and it just so happens that a pandemic happened at the same time. And after that, well, it’s the story that I’ve told in the previous 10 episodes of this newsletter series. 

Truthfully, it does feel unfair at times. So many choices were made on my behalf that required enormous amounts of work in order to lead to a full and vibrant life. And it’s not that I don’t view my life as full or vibrant; I really do love what I’ve created and the people around me. But I also know that being accurate and honest is important–which includes grieving what was lost and learning how to hold that in the previous tension of the life I have right now.

I’ve come to learn that having a relationship with my body is the most important way to be able to recognize my body as my own. Like any relationship, there must be time, attention, and intention paid in order to nurture trust, confidence, and joy. And, like any relationship, there are times where there is strain or tension–it doesn’t mean we end the relationship. It means that we persevere, do the small things, and keep moving, even if it’s slow. 

I keep being told that there will be a point where my perimenopause symptoms will go away and I’ll begin to feel like myself again, instead of an alien taking over. I do crave that. And also, I can’t wait until then to live in the experience of being in my own body. So, I am learning. Learning how to make accommodations in all areas of my life. I’m changing my work schedule, sleep schedule, and how I spend my free time. I’m not shaming myself for only being able to maintain concentration and executive functioning about 4 hours each day. Learning new ways of exercising, eating, and supplementing in order to support a non-20-year-old-body. I’m making mistakes, of course, but I’m offering compassion and patience. 

Since my hysterectomy, I have learned new ways to attune to my body. I’ve had to learn the difference between listening and taking immediate action and listening while riding the wave and being patient for something to pass. I’ve had to re-introduce myself to rigid boundaries around my personal, mental, and physical health–not so that I become a fundamentalist again, but because I know that in order to live, thrive, and be happy, I need to go at the slow and sensitive pace of my body. 

But the thing is, I am learning. And for as much stress as my body has been through this past year, I really do believe that my body is my own. Not because everything is perfect, but because of the relationship I have with my body. 

There is a quote from my book that encapsulates this journey for me: 

I don’t think things happen to us for a reason. I don’t think that there is some all-knowing force directing our lives so that we can learn a lesson and pass on that knowledge to others. I don’t think I had to go through what I did to get this book into your hands. In fact, there were many other ways I could have learned those lessons–and they could have been learned without excruciating pain. Yet I cannot deny that somehow my experiences also turned me into who I am and resulted in this book being in your hands today. Multiple things can be true at the same time. 

I don’t think that I had to endure years of pain and suffering, misdiagnoses, unresolved trauma, untreated perimenopause and two large fibroids growing inside me or even endure high control religion and relationships in order to get me to a point where I could live, act, and believe that my body is my own. And yet, I cannot deny that these experiences urged me, motivated me, and pointed me in directions of healing and wholeness. Multiple things can be true at the same time.