Episode 3
When my nurse practitioner pulled the IUD out, she held it up and asked me to look at it. This was something I had been encouraged by a friend to do anyway: cement the image of it in my mind and let my body connect to that image–seeing and feeling that it had been removed from my body. So I did. I stared at the copper “T” device and locked the image into my mind. I focused on various sensations in my body as I repeated, silently, “it is out, it’s not there anymore.” After what seemed like several minutes but in reality was just a few seconds, the nurse practitioner told me I could get dressed and go home.
As soon as she exited, I could feel the tears well up in my eyes. My face grew hot, my chest tightened, and I hastened my pace as I put clothes back on. I could feel myself sinking—darkness was descending upon me and I knew that if I didn’t hurry, the tears would begin streaming down my face in the office, or the elevator, or the chilly walk to the parking garage.
I had barely made it to my car before tears began and I collapsed in the driver's seat with heaving sobs. From deep within I heard what sounded like an audible voice saying over and over “I wasn’t wrong, I wasn’t making this up!” I let that voice stay on repeat as years of grief washed over me in waves.
It was an ugly cry.
I learned a long time ago that it’s not always necessary to know why I am feeling certain things. While I can recognize that so many elements of the appointment that day were overwhelming, the guttural wails that were coming from deep within me seemed to span far beyond the previous 30 minutes.
Tears of relief that there was evidence of what I had been feeling and struggling with for over a decade.
Tears of anger that for so long I had to silence myself to medical providers who wouldn’t believe my symptoms needed to be taken seriously.
Tears of sadness that my body had endured so much.
Tears of rage for how much women are expected to suffer through as it pertains to birth control, reproductive health, and autonomy over their own bodies.
So many tears.
Through my tears I put my car in reverse and drove out of the parking garage and headed east of Nashville. I felt numb as I drove home. But a different kind of numb…it was a conscious choice I made: to push down what I was feeling until I could get to the safety of my own home. The sobs in the parking garage unlocked many other emotions and I maneuvered through traffic as quickly as possible so I could crawl back in bed. I kept reminding myself that it was bright and sunny outside–a sharp contrast to the dark, heavy grief I was feeling inside.
***
My dog, Phoebe, excitedly greeted me as I stumbled in the house. Whereas normally I love to pet and hold her, on this day, I lightly patted her head, kicked my boots off, and headed straight for my bed. Phoebe is emotionally astute and has a knack for knowing when I need to lighten things up and also when I need space to be still or to cry. She followed me to my bed, jumped up and curled up next to me as I pulled the covers over my head and let the sobs make their way up and out again.
I knew that the “key” to processing emotions is to simply let them pass through you like a wave. Even in their most intense iterations, emotions only swell for about 90 seconds before they begin to loosen and decrease. Waves of sadness, anger, shame, and fear took their turns on repeat as I laid in my dark cocoon.
Finally, exhaustion set in, my body was limp, tired, and a little sore, my face tear-stained and puffy; it hurt to close my eyes. Stillness took over and I fell asleep for the rest of the morning.
***
I woke up to my phone buzzing–people who knew that my appointment was happening and were anxiously awaiting the results. I felt bad that I hadn’t checked in earlier, but trying to move my heavy-feeling arm to grab my phone reminded me of how fragile I felt.
(Side note: I have amazing friends. I have often been brought to tears over the past few months as I’ve experienced people showing up for me in incredible and supportive ways–and the day of my IUD removal + fibroid discussion appointment was no different).
I sat up in my bed, my head throbbing and feeling a bit hazy from the waves of emotions and tears. I quickly typed out a few text messages and set my phone back down. Phoebe sensed that my emotional waves were not over before I did, which is why she moved to another part of the bed and my anger rose up. No, not at Phoebe. My anger was directed toward each of the medical professionals I had worked with who wrote me off, dismissed me, rolled their eyes at my list of symptoms, and told me it was in my head–or to just learn to live with it. I became livid. Tears came again but this time they were hot and filled with rage; I wanted to scream.
So I did. I grabbed a pillow and screamed until my throat was hoarse.
It helped–at least enough to get me out of bed and into the kitchen to drink what was normally my breakfast smoothie, for lunch.
I quickly realized that though the screaming had helped, my body was buzzing with activation–I needed to get the energy out in a physical, active way. On this mid-December day, it was sunny but crispy cold. I layered up, put a coat on Phoebe, and headed out to walk the sidewalks in my neighborhood. My neighborhood is all hills; the only relief you get from walking up one side of the street is that you get to walk down the other side of the street. I was grateful for it that day though, panting breath from walking uphill matched the fire inside me that was trying to make its way out.
The voice from earlier that morning arose again: “you weren’t wrong; you weren’t making this up! They should have listened to you!” Suddenly the image of the copper “T” and its strings being held by a pair of ring-forceps came back to my mind; tears started flowing again. The image confirmed that I wasn’t making it up–not my symptoms from the IUD and not my symptoms from the past decade. In an odd turn of events, I began to chuckle as I realized that this little device was what pointed the way to what was truly wrong.
“I wasn’t making this up!”...the image of the copper “T” left my mind and the angry voice inside me–the voice that was demanding to be heard after it had been silenced for so long, needed to speak. This is what the walk was for–to allow permission and space to feel and release. To acknowledge and nurture: I could trust myself; I wasn’t making it up.
***
It struck me how easily my pain and symptoms were dismissed and how I, subsequently, believed that my pain was normal, that suffering was just ‘run of the mill’, and to desire things like pain free sex, not feeling bloated all the time, or actually being able to empty my bowels were simply expecting too much.
I’ve had several friends and clients undergo the process of having a hysterectomy over the past year and each one of us has a similar story: deep grief for the immense pain we had learned to live with as normal. Sadness for the stories we had to believe that it was all in our head and anger for all of the times pushing through the pain was seen as the noble thing to do.
I was not upset that I needed to get a hysterectomy. I was not even upset that there is a simple solution that addresses so many of the issues I have been having.
I was upset that my entire life I have learned and perfected how to silence cues in my body. I was upset that real suffering was dismissed. I was upset that because I learned to vilify my body, I believed pleasure was indulgent and even feeling simply ok in my body was not important. I was upset that I believed the experience of pain and suffering meant I was doing something right.
Ignoring my pain meant I was trusting God to meet my needs. Or it meant that I was strong. Or it meant that I was making a slave of my body or grinding–depending on the influences in my life at the time–so that I could be successful in my endeavors.
A former partner of mine used to tell me “you have such a high pain tolerance”. To him, it was a form of a compliment. But it never sat right with me. Because I knew it wasn’t a high pain tolerance I possessed. It was a strong ability to dismiss pain and pretend as if it did not exist. I had a propensity to ignore what my body has told me because there was never a format to be able to both listen to my body and to do something about it.
***
When I was going through various doctors appointments, tests, and specialists almost a decade ago, I told a friend that there was probably some tumor or cancer that was growing inside of me that my body was growing around…as I shared this, now ironic, assessment, I mused that it would probably take the doctors years to finally figure out what was wrong.
Fast forward and that’s exactly where we were at. Though I was not worried about cancer (fibroids are almost never cancerous), I was acutely aware that a foreign object has been growing inside my body for many, many years. I was right…my body had been growing around a tumor (of sorts) while I learned that the pain this growth was causing should be considered normal.
Pain is the bridge between our inner and outer worlds to tell us there is something wrong. It shows us where we need support, medicine, connection; it shows us where our attunement must be focused. But when you’re used to silencing your pain or being told that your pain and suffering are made up, pain becomes a nuisance. An internal battle that you wage against yourself. My body was screaming and I silenced her. So she screamed in other ways…through things we might call symptoms. But I still didn’t hear her. I couldn’t hear her. The voice of my pain was foreign to me.
***
The overturn of Roe vs. Wade was about more than access to abortive health care. It was about a woman’s right to her body, to make her own medical choices, and to make medical choices that were in line with her life and values. While Roe vs. Wade is an obvious pointer to how those who exist in female bodies are often second-class citizens in regard to their rights, it goes so much deeper than “simply” can I get an abortion or not.
Women’s bodies are overlooked in healthcare systems, even more so if you happen to be a woman who exists in a non-white, non-thin, or disabled body. Women’s pain and ailments are not often taken seriously. Did you know that women were not even allowed to participate in most medical and mental health research studies until the 1990’s? What this means is that treatment for conditions that primarily impact women, or how women differ in symptomatology and healing in various issues aside from men, has only been taken into consideration for the past 30 years.
This means that women have learned that their pain, suffering, and the experience of living inside their bodies does not matter. This means that women have learned that they will only be taken seriously when a test or numbers back it up, when a scan or image shows it, or when they complain long enough and loud enough for someone to take them seriously. And even then, help is given begrudgingly or by jumping through insurance company hoops.
***
That little voice inside me that kept saying “you were right” is the voice that has brought up so much grief. I have grieved for all that I have lost—for all that pain, suffering, and silence have taken away from me. I’ve grieved for the ways I believed people when they said things were in my head, and I’ve grieved how I have dismissed the voice and cues of my body who has been quietly calling out to me letting me know that something was wrong. I’ve grieved for all of the times I’ve told that little voice I was wrong and that I needed to trust others over myself. That little voice has not grown quieter. Instead, it remained persistent and reminded me that I can trust myself, know myself, and that I, myself, was right.
For me, the grieving leads toward permission.
Permission to acknowledge the suffering. To listen to the way my body has been screaming through symptoms. Permission to realize that not only have I been living with chronic pain–it’s far more than I ever could have imagined.
***
Stay tuned for the next episode where I’ll talk more about the process of not only listening to the pain but actually leaning into the pain as a way of helping my body heal. If you’ve missed any of the previous episodes or want to read them again, click here!