I’m different. Not mentally or emotionally, but physically. I’m a woman but I don’t quite feel like one. Strange, yes. I’m sure you’re curious as to why I feel less like a woman than most. It’s because of my body. It’s broken. Not all of it, just the part that most makes me a woman. I have PCOS. Never heard of it? That’s ok, most people haven’t. It’s PolyCystic Ovarian Syndrome. It means instead of ovulating like a normal woman, I form cysts all over my ovaries. It means I have trouble with fertility. It’s means I won’t get to nervously wait for a pregnancy test to say “pregnant”. They don’t know what causes it. Some of us just have it. My hormones are out of balance.
I don’t make it through the whole cycle most months. My periods are normally late or they may not come at all. There is a good chance I am not going to feel the happiness of finding out I’m pregnant by surprise. I will be in a doctors office making up a plan to get pregnant. I will have to work for it. Fight for it.
I am also resistant to my own insulin. Because of this, I gain weight VERY quickly and it’s VERY hard for me to lose it. See, because I don’t respond as well to my own insulin I don’t use my sugars for energy. In turn, my body thinks it is starving and wants food. The weight accumulates around my mid-section (the most unhealthy place to carry your weight). I’m always hungry. I’m always eating. The weight battle is a permanent part of my psyche.
I also have mild hirsutism, hair growth where women normally don’t have hair. I am constantly having to pluck and tweeze the hair from my lips, chin, and neck to keep from having a mustache… As if I don’t already feel like less of a woman.
Sometimes I can put it in the back of my mind. Sometimes I can pretend I am as normal as everyone else. And then the “I’m expecting!”, “I’m pregnant!”, “It’s a girl!”, “It’s a boy!”, posts on my timeline remind me of how wrong my body is. It reminds me I am not a whole woman, not in my eyes. It reminds me that time is ticking away for me, that the dream of a family is slipping away. I try and be happy. I try not to be jealous. I really do try. But it hurts. It hurts to know a big part of me is broken. It hurts to see the ultrasounds, the baby shower pics, the pregnant bellies, the birth announcements. It hurts… And I feel so guilty.


2 thoughts on “Different

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