I Feel Like a Woman

I wrote in the past about my struggle with PCOS. I took that blog entry and cleaned it up to use it for an essay for an internship site. This site requires additional essays, one on a difficult experience and how your grew as a result.



When I was 18, my body went on strike. I became lethargic. Fatigue made attending classes seem impossible. Despite sleeping 10 to 12 hours, I woke exhausted. I was constantly hungry. The midsection of my normally athletic frame expanded in a way that I knew was irregular. Despite my intuition alerting me something was significantly amiss, doctors informed me that I was simply “stressed.” I was doing well in school and making meaningful friendships, but I was too tired to feel present. Finally, my mother saw a television special about PCOS, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, an imprecise but pervasive endocrine disorder unique to women that affects hormone levels, ovulation, and the production and processing of insulin. A new doctor and several medical tests later, and the diagnosis was confirmed.

Since my diagnosis with PCOS, it has been a struggle to release my ideas of femininity as defined by a Caucasian American culture. I have experienced grief at the loss of my physically feminine self. I am no hourglass; I am an apple. Extra pounds gravitate to my body. My lustrous curly hair is no longer thick. I do not get to appreciate the gentle curves of my body, or the soft ringlets of my once-thick hair wrapping around my face. Despite high quality treatment, I spend many anxious moments worrying that PCOS will result in fertility problems. My friends have lithe bodies that they can maintain with a small measure of effort, but my attempts to maintain a healthy weight must be deliberate and slow.

I must cultivate a strong sense of self in the face of a culture that tells me that, because my physical appearance does not meet an ideal, I am deficient and inadequate as a woman. Yet, amidst suffering, hope and a deeper faith have developed. I am grateful that medications manage my appetite and fatigue. I have learned to slow down and to breathe, attending to the rhythms of my body as a guide for life’s choices. There is meaning in a disease that can cause false hunger. Its metaphorical applications to my spiritual journey of discerning real spiritual hungers from my own yearnings has been an instrumental experience in learning to listen to the true call of God.

Most of all, I have been challenged to grow to place my identity in Christ. I have accepted that my worth, as a woman specifically, does not come from my curves, my body, or my physical appearance. Rather, I am God’s beloved, and He delights in me and in my being fully alive. My vanity has been wrenched from my hands unwillingly. Yet, I have begun to define my womanhood in having a voice and speaking my mind. Womanhood is now tied to my gifts of feeling deeply, living passionately, and being courageous. I am a strong woman because of the ways in which I can love and nurture that are distinctly powerful and different from a man. I am thankful for this gift of learning about myself, but with it has come deep pain and much loss.

I must admit that I do not always think of my newfound strength, courage, and love. I ask God to take away this strange “syndrome” that makes me question my knowledge of my self and to feel shameful for being too much or not enough in certain regards. I shed tears, I yell, I curse, and I get angry about it all. This, too, has been part of my spiritual growth. I have come to know God in a more intimate way and have learned that God wants to know all of me. This has led to better connection with others, where I am more comfortable sharing all of my experience and can invite others to do the same.