My parents did a great number of things right when raising my brother and I. Even more than right, they did some things spectacularly. Other things, well, like all parents, their baggage in some ways became ours.
One area where my parents weren't quite sure how to react was my weight. Never obese, I was always slightly larger than most other girls. I was taller from a young age, often mistaken for a child instead of my toddler 2 or 3 year old self. My mother got dirty looks for carrying me around. I remember conversations that my parents had with me, informing me that it looked bad for me to have a temper tantrum because I was 3 but I LOOKED 6. So stop it already.
Shopping for Easter and Christmas dresses was the worst. I remember berating myself in the mirror of the dressing room for not looking good enough as young as the age of 8. I went on my first diet at the age of 9. A 9 year old counting servings on a weight watchers plan, counting up her optional calories to have half a snickers bar. Sick, I tell ya.
I always had enough self-respect to fight back from the control and rejection. But, I also had enough self-esteem not to starve myself or to purge. So, I ate. Whatever I wanted, I ate. Thus, today I am a 14 not the 8 or 10 I'd be at a healthier weight. It's still wrapped up in issues of rebellion and self-loathing that I continuously battle. Add in my PCOS, and you get a nice one-two punch contributing to my excess weight that I both love and hate.
This year, when my mother renewed her Prevention subscription, she got two free gift subscriptions. Lucky me, I got one. She claims she sent it to my brother, too. (Seriously?) Now I get all of these emails in my inbox from Prevention telling me how to have summer arms, bikini stomachs, and toned thighs. It's like having my mother in my inbox. I'm sending her to SPAM.
Showing posts with label PCOS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label PCOS. Show all posts
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Saturday, November 10, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, September 07, 2007
The Story of My Discontent
When I was 18, my body went on strike. I became lethargic. Somehow, making it to my 11:15 A.M. Calculus class became impossible. I was just too tired. I got up around noon, made it to a course or two, took an afternoon nap, had some dinner and then played basketball in the evenings with my guy friends, outside in the Tennessee heat. Then I’d go to bed, and sleep 10 or 12 hours, waking up again exhausted.
I was constantly hungry. The bigger the meal, the sooner afterward I was starving. My middle grew mushy with extra weight that my athletic (but never petite) frame had not seen before. My acne grew worse than I had ever seen in my years in high school.
Suddenly, my periods became unpredictable. The punctuality my body had displayed since I was 11 years old (!) disappeared. My less than ample breasts stopped growing, defying my genetic heritage. I went to doctors, gynecologists, and others who told me I was likely just “stressed.” I protested. I was having the time of my life. I was pulling down A’s even if I did skip Calculus. I was just too tired to feel present.
The symptoms continued, and I noticed extra hairiness on my arms and face. And my luxurious curly hair seemed to be thinning and changing on me. Doctors dismissed me and my concerns. I failed to assert myself, being young and trusting in their care. Finally, my mother saw a special on the health channel on something called PCOS, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. A new doctor and some medical tests later, and the diagnosis was confirmed.
Since that time, my struggle with PCOS has been a struggle to hold onto my femininity, as this world has defined it. I am no hourglass, I’m an apple. Extra pounds gravitate to my body. My luxurious curly hair is no longer thick and often unattractive these days. I sweep piles of dark curly hair from my drain and the bathroom floor. Despite high quality treatment, my periods remain sporadic, and I spend many anxious moments worrying that miscarriages and infertility will delay my strong desire to carry a child, or many children. My friends have lithe bodies that they can still abuse, but my attempts to lose weight must be deliberate, slow, and frustrating.
On occasion, I am overwhelmed at the grief of the loss of my physically feminine self. I don’t get to appreciate the gentle curves of my body, the soft ringlets of my once thick hair wrapping around my face. I take two pills everyday and pay two hundred dollars a month that both remind me that I am deficient, inadequate, and possess few of the attributes of a woman as society tells me I should.
Yet, amidst all suffering, there is hope and a deepness of faith that develops. I am unbelievably grateful that medications manage my appetite, insulin, and fatigue. I have learned to slow down and to breathe. There is meaning in a disease that can make me feel a false hunger. Its metaphorical applications to my spiritual journey of discerning real spiritual needs and hungers from my own yearnings has been meaningful.
I have grown to place my identity in Christ. I have begrudgingly accepted that my worth, and value as a woman specifically, does not come from my curves, my body, or my physical appearance. Rather, I am God’s beloved, and God delights in me and in my being fully alive. My vanity has been wrenched from hands unwillingly. Yet, I have began to define my womanhood in having a voice and speaking my mind. Somehow my womanhood is tied to my gift of feeling deeply, being passionate and courageous. Being a woman is part of me because of the way in which I can love and nurture that is distinctly powerful and different from a man. I am thankful for this gift of learning about myself, but it has come painfully in grief.
When I am crying about my receding hairline, I must admit that I do not think of my newfound strength, courage, and love. Nor does it mean that I don’t repeatedly yell at God and ask him to take away this strange “syndrome” that makes me question my sanity and blame myself for being too fat, too ugly, too hairy, too bald. I shed tears, I yell, I curse, and I get unbearably angry about it all. Tomorrow I have blood work to be done. I don’t know what I hope it finds. An elevation somewhere so I can take another medication but find relief from some of my symptoms? That everything be within normal limits and I find I must accept my symptoms as they are now? I don’t really know.
I do hope desperately that my body maintains its fertility, so that this burning desire to have a child that has been so long deferred can be realized in a couple of years. I hope that I am not so desperate for it that it too must be stripped from me. These are the fears we all hold and never fully understand.
Resources on PCOS:
Celebrities with PCOS
Web MD
Support Groups Online
I was constantly hungry. The bigger the meal, the sooner afterward I was starving. My middle grew mushy with extra weight that my athletic (but never petite) frame had not seen before. My acne grew worse than I had ever seen in my years in high school.
Suddenly, my periods became unpredictable. The punctuality my body had displayed since I was 11 years old (!) disappeared. My less than ample breasts stopped growing, defying my genetic heritage. I went to doctors, gynecologists, and others who told me I was likely just “stressed.” I protested. I was having the time of my life. I was pulling down A’s even if I did skip Calculus. I was just too tired to feel present.
The symptoms continued, and I noticed extra hairiness on my arms and face. And my luxurious curly hair seemed to be thinning and changing on me. Doctors dismissed me and my concerns. I failed to assert myself, being young and trusting in their care. Finally, my mother saw a special on the health channel on something called PCOS, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. A new doctor and some medical tests later, and the diagnosis was confirmed.
Since that time, my struggle with PCOS has been a struggle to hold onto my femininity, as this world has defined it. I am no hourglass, I’m an apple. Extra pounds gravitate to my body. My luxurious curly hair is no longer thick and often unattractive these days. I sweep piles of dark curly hair from my drain and the bathroom floor. Despite high quality treatment, my periods remain sporadic, and I spend many anxious moments worrying that miscarriages and infertility will delay my strong desire to carry a child, or many children. My friends have lithe bodies that they can still abuse, but my attempts to lose weight must be deliberate, slow, and frustrating.
On occasion, I am overwhelmed at the grief of the loss of my physically feminine self. I don’t get to appreciate the gentle curves of my body, the soft ringlets of my once thick hair wrapping around my face. I take two pills everyday and pay two hundred dollars a month that both remind me that I am deficient, inadequate, and possess few of the attributes of a woman as society tells me I should.
Yet, amidst all suffering, there is hope and a deepness of faith that develops. I am unbelievably grateful that medications manage my appetite, insulin, and fatigue. I have learned to slow down and to breathe. There is meaning in a disease that can make me feel a false hunger. Its metaphorical applications to my spiritual journey of discerning real spiritual needs and hungers from my own yearnings has been meaningful.
I have grown to place my identity in Christ. I have begrudgingly accepted that my worth, and value as a woman specifically, does not come from my curves, my body, or my physical appearance. Rather, I am God’s beloved, and God delights in me and in my being fully alive. My vanity has been wrenched from hands unwillingly. Yet, I have began to define my womanhood in having a voice and speaking my mind. Somehow my womanhood is tied to my gift of feeling deeply, being passionate and courageous. Being a woman is part of me because of the way in which I can love and nurture that is distinctly powerful and different from a man. I am thankful for this gift of learning about myself, but it has come painfully in grief.
When I am crying about my receding hairline, I must admit that I do not think of my newfound strength, courage, and love. Nor does it mean that I don’t repeatedly yell at God and ask him to take away this strange “syndrome” that makes me question my sanity and blame myself for being too fat, too ugly, too hairy, too bald. I shed tears, I yell, I curse, and I get unbearably angry about it all. Tomorrow I have blood work to be done. I don’t know what I hope it finds. An elevation somewhere so I can take another medication but find relief from some of my symptoms? That everything be within normal limits and I find I must accept my symptoms as they are now? I don’t really know.
I do hope desperately that my body maintains its fertility, so that this burning desire to have a child that has been so long deferred can be realized in a couple of years. I hope that I am not so desperate for it that it too must be stripped from me. These are the fears we all hold and never fully understand.
Resources on PCOS:
Celebrities with PCOS
Web MD
Support Groups Online
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