Single & Hmong with PCOS
For as long as I remember, I always aimed to live life as I thought it should be. Most of that means, living it and achieving what a perfect and successful Hmong woman would achieve. Go to school, have a career, get married before 30, be good to my in-laws and have kids. I almost obsessively lined up all the pieces in my life to match this road map, even sabotaging myself to hold onto it.
Until last fall, when my perfect picture was forced to change. I had to exit my long term relationship, and shortly after I was diagnosed with PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome). A genetic, hormonal, metabolic and reproductive disorder affecting 1-in-10 women, with 50% of us undiagnosed. It shows up differently on each body; it can show up as painful cysts, insulin resistance, anxiety and depression, infertility, and more. Nonetheless, in all bodies it brings us the same fears and heartaches.
From age 16, I had severe menstrual cycles that would bring me to the ER, require anesthetic shots to numb my lower body from the severe cramps, cause me to be bed ridden, vomiting, fainting, crying and even screaming. Hours and days at a time, when the pain would hit and overcome me, I wouldn’t be able to move, function, or open my eyes much. It would take me out of school and work, leaving me to be forced to explain to my male bosses in detail, as to why I have to call in sick again.
I’ll never forget getting written up and called into a disciplinary meeting for “another sick day” because my male manager’s girlfriend “has pms and cramps too” but “never has to call in sick.”
I’ve been in the doctor’s office countless times, to plead about giving me a name to my condition. But as with many of us women, I’m shooed away with “your body is just growing,” “you will outgrow this phase,” and “you just need birth control.” It took over a decade for me to finally see an OBGYN, someone who specializes in the female body. But that diagnosis was given so nonchalantly, and so normalized. As if that were meant to comfort me. But from all the personal stories I’ve heard, I knew PCOS was far from nonchalant. Just because it’s common, doesn’t mean it isn’t any less painful or fearful to know what comes with having it.
I couldn’t even make it out of the parking lot that day. I just sat and cried in my car. Just cried because even though there was no definite outcome to worry about yet, I was still scared. Cried because there are many ways to be a mom, but those ways weren’t how I was imagining it. Cried because I always dreamed of being a mom, and I was always someone who achieved everything with just hardwork and dedication, but this is not one of those things. I just cried, because for a split second, I wanted to hate that there was something wrong with my body. Cried because my dream just seemed really far away now. I didn’t have the partner, and now possibly not even the body. And the thought just terrified me.
To find comfort, I would read posts shared by women about their experience with PCOS. Particularly, finding warmth in the posts of married women and their blessed rainbow babies. But I realized it’s not often that I see posts from us single women, who are not yet married, not yet with a partner to figure out how life will look like from here, and are still living life with a blank canvas like me.
And that’s exactly what it is. A blank canvas. I was depressed for a while, before having the epiphany that I still have the pen in my hand to create a life that has not yet happened for me; to create one that might possibly even go beyond my imagination, to live one that may look different from my dreams but even more fulfilling. Because where did this picture-perfect idea of a successful life even come from? Why, for who and what did I have to be a wife, and a mom, so badly especially right now? Just because I was entering my late 20s.
If there’s anything I learned in this past year, I think it’s that PCOS came to challenge me; challenge my ways of living, and challenge my definition of success and happiness for myself.
It has challenged me to take care of my health, challenge my creativity and limitations on how life can be lived; excel in my business and career, slow down, make time for my family, and be present and enjoy living life as an individual human; a whole person.
It has taught me how to let the pieces of the life meant for my highest self come together, instead of me forging mismatched pieces to construct a life that I thought I was supposed to live.
It has made me pause; made me question myself. It gave me another chance to reevaluate what was important to me. It’s teaching me to be patient and compassionate everyday. And it enforces me to practice self-love, acceptance, and care. It challenges me to build and maintain my self-worth and be mindful of where I was tying it to. And it has altered my understanding of what it means to be a womxn.
I don’t know what’s in store for my future, but I do know I am becoming a better version of myself each day. I know I am unlearning fear, and adopting curiosity. I know that when my time comes for the things I wish for, I will be more ready than I would’ve been before when I held onto those dreams so tightly. Simply because, I would’ve lived my life fully and intentionally.
If you are battling PCOS, I hope you will be kind to your body. I hope you will find light and healing. I hope you will be loved, supported, and comforted. I hope you will get all the tests done that your body deserves to know that they might not tell you about. I hope you will be whole and happy. I hope you will still be and cherish you.
Read more on PCOS here: https://pcoschallenge.org/what-is-pcos/