Growing up in a conservative religious private school meant living in a world defined by strict rules, firm expectations, and little room for personal expression. Dress codes dictated what you wore and skirt lengths, hairstyles were scrutinized, no colored hair was allowed, and nothing outside of the “norm”. Don’t draw attention to yourself, don’t be flashy. Uniforms were standard, carefully regulated, and even the smallest deviation, like an untucked shirt or non black/white shoes, led to disciplinary action. For me, this pressure to conform wasn’t just about what I wore but how I was supposed to think and behave. It was about control. For others, these cookie cutter rules shaped a happily structured and obedient lifestyle. Just fall in line and do not ask questions.  Questioning authority was frowned upon and individuality was seen as “rebelling”or “ungodly”. Creativity wasn’t necessarily celebrated unless it fit the standards deemed acceptable by the school. 

Piercings became my way of saying no to rigid expectations and finally saying yes to my individuality. My first piercing wasn’t just about aesthetics but making a statement. As I continued to push the limits, getting more earrings/piercings, gauging my ears, and coloring my hair the more disapproval I was met with. But for every reprimand, uniform violation, lunch detention, and the more I was told no, the more I wanted to push the limits! Soon it was not just the school who had a problem but my family as well. I didn’t care, nobody, not even my family or god, was going to tell me who I can or can’t be. I am my own person.

At first glance, a piercing might seem like a small thing but all 20 of my piercings carry an emotional meaning. They’re milestones and reminders to continue to be myself and to never hold myself back; they’re a part of me. I still remember very vividly when I got my septum pierced and my dad texted me a picture of a bull. It was meant to insult me but I took it as a compliment. What’s wrong with being a bull? They’re strong, tough, resilient and often symbolize the ability to stand tall in the face of adversity. Remember, the only person who can grab life by the horns, is You.

In light of our recent readings, I wanted to dedicate this post to my dear friend (without spilling too much of her tea). Obviously, this post does not even come close to embodying our 10 year friendship.

We met in high school, and I knew from the beginning that my friend was someone special. There was a fire in her soul, similar to mine, and we were destined to be lifelong friends. She was chaotic, messy, and downright sassy but most of all she was kind. As close as we were, I could tell she was holding something back, like a part of her had not been unleashed yet. A beautiful butterfly yet to emerge from its cocoon.

The changes were gradual, from experimenting with makeup to doing drag for the first time. Each step of the way I was there to support her and supply her with anything materials she may need or want to try. I remember feeling so grateful that I had such a unique and special friendship with her. She trusted me to be a part of her journey. And over the years, I had the privilege of watching her blossom into her true, authentic, and unapologetic self.

However, the transition wasn’t easy and there were struggles. I watched as her family tried to tear her down each step of the way, unable to accept her. Already a family of gay sons and lesbian daughters, but a trans daughter? That was unacceptable. Family members, straight and queer, struggled with using her new preferred pronouns and chosen name, both out of habit and resistance. After years of confrontation and conflicts her family eventually grew to accept and understand her. I believe that they were afraid because of what they did not know or understand at the time. Fear of the unknown.

I do not want to put too much of her life on blast but being her friend through this beautiful yet challenging journey has taught me so much. I’ve learned about resilience, about self love, and about the POWER of living as your true self, no matter what comes your way. I’ve seen firsthand that everyone deserves to be celebrated for who they are, not for who the world expects them to be. I am endlessly proud of her and her strength to move mountains. My friend you are so loved and I will always support you no matter what.

TW: Abortion, Pregnancy Loss, Ectopic Pregnancy

June 2022 – After being on the birth control implant, Nexplanon, for 7 years I decided to have the implant removed. I wanted to give my body a break and be able to regulate my hormones and cycles naturally. I could not take the constant anxiety attacks and overall poor mental health caused by the high dose of continuous hormones being released into my body. Once removed, I never felt so clear headed or so relaxed. It felt as if a storm of clouds around my head just dissipated and my cycle returned to normal. I felt as though I had a new outlook on my body and the way it is supposed to be. 

July 2022 – It is mid July and I am driving down 95 heading to Baltimore. I feel a strange tingling and pulling sensation in my lower abdomen. I have never felt this before, it was such an unusual feeling that I made sure to take a mental note. Subconsciously, I already knew. A week passes, my cycle never comes. One evening, enjoying time with my partner at the kitchen counter; I casually slip into the conversation, “I think I’m pregnant.” He looks at me, totally unfazed, “I think you are too.” he says. The next morning, the test is positive. Neither of us are at a stage of life to raise a child. Only two other people are made aware of the situation, his sister and my best friend. The abortion is scheduled for mid August.

August 2022 – It is the evening before the procedure. I am terrified but I have planned to stay at my partner’s house where he and his sister can help me recover in secret. We order food and enjoy the evening as usual, there is nothing out of the ordinary. Throughout the day I had some light brownish spotting, not uncommon for a pregnancy. Right before bed I decided to pee one last time. This time there was one small drop of bright red blood in the brown. This does get my attention but I shrug it off. 

I jolt awake at almost 2:00 am on the dot in unbelievable pain. I stumble to the bathroom in the darkness and I flip the light on. I am hemorrhaging blood and the pain is indescribable. Instinctively I know something is very wrong. At this point the pain is so bad I crawl back to the bedroom to wake my partner.  He stirs, I say, “Something is really wrong, wake your sister. We have to go to the ER.” He goes to get his sister, a veteran shock trauma nurse and chief of hospital operations. I am barely conscious on the floor, bleeding, sweating, and in extreme pain. She says, “I think you may be having a miscarriage.”. I respond, “What if it is ectopic?”. I have never been pregnant before but I knew this was something much more dire. 

After struggling to even be able to stand, my partner and I finally arrive at the ER at 3:00 am. He is basically carrying me through the door, hospital security quickly gets me a wheelchair and I begin to violently vomit at the check in desk. I explain to them I am pregnant and something is seriously wrong. I am taken to a treatment room for IV fluids, my veins were so shallow the nurses could not hit a vein. I begin drifting in and out of consciousness as the nurses are stabbing me over and over and shouting at me to stay awake. Once the IV is placed I am left alone in a chair off to the side. I begged for somewhere to just lie down, even the floor, as sitting straight up was extremely painful. Denied. The IV bag is empty, back to the wheelchair in the hallway. 

8 hours of what felt like being stabbed over and over by a dull serrated knife pass. The minutes felt like years. Pain meds, denied. At 11:00 am, I am given a room with a bed, it would be another hour before pain meds. Finally, relief. An internal ultrasound is performed, the results inconclusive. The doctor comes in to discuss the results, the results are inconclusive and discusses the possibility of an ectopic or a miscarriage with a fallopian cyst. There is too much “sludge” in my uterus to be sure. She pushes to send me home with mifepristone and misoprostol. I refuse, I am not leaving this hospital without surgical intervention. A second ultrasound is performed with a specialist. Results, inconclusive and exploratory surgery is recommended; the surgery is scheduled for 5:00 pm. 

14 hours since check in and I am on my way up to the OR. I am terrified and crying. Everything goes black. I wake up and I am told the surgery was successful. However, I am told that my tube was extremely close to rupturing and had it been any longer it could have been fatal. Discharge: 7:00 pm, 16 hours since check in. My partner drives us home, he never left. The beginning of recovery starts. 

March 2023 – I log into MyChart, the hospital database which includes medical records. Just out of curiosity I decide to read the medical documentation from my ER visit and surgery. There, on my intake notes under patient condition, reads in all caps “N.A.D”, no apparent distress. I am horrified. 

Women in medical settings already have their symptoms dismissed or minimized, pregnant women especially. Our symptoms are written off as “just being a woman” or pregnant women being labeled as “dramatic” or “overreacting”. What could have happened if N.A.D had not been placed on my chart? Could I have gotten the help I needed sooner? Would I have had to suffer for as long as I did with a critical condition? To this day, I still have not mentally recovered from this experience. For pregnant women in the ER, vomiting, loss of consciousness, hemorrhaging, loss of full mobility, and extreme lethargy are considered N.A.D. This is the sad reality for many women who seek medical care. Even when you are on the verge of dying you are considered to be in no apparent distress.

As a feminine presenting person, I’ve often felt the weight of societal expectations placed on my body, and it’s a pressure that seems to evolve over time but never truly disappears. From a young age, I became aware that my body was not just my own, but something to be scrutinized, judged, and valued by others. There’s a constant narrative surrounding what a “perfect” body should look like; slim but curvy, toned but feminine, attractive but not overly sexualized. Around 8 years old, my father took this to heart. I was put on a diet and had regular weigh-ins to make sure I was not “getting fat”. At birthday parties and holidays I was denied cake and desserts, forced to watch all the other kids enjoy their sweets. This mental strain was and still is exhausting. Present day, I dare say this “trauma” has taken its toll on my body image. Even when I was at my most toned and fit it was still not enough. No matter how long I looked in the mirror, all I could see was someone too fat and not good enough. For years I struggled, and still do, with accepting myself and my body and not fearing the occasional sweet treat. The journey to reclaim my body as my own has been gradual and ongoing. I’m learning to love it for what it is; its strength, its ability to heal, and the ways it supports me. I try to remember that my body is my identity.