To My Uterus, Before You Move Out
Dear Uterina Wombra Gray,
On July 1, 2024, we will part ways. When I first made the decision to serve you with an eviction notice back in February, I was completely nonchalant about the decision. At the time, you felt more like an inconvenience than a welcome guest — you had started becoming late with every period and, worst of all, you let some pesky fibroids move in without my permission. These fibroids would in turn invite more of their friends, and now there are at least 10 of them having a dance party of pain and discomfort.
But on the eve of your moving day, I find myself feeling both sadness and admiration. After all, you’ve known me since birth, and we’ve been together for 48 years. However, I didn’t find out about your existence until I was 9 years old, and I would first meet you in person around 10 or 11. You announced the arrival of my reproductive life by leaving a spot of blood on my underwear (gee, thanks!).
At that moment, you gave me the choice to bring life into this world for the next several years. For many, motherhood is an extraordinary gift that only you could uniquely give. Although I chose not to accept that gift, I am so grateful that you worked every month to make this possible for me just in case I changed my mind.
Were you disappointed when I chose to terminate the life you would find yourself carrying at one point? I bet you were excited to finally bring your A game, to do ALL. THE. THINGS. to nourish and cradle this life. You were finally able to prove that you were functioning as you should, perhaps even change your middle name from Wombra to Gestella. So, I’m sorry that I took away your job. Trust me, I grieved along with you for quite some time.
But I hope you’ve recognized how my choice would ultimately be the best decision. I simply could not birth life when I hadn’t even started properly living my own. I think we saved ourselves from years of financial strain and potential emotional damage to a person who might end up resenting me.
In addition to holding life, you’ve also held energy, both good and bad. In addition to creative energy, you’ve held memories and offered intuitive guidance. But in a society where I’ve been conditioned to please others while sacrificing my own needs, you’ve stored those memories too, and you let me know that my body has been rebelling. I’ve learned that every encounter, whether loving or not, leaves an energetic imprint in you, influencing my emotional, mental, spiritual, and physical health. Thank you for giving me the intuition to know that my body was keeping score. I am more committed to taking care of my needs, putting myself first when needed.
But Girl! How did I not know that you’ve been providing structural integrity and support to my bladder, bowel, and pelvic bones? You’ve been keeping my bladder and my bowels apart, I guess to keep me from pee-pooping, all this time? You’ve done such an amazing job and I’m sorry that I took you for granted.
You’re probably concerned that after you’re gone, I might end up with a pelvic organ prolapse or urinary incontinence, but don’t worry. My ovaries, Kegels, hormone replacement therapy, Metamucil, pelvic floor therapy, and I have a plan! You’ve taken care of me so well, quietly and without recognition, for so long, that you’ve set the example for me to continue taking care of me. I will miss you, but I’ve got this from here.
Uterina, we’re getting older, menopause is on his way, and I know that you’re tired. Plus, those fibroids that moved in are wreaking havoc, and like any squatter, will be difficult to remove. If my health choices in any way caused them to move in in the first place, I’m so sorry about that. No one has been researching where they come from, so we didn’t know how to prevent them, right?
As you leave, know that I appreciate and admire your strength. I’m sad to let you go, but if I am to continue thriving in my body, taking care of it the best way that I can — just as you’ve taught me — we must say goodbye.
Thank you so much for your care, for the seen and unseen things that you’ve done for my body. I respect and honor you.
With Love,
Dionne
