PCOS.

My 30th Year Series #5: Finding Some Balance in the Aftermath

Welcome to my fifth essay in my new 30th year series. Every month, I’ll be dropping an essay on my journey out of my twenties and into my thirties. This will mostly be a free newsletter, each month, but any support is greatly appreciated - as it helps me do this (gestures to the Substack universe). I’m offering 10% off my annual subscription plan at the moment, grab it while it lasts.

Earlier this year, I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS).

For half my life, I’ve known something wasn’t right with my periods. I was nine or ten when I got my first one, and from the start, they were brutal. I felt too young, too ill-equipped, too not-ready. Then, a few years later, the pain became unbearable. I’d pass out at school, spending one day a month in the nurse’s office. I bled through my school uniform, sitting in class silently wishing the ground would swallow me whole. Sometimes, I threw up.