I was always made to feel as though I was overreacting. I learned to push down my feelings, both physical and mental, telling myself that everyone who gets a period must feel this way and it was something that I would have to learn to live with. 

Hailing from Northern Ireland, I have access to free medical healthcare. Something that many others are not so privileged to have. However, despite this luxury, there is a severe lack of overall knowledge, care, and precision when it comes to reproductive healthcare, especially for female, transgender, non-binary, and other patients from marginalized backgrounds. 

I hadn’t heard of Polycystic Ovary Syndrome until I was in my 20s. The majority of what I knew came from reading a Sally Rooney book in which the main character suffers from endometriosis. There is a serious lack of coverage – from school curriculum to general healthcare knowledge – when it comes to this kind of healthcare. Before I went to my appointment, I had not met anyone else my age who had been to a gynecologist and I think that if I had known what to expect, it would have been less of a daunting experience. Here, I had questions answered about my period, sex life, hormones, and symptoms.

The gynecologist tried to make me feel comfortable. She inserted a camera inside of me, creating an absurdly unpleasant feeling of pressure that made me feel faint. I also had a speculum inserted, a device that resembles a large clamp that opens you up so they can have a look inside. On a screen beside me, she showed me the cysts on my ovaries. 

From this diagnosis I learned a lot about myself and my body. Where I previously became frustrated at my sporadic and frequent periods, I now know the root of the problem. Earth-shattering cramps and the ‘Big Sads’ are explained by the condition of my ovaries and hormones. My often low-libido and occasional painful sexual experiences now make sense. Now I understand why, at 21 years old, using tampons had been a continuous struggle and overall discomforting experience for me. I no longer beat myself up for how my body feels or reacts, but instead, I listen to it. I am gentle with myself. I slow down and respond to how I feel because I know what is going on inside my reproductive system. 

Although there is no way to completely treat PCOS, there are ways to make the symptoms more bearable. I spent the days after my gynecologist trip immersing myself in articles, YouTube videos, Instagram pages, and TikToks on PCOS. Through others being open about their experiences, I learned that I should cut out dairy from my diet and switched to alternatives. I realized that my recurring yeast infections and UTIs could be coming from the excessive bleeding and the resulting hormone and bacteria imbalance. 

Much to my dismay, it soon became clear that birth control was necessary to reduce my flow. I had spent years on the pill as a teenager, but now when I went to the doctor I was able to tell them in detail all that I knew about myself. From this, we were able to narrow down which methods of contraception would work with my body, and which we should avoid.  Different methods of birth control are often a crucial treatment method for those with PCOS and similar conditions. It is a relief that the government recently announced that contraception is being made free for women between the ages of 17 and 25 in Ireland. However, while birth control works for some people, it does not do the same for others. There still remains an element of uncertainty surrounding PCOS. 

There is an aspect of fear that goes hand in hand with being vulnerable. From being open about my condition, I have opened myself up to so many conversations. When I first started to talk about my PCOS, I was hesitant about sharing my experience; would people think differently of me? Would they see me as weak, or damaged? Is talking about period blood and the reproductive system too explicit and ‘gross’ to share online? I figured I had nothing to lose, and even if one person resonated with me then it would be worth the moment of vulnerability. It’s through lived and shared experiences that we grow, learn, and develop. We gain deep understandings of ourselves and others. When I made room for these conversations, I received nothing but positive responses. People reached out to chat about similar experiences; others shared their advice in my place of confusion and uncertainty. 

These past few months I have been able to talk about periods in a way that I never would have before. I can talk about it with friends, to my colleagues and to my brother and dad easily without feeling shame. If I’m experiencing severe cramps, those around me know that in retreating to my room I am not being rude but instead doing what’s best for me. 

I am still in a continuous cycle of learning about myself and my condition. Through writing this, I hope that we can move a step closer towards normalizing conversations around reproductive healthcare, sexual well-being, and periods.

About the Author

Ria Walls is an Irish student journalist who studies classical civilisation and religion at Trinity College Dublin. She is also the editor of the ‘Sex & Relationships’ section of her university paper and a reporter for a national Irish newspaper. She takes interest in telling others' stories and enjoys writing and researching the under-discussed matters surrounding sex, sexual health and reproductive healthcare.

About the Photographer

Cacie Rosario is a photographer and creative director living and working in Philadelphia, PA. She is passionate about representing the multidimensional lives and transgenerational stories in the Black community, and examines how art and the spaces around them can be used as a vessel to examine the nuances of personal narrative. Follow more of Cacie’s work on Instagram.