There Won’t Always Be a Bear to Save You
A true tale of reproductive hormones and thoughts on the solutions we need.
I still remember the feeling of the cold, grimy tile on my face.
And no, it’s not what you’re thinking.
The first time I wrote about this experience, I dove head first into detail about my close encounters with the shared bathroom floor, the sharp pain in my belly, and the fear of missing my first day of class due to the untimely arrival of my period.
Then my sister read it and told me, in the nicest way possible, that maybe it was for my eyes only. Upon further reflection and a reread a few weeks later, I agreed. Wholeheartedly.
Writing can serve as a form of self-reflection that allows you to process tough emotions or, in this case, long-held frustrations. I co-lead a writing group on Wednesday evenings, and for the first five minutes, we do a brain dump of thoughts and feelings. We call that writing “just for you” before moving into prompts and exercises.
That’s what this was for me—in part.
But there is a piece of the story worthy of further discussion.
I’d been doing a deep dive into period pain relief options for women and recalling the agony I felt each month until I started birth control. Back then, if I suspected my period was imminent, I popped a few Ibuprofen to lessen the incoming pain. But if my period came in the middle of the night, as it did during this particular instance, no such luck.
That morning, when I thought I’d have to miss the first day of college classes my junior year, a class taught by a favorite professor, no less, I was saved by a lockdown. A bear had been spotted across campus, leading to a cancellation of all morning classes in panic. Creative memes plagued the campus’s Facebook pages for weeks. But all I thought was how ridiculous it was that it took a well-timed bear lumbering around the boys’ dorms to avoid missing class.
Unlike once-in-a-lifetime lockdowns, my period came every month and not at all like clockwork until I started birth control. Thirty days, sixteen days, twenty-one days—your guess was as good as mine. And with it came cramps that left me unable to move without painkillers.
But what choice did I have? As women, we seem to have two. At least, that’s how it felt at the time. Now, there are a (few) more options. But in my junior year of college, it boiled down to: suffer your luck or try hormonal birth control.
Simple, right? At first glance, it seemed like a choice between pain or no pain. But no one explained the potential side effects or the long-term implications of taking artificial hormones. Or why I suffered such pain in the first place. Something that remains a mystery. All I knew was that a bear wouldn't be around next time I found myself face down on the bathroom floor. So, I agreed to go on low-dose birth control.
Questions and controversies and opinions surround hormonal birth control. Entire books are dedicated to its double-sided nature. Prevent children and cramping? Check. Impact the function of your reproductive system and mental health? Also check. You can’t have one without the other, it seems. Some women do remain unaffected, birth control’s side effects minimal and temporary. Others develop lasting anxieties and other conditions. It’s a bit of a coin toss on which side you’ll land.
More women are starting to ask questions and look for alternatives, yet few exist. Some companies produce non-hormonal birth control options, mostly for women’s use. Planned Parenthood has a nifty page that visually presents the options. And those are all fine and dandy but more related to preventing pregnancy, which is, obviously, what they’re supposed to be used for.
What I want to talk about is the use of hormonal birth control as a cure-all for women’s hormonal issues. Anecdotally, between me and my friends and family, there appears to be little interest in exploring issues related to women’s reproductive health outside of pregnancy. Why do I cramp so badly? Well, my mom had fibroids, so that might be it. But did anyone test? Did anyone suspect a different problem, like imbalanced hormones? Or why my hormones might be imbalanced in the first place? No, no, and no.
I was told, when I voiced my concern about an underlying issue, that we could investigate when I went off birth control and wanted to get pregnant. Of course.
Because that’s the only reason women stop taking birth control.
Only when I explored natural medicine did anyone take the time to sit with me and explore alternative treatment options. But that opens a whole can of worms about industry and supplement regulation, evidence-based treatments, and naturopathic controversies. All I’ll say is that I felt the most seen and supported by the naturopaths I met with. But they are often more expensive, and not everyone’s insurance covers their appointment costs. And that doesn’t even touch the millions of women without sufficient (or any) healthcare coverage.
Hormonal contraceptives are not treatment methods (in my non-medical opinion, to clarify). They’re masking methods. Yes, they’re well-studied, and yes, they’re effective in preventing pregnancy and giving women more bodily autonomy. That I understand well. But they should not be an excuse to overlook individual cases.
Every woman’s hormones are unique. Every woman’s body is unique and requires individualized care, attention, and time. That’s why using birth control for PCOS, ovarian cysts, endometriosis, acne, cramps, migraines—the list goes on—should not be the catch-all. Some women even find their symptoms worsen after starting one type of birth control and are encouraged to simply try another that may work better. Go figure.
I was one of the lucky ones. Minimal side effects, even ten years later. But what happens when I go off, if I go off? That I shudder to think. Some tell me after all this time, I should be fine. Possibly even better in terms of former debilitating symptoms. Other providers look at me askance and tell me not to stop cold turkey and that we’ll create a supportive plan just in case it all goes south. I’ve heard symptoms can come back with a vengeance, which scares me more than facing Freddy Kreuger alone in a barn on a new moon.
That leaves me back where I started. Still on birth control, wondering what my hormones would do and what diagnosis I’d receive were they released. It also begs the question: would I get the same response I did before about ways to treat my period symptoms or try as many natural options as possible before relenting and going back on the pill? I don’t know. The future, that wily thing, remains unseen.
We need more research and funding for women’s health in general, but also bespoke, hormone-related treatment options. I know of a few companies that are working to target women’s hormonal health, but not as many scientific studies on the root causes of hormonal imbalances and effective, research-backed treatments.
Who knows, there may even be a new diagnosis I’ll fall under down the road.
Or maybe women’s health requires a whole new way of diagnosing, one that looks at the whole body versus one part at a time.
Our voices are necessary to raise awareness. To advocate for better treatment options for women. There are women already in motion, willing to research and build companies. What we need to do, you and me, is talk about our daily realities and make the argument that focusing on women’s health uplifts families, communities, countries, and economies.
When women are healthy, we can change the world.
And that’s not a cliche. It’s a fact.
Do you know people innovating in this space? Send me a note; I’d love to learn more.