Self-Love Prompts is a series I started after creating a list of 50 self-love writing prompts. People like you select a prompt that speaks to them, work on it, and send me their response so I can share it with you guys!
We’re continuing on this series with Brittany. I’m excited to have her contributing to this series by answering the prompt, “Write a love letter to your least favorite part of your body”. Her response made me cry, and that’s coming a lot from someone who has less than zero maternal instinct.
Write A Love Letter To Your Least Favorite Part Of Your Body: Dear Uterus,
My Darling Uterus,
How are you today my love? I can tell you how you are. You are being a real little bitch, but that’s no news to you. You’ve been at this for the last ten years, maybe longer, but I didn’t notice it before. I hope you are enjoying making my life a living hell. And it’s not just me that’s suffering, oh no, its my family, friends, work, literally my whole life.
I can’t get a decent night’s sleep because you literally like to give me worse-than-labor pains in the middle of the night! I can’t pee without you throwing a fit right after I’m done, and God forbid I poop (if you let me poop because you’ve got my insides all pissed off and constipated)! I can’t have sex with my husband without paying for it with twenty minutes of contraction-like pain in my abdomen, shooting pain in my lower back and numbness in my legs! I can’t take my son for a walk or exercise in any way or even walk quickly from the car into work if it’s raining without you reminding me that you are in there and pissed off at me! I’ve had to cut out caffeine and red meat from my diet, which is probably better for my health, but still, screw you because I love tea and soda and steak!
I’ve learned years ago that no amount of screaming, crying, thrashing around or forcing myself to lay still will end your little “house party” spasms faster, but you know too well that I still scream, cry, trash around, punch the pillow, try not to wake up my husband or son, swear at you, swear at “normal” people for being able to do what they want when they want, ask God what I did to deserve this, ask God to please just make it stop, beat myself up for not being able to take my son on a walk, make myself feel like a piece of shit wife who can’t keep up on laundry, dishes, grocery shopping (even though Matt doesn’t care, I do), wait for the relief to come only to worry about the next bout of pain and if it will be worse than this one.
I’ve tried to show you who’s boss. I’ve gone though several doctors who have all poked and prodded you (I hope to hurt you as much as it hurt me). I’ve been cut open three times; twice to remove your evil step sisters, Ovarian Cyst and Endometriosis with a side of scar tissue and the third time was an all out attack on you. My doctor cut you open, sliced eighteen holes in you to remove eighteen demon fibroids. You would think that after I rid you of eighteen growths you would show me some appreciation by at least cutting back on the frequency or intensity of your little outbursts, but no, you repay me by continuing to be a complete and total bitch.
The doctor says the only way to stop my pain is to remove you. Finish having kids (if you will allow it), then rip you out and be rid of you forever. A year ago this was my plan. I had made it public knowledge that Matt and I would have as many kids as we could have/wanted, then I would be rid of you. Now that the doctor has said it and made it a real thing, I am actually a little sad. Ok, a lot sad because I am fighting back tears to keep writing to you. And the only reason I would be sad about losing you is because I must care about you.
Though you may make my daily life a living hell, you have also given me something worth living for. For thirty-six weeks (because we all know you couldn’t just behave and cooperate for forty) you housed, nourished and protected our beautiful baby boy. Even though you couldn’t hold on to him for another four weeks he was born healthy, happy and perfect. He gives me joy, makes me laugh, challenges me in ways I didn’t think a two-year old could, and lifts me up on days when I am feeling down.
The thought of losing you means the possibility for biological children is gone. Matt and I have already discussed adoption; even before we had our first son we agreed we would adopt if life led us down that road. There is just something so permanent and final about losing you. Trust me, I will not miss the pain. I will be frolicking like a freakin’ fool, running up and down the street, having lots of sex and drinking Coke and eating the rarest bloodiest steak till I puke, but I will also miss you. I’ll miss feeling those first baby flutters; I’ll miss feeling the baby kicks and the baby hiccups; I’ll miss the excitement and anticipation of baby’s arrival. I’ll miss the possibility of maybe having another baby grow inside of me. I loved being pregnant. You and I made a good team when I was pregnant. You gave me no pain other than the first month, and you let me enjoy seven glorious pain-free months of carrying a little person while he grew. You showed me what my body was capable of.
I have fought so hard to keep you. I could have had you removed years ago. Sadly there are many young 20-somethings who have no other choice but to get rid of their uteruses (uteri??? What do you call more than one of you?). I was lucky enough to have doctors to help me on my path to motherhood since that is something that I have wanted since I was a little girl. I wanted nothing more than to be a mom and you did that for me, with help of course, but we couldn’t have done it without you. This last surgery did a number on you, and it wasn’t until months after the surgery when I was talking with my mom that I realized what I had done to you. I told my mom that you were acting up again, causing me the usual pain I had before the surgery and we were looking at trying for another baby then getting rid of you, and my mom said to me “Well after all of your surgeries you don’t know if you can even get pregnant again.” I felt horrible. I had put you through a surgery where they literally shredded you to get those eighteen fibroids out, and for what? The pain didn’t stop, nothing changed, other than I may have ruined you beyond repair. You gave me a gift I could never repay you for and what did I do? Let some guy in to attack you?
Now we both know I’m being a bit dramatic. For all I know the fibroids may have prevented future pregnancies as well, or they could have stayed and caused no other issues; we’ll never know. And the doctor is an amazing surgeon who specializes in this kind of thing. I’m not a total crazy person letting just anyone with a medical degree and scalpel in there. Bottom line being, I could have opted to evict you and I didn’t because I love you.
I love what you are capable of doing. You grow freakin’ people! I love the feelings that you let me feel while you grew that baby in my belly. I love the end result more than I ever thought possible. Who knew that a two year old who cuts electrical cords to blow circuits in my bedroom at 6 am, and doesn’t always repeat swear words right away but files them away in his brain then uses them appropriately weeks later could bring me so much joy and show me how to love on a completely different level? I guess you knew, because that is your job. And for that I love you.
I also want to thank you. I feel like after living with you (in this state anyways) for the last ten years, you have changed who I am. Granted, you can make me a real bitch sometimes, from lack of sleep, being in pain, being frustrated with people and their stupid petty problems, but more importantly and more profoundly you have made me a more sympathetic person. You’ve given me challenges that I have had to over come. You’ve shown me dark times to appreciate the good. You’ve made me realize no one should ever judge someone else even if you think you know them. We honestly do not know what people struggle with silently, behind closed doors. It’s easy to put on a smile and go about your daily business, I know, I do it just about every day. I’m glad you’ve taught me not to judge.
I’m glad you’ve taught me kindness and compassion because that’s how I like to be treated, especially on my rough days, days where I can’t put on that smile. I don’t want people to think I am a bitch, I wish they knew I got three hours of restless sleep between intense periods of pain, took more than an hour to get ready because I physically can’t move any faster than that, struggled with the thought of calling out sick, but dragging myself in to work because I am out of sick time. I wish they knew that was what was behind the forced half-smile, short answers and lack of “bubbly” that I try to bring with me everywhere I go. I’m thankful to you for the lessons you’ve taught me about how to treat others through how I’ve been treated living with an “invisible illness”.
So even though we have had our struggles, please don’t give up on me. I haven’t given up on you! I love you for all you’ve done, and for all you continue to do.
Your Human Host,
P.S. – We’ve got a dose of meds coming soon that will let you hibernate for like 6 months. Look at it like a break for both of us! Till it hits can you maybe party at like a level 5 instead of an all out 10??? Thanks so much!!! xoxo
[pextestim pex_attr_name=”Brittany Krok” pex_attr_img=”https://uncustomary.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/Self-Love-Prompts-Write-A-Letter-To-Your-Least-Favorite-Part-Of-Your-Body-Dear-Uterus-Uncustomary-2.jpg” pex_attr_org=”Facebook” pex_attr_link=”https://www.facebook.com/brittany.krok” pex_attr_parallax=”disabled”]Brittany is a twenty-nine year old wife and mother from Maryland. She enjoys baking, woodworking, arts and crafts, beach combing, photography, spending time with family and re-reading Harry Potter over and over again. She currently works as an assembly technician building flight hardware for satellites and other space exploration equipment, but she hopes to one day run her own business where she can capitalize on her creative side.[/pextestim]
What’s your least favorite part of your body, and what would you say to it in a (love) letter?
Are you interested in being part of the Self-Love Prompt Series? Select your prompt and send me an e-mail so I can give you more information!