I Am Not Okay

Photo by: Janine Soltman

By. Megan Housekeeper

A year ago, I found myself recently relocated to Austin, TX away from my friends and family, in debilitating pain while my husband was out of town. Now with the benefit of reflection, the pattern goes something like this: dull, ignorable pain in the right half of my pelvis leading to sharper, more present but still ignorable pain, leading to get me the fuck out of my body crawling on my hands and knees pain – which I can no longer ignore.

The latter leads me to an emergency room, only if I am in a vulnerable enough state to not second guess this declarative action and replace it with doubt that what I am feeling is real.

I drove myself to urgent care, alone. If you are a woman who has had any type of chronic illness medical facilities can be a triggering space. The pattern goes something like this: there is concern you might have an appendicitis, the appendicitis is ruled out, you are asked many questions that are clearly pointing to determining if you are a drug addict looking for pills and then you are sent home with no resolution with some anecdotal suggestions for pain management.

Essentially, your condition becomes not real enough to treat with any urgency. The self-doubt kicks in, was I in that much pain? The pattern went as aforementioned with the insertion of a new dynamic at this ER.

A male doctor felt my pelvis for several long minutes to determine exactly what I am not sure and spent the entire time explaining how physically fit I felt and asking me detailed questions about my workout regimen. I was crying from the pain as he continued to talk about my tight abs. Feeling violated, but in that questioning way, I went home and laid in the same pain for a week until it subsided enough to continue with my day to day life. I did not schedule a follow-up and continued to ignore mounting discomfort for a year.

For me, the shame did not set in after this experience. It’s the shame that led me here and inextricably linked to my Imposter Syndrome and it’s deeply rooted relationship with physical health.

Imposter Syndrome is alive and well in women’s healthcare

If you were to check my google search history “am I having an appendicitis” would be top of the list. Never at the top of mind is that my pain may be linked to the endometriosis pamphlets I’ve discarded for years. I have always been deeply disheartened by the idea of what felt like a vague diagnosis of a chronic illness. I wanted something that felt tangible, that could be removed and was easy to explain to your middle-aged male boss.

We apply imposter syndrome to doubts around accomplishments and feeling like a fraud, even when well-earned. Ascribed to common situations like women in the workplace. But I am beginning to think imposter syndrome is a rampant threat when women are experiencing hardship, or in this specific example – pain.

For as long as I can remember I have questioned my feelings, even when validated externally. Through years of conditioning, I have questioned what I feel physically due to the constant cycle of medical ignorance and questioning around female pain. I know I am not alone in this, almost every woman I have spoken to has a traumatic history of 10/10 ER pain treated by Tylenol or being told to lose weight before receiving any medical diagnosis for their symptoms. These are micro-aggressions that continually beat women into submission to medical expertise. When doctors, heroes of our society do not validate our pain, how can find the strength to validate and trust our own. Just outside of submission, is the threat of giving up altogether on finding relief or resolution.

The natural wellness movement shames us for seeking medical attention

The natural health and wellness trend of late provided me many new opportunities to take ownership and empowerment of my health. At least, it felt that way at first.

But what appeared as an appealing new message, was really the same message I was receiving from traditional healthcare in a new package. That message that I have so deeply internalized is: what I am feeling may not be a real problem, it’s in my head. What they tell you is this: you are personally responsible for being okay. Eat paleo. Do more yoga. Journal. There is nothing wrong with these suggestions, self-care should be a priority hanging in a fine balance with medical care when it is required. I have seen a friend driven to the brink of suicide before accepting that taking anti-depressants does not make you a weak person.

Posts like this from prominent, self-proclaimed “woke” wellness influencers shame you for taking seeking professional medical attention:

So I found myself in the same vicious cycle of questioning what is real and being paralyzed to acknowledge how not okay I was, normalizing pain to the point where I have disassociated entirely from my body.

I am not okay and that is my first act of protest

A year after my experience at the ER, I found myself there again. Only this time they found a grapefruit sized, 11cm cyst on my right ovary. Not to be overly precious, but this feels like the physical manifestation of waiting a year in shame to seek medical attention. I needed it to be real before demanding care or even taking care of myself. I told myself that what I was feeling was not real and that I was okay.

But not being okay is a trend I can get on board with. Movements like #metoo mobilized women across the world to stand up and say I’m not okay. Reasonably, this shifting dynamic is threatening to the status quo and will take time. So for now, I am learning to be gentle and nurturing with myself while I slowly learn to acknowledge and speak for my body, trusting my own experience.

Megan Housekeeper has been writing privately for years and is ready to start sharing her writing and illustrations with the world. A Seattlite by birth and at heart, she now lives in Austin, Texas where she works in tech as a Product Marketing Manager.