Did Birth Control Cost Me My Relationship?

So. Ok. Right. How do I begin this one? I suppose with an overshare. There's no other way to start a conversation about birth control.

In the last relationship I had with a man* after some rather energetic and fabulous shower sex in a gorgeous hotel suite, I found myself on the NHS app searching for the classic phrase ‘morning after pill near me’ and the next day myself and my at the time very new friend traipsed around inner London, taking an idyllic if not slightly frantic tour of local pharmacies. On the third attempt, I successfully acquired the adult Tic-Tacs. I do of course mean the plural. As I was overweight (happily, thank you), the emergency contraceptive required a double dose as it was only designed for use by those under 155 lbs.**

For those who have never taken a double dose of an emergency contraceptive, it sucks. Basically, you're guaranteed some absolutely naff side effects, and the only advice is to try not to vomit before it’s finished working. But despite the truly awful time my body was having, I was going through a new and exciting bit of a new relationship with what I was finding out was a very kind and considerate man. And by that evening, all was well. Or almost well. Despite the double dose, the odds still weren’t great, and despite all the good I saw in my nice new gentlemen friend, I didn’t fancy a game of pregnancy roulette.

I booked in to get an IUD fitted, a simple solution with the best theoretical odds. A day or so later, I was in the clinic, knees up and apart, being kitted out by a practical and very confident nurse. I was in safe hands. This is the part where I’m not sure if I made a mistake or not. Not the nurse, she was great, I think. But the contraception? You see, over the next 3 months, I gained over 50lbs, I was in pain every day, I was so tired all the time, I lost nearly all of my energy, and weirdly my gag reflex? By the time my now boyfriend and I were on our first holiday together I could barely take a step without pain. I thought I was crazy, it was all in my head, that I was overreaching. “Discomfort is normal” How many times have I heard this? How many times has EVERY fucking woman heard this?

I could feel myself not being a good partner. I could feel myself not having the energy to be present, to be happy, to explore, to make friends with their friends. To do all the things you do when you love someone. I just couldn’t. I was in so much pain. I had this fatigue that never ended and brain fog that just didn’t lift. And I didn’t even have the words. I didn’t know what was happening to my body. For large chunks of time, I couldn’t walk. How did I think that was normal? I felt such guilt for ruining what should have been a joyous time.

And the blood. My god. There was so much of it. I should have known. But I didn’t. I didn’t know this small piece of metal and plastic had pierced its way through my uterus. I didn’t know, I was walking around with a piece of plastic and metal and hormones in an open wound in my body getting closer and closer to other organs. Each time I walked it scratched me. Each time we had sex it pierced a little bit more. Each time I tried to work out to lose the 50lbs that had shown up seemingly overnight it did just a little bit more damage.

After 6 months, I saw a doctor. I had woken up in a pool of blood on the floor and couldn’t call for help. That was the wake-up call. When I couldn’t ever reach my phone.

I was booked in for surgery almost immediately. And I was so relieved. Maybe once this was out, once I had healed, maybe then I could be the good girlfriend I wanted to be? To this brilliant guy who had put up with so much from me. Or even just be myself? Something in these months had broken, and I had lost a bit of my shine. Something about whatever it was that made me ‘me’ had gone. And the more I pushed, the less of me I found.

During surgery, they fitted another IUD. I think this was another mistake.

The surgeons did a great job, the pain only lasted a couple of weeks and I was back! Or I thought I was back. Whilst the pain was gone, the brain fog had morphed into something more sinister, the lack of energy was affecting my work and friendships, and my sex drive (the cause of all this!) had all but disappeared. I was lonely, tired, and I didn’t understand. There was no problem anymore? I was fixed! Why wasn’t I fixed? And I didn’t tell anyone. I thought it was normal. I thought this was just life now.

My boyfriend broke up with me.

Looking back, I get it. I would have broken up with me too. He said he fell out of love with me. And at the time, I thought it was because I wasn’t good enough, attentive enough, kind enough, engaged enough. But I know now it’s because the person he fell in love with wasn’t there. And I’m not exaggerating.

The second IUD pierced me about a year after it was fitted, This time I knew what it was. I immediately had it removed. Within weeks, my clothes were no longer fitting; I was losing weight at an alarming pace. My energy had come back, and my sex drive hit me like a truck. I was OBSESSED. Foods tasted weird, and my gag reflex was back. In the months after I took my birth control out; I went back to the same size I was before I met my ex, I worked out more, dated more, travelled further, walked up mountains, started a business, danced, partied, went to gigs, created more, and got my WHOLE fucking personality back, along with HOPE and a bloody sense of humour.

I spent the best part of a year knowing that I fucked up with my ex, but not knowing why I had. Self-sabotage? Low self-esteem? No. I genuinely know I made choices on birth control that I never would have made without it.

To my ex. I just wanted to say in the off chance you read this. I’m sorry. You were an excellent boyfriend, and I can highly recommend you if you need a reference for future partners. I’m sorry that the version of me you got wasn’t the best of me. ***

But here we are. Birth control free. And actually free. I feel like myself, I like myself, and hopeful. I just felt like I needed to get this off my chest. I needed to tell someone this before I can let it go. And I am ready to let this all go.

*yes, I have had some wonderful times with women since

**The average weight of women in the UK in 2019 was 158 lbs by the way. So, congratulations on a medication that is not suitable for the majority of users. Fuck. I told myself this wasn’t going to be a rant, but bloody hell

*** PS to my ex. That poetry collection I published wasn’t entirely about you, some of it was about someone else, soz.