Two years ago, I was finally permitted to reclaim my life. I choose the word “permitted” deliberately, because of what it took to get there. I know my body — as do the millions of other AFAB (assigned female at birth) people out there — but too often we’re met with roadblocks by people in the medical field who disagree, or who believe they know better.
I was lucky enough to find women with medical degrees who actually listened to me, and finally, I had the life-saving procedure that let me regain control of my life: a total hysterectomy with bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy.
It saved my life. As I always knew it would.
There’s more information about Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD) now, in 2026, and there will no doubt be less “drastic” options in the future than removing a collection of organs. But after 20+ years of PMDD — the daily suicidal ideation, the mood swings, the not-knowing — on top of adenomyosis, endometriosis, fibroids, and cysts, I’m glad to be rid of all of it. I have no regrets. It was the option I had at the time, and I was tired of fighting. I knew it was what I had to do to survive.
Beyond how much happier I am two years on (provided I remember my HRT in the morning), the surgery gave me something I’d been waiting for. I’d always said, “once my ovaries are removed, I’ll finally see what’s really going on underneath.” And I was right. It’s comforting to know that the reason antidepressants never worked for me across two decades is because depression was never the root cause: I have Complex PTSD. I wasn’t just reactive, or too sensitive — I’m Autistic, chronically overstimulated, and living with ADHD on top of it.
That clarity extended past my brain chemistry and into parts of myself I didn’t expect. For years I struggled to connect with the Sacred Feminine, because for me, femininity was tangled up in organs I was in a constant battle with. I couldn’t embrace the beauty and power of the womb when it felt like it was cursed and actively trying to kill me. I tried, genuinely — Red Tent events, a Goddess-centred coven, deeply beautiful rituals with incredible women. I embraced the external femme: the hair, the accessories, the clothing. But my relationship with myself was so fragmented by the constant grind of PMDD that I could never actually get there. I could perform it. I couldn’t feel it.
Since my hysterectomy, I feel more femme, and more connected to the Sacred Feminine, than I ever have before. It’s not something I can fully put into words, because it’s beyond emotion. I’ve been able to build relationships with goddesses that go past a fleeting moment of help in a crisis. Hekate — goddess of thresholds and transformation — stormed through the door shortly after my surgery and took charge. More recently, Arianrhod, keeper of cycles and rebirth, has returned to help me navigate my FND (Functional Neurological Disorder) diagnosis.
Sex has never felt more amazing. I’m loving my body in its ever-changing forms as I navigate life post-menopause.
With the clarity that’s come with time — and now, with FND in the mix too — I’m finally free to look at the parts of my life I need to process and work on, without the darkness that PMDD used to wrap around everything. When my psychologist asked, “Do you think, perhaps, you might have an eating disorder?” I laughed and said, “Of course I do!” The old me would have argued, denied it, made excuse after excuse.
None of this comes without cost. PMDD left me with Complex PTSD — what’s now understood as a kind of brain injury, caused by decades of unrelenting trauma inflicted on me by my own body. That’s simply what it is. But having a name for the complexity of my mental health means I finally have a way to address it that actually works for me.
Sometimes I still get sad that no womb means I’ll never carry a child. Unlike Loretta from Life of Brian — I’m not going to fight for the right to have babies, because this isn’t anyone’s fault, not even the Romans. But I know that when the time comes, I’ll get to meet the two I lost in spirit. My trauma ends with me. Instead of worrying about school lunches and the cost of raising children, I get to focus on myself, my relationships, my garden, and my Gods.
Two years ago, I was permitted to reclaim my life. What I didn’t expect was how much of myself I’d find waiting on the other side of it.
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