I am a 28-year-old woman who has been recently searching for reasons why I am the way I am. That has led me to find the Unsilenced Community and I am very thankful for them. For opening my eyes and connecting all the pieces I've known deeply about myself all these years but have not truly faced altogether until now. Have not felt the confirmation I suppose I was seeking all this time.
I was only 13 when it started, but little did I know my story really began much earlier than that. I was just 13 when I found myself starting to cry myself to sleep every other night, waking up the next morning pretending everything was okay. I spent the next year of my life in this cycle, slowly becoming more and more depressed without any understanding why.
Guilt started to weigh on me. I had a great family, amazing friends, and an abundance of wonderful, privileged opportunities throughout my childhood and somehow, I still found myself in despair. How could I possibly be so miserable? I, for the life of me, could not pinpoint what it was that caused my heart to ache, my stomach to turn and my mind to stay awake when I needed to sleep.
When I questioned myself why I felt this way, all I could come up with was...because I am just sad. As I turned 15, I became suicidal. I was convinced I would always feel this way, hidden and sad, and hopelessness now approached. In February of my 9th grade year of high school, I planned my death. I told my mother I was sick, and I needed to stay home from school. As a student, I always kept my grades up and prided myself on my academics. My mother never suspected I'd make excuses to stay home from school. I was still trying to figure out how I would do it, but I made up my mind that morning that today was going to be the day.
So, my mother went to work, and my brothers went to school without me. And I spent the morning taking in every minute as slow as possible, going through the morning like I was trying to swim through mud. I remember going into the kitchen where the medicine cabinet was, standing there on the tile floor, debating which medication I'd use and how much I'd have to take. It felt like hours but at some point, I told myself, not today. I couldn't today. My mom and siblings would come home, and I had to be okay.
Two weeks later I went to school and listened to the rumors spread about two girls who went to a neighboring high school. I remember hearing the horrifying news in my math class that last night both girls completed suicide by jumping in front of a train. A group of people I considered my friends were discussing immediately how sad it was, and some members of the group had no issue expressing their thoughts about how selfish the two girls were. "Think about their poor families," they said.
And I began living a nightmare I didn't know I was in. That is what they thought of me. Selfish.
As I was struggling and struggling, just trying to stay above water, just trying to breathe. I became hurt and angry. I started having thoughts of 'If I wanted to end my life and everyone kept me from doing so even though I'm hurting, aren't they the selfish ones?'
They had absolutely no idea what was going on inside of me. The conflict I faced with myself every day. As I smiled and laughed, and they laughed too, I was hurting. And in the end, I was selfish.
Months went by and eventually, I expressed to my sister how truly broken I was. I remember lying in bed with her. She was in college at this point. And she explained to me that she recently learned in one of her classes that 1 in 4 people experience depression in their life. And she counted the names of all of us (my siblings and I) on her fingers, indicating I was the one in four.
I shared with my mother shortly after how I'd been feeling suicidal and an appointment with my first therapist was made straight away.
I went through several therapists before I found the one for me. With each professional, I expressed how I did not have any indication why I felt the way I had. Working in my current counseling field, I am well aware that thoughts elicit feelings. And even now I struggle to identify what thoughts I was having at the time. But I swore there was just something chemically imbalanced in my brain that made me feel depressed.
I was confident I needed medication to heal my brain. But as many know, psychiatric medication is trial by error. And there were many errors, side effects and disappointments. By the time I was 16, I was taking eight pills a day. For anxiety, depression, paranoia and even meds to reverse side effects the other pills were inducing. I experienced dry mouth, tremors in my hands, aggressive behaviors, numbness and more.
While going through this process, I attended three outpatient psychiatric day programs and one inpatient, again for suicidal ideation. None of which were a walk in the park, but that is another story.
By my junior year of high school, I started to experience what you might call hallucinations or flashes of nightmares. When I would lay on my back, I would see these distorted faces above me. As if they were visually there but somehow not. They would go away as quickly as they'd come. Almost like a double take I’d have to make.
"By my junior year of high school, I started to experience what you might call hallucinations or flashes of nightmares. When I would lay on my back, I would see these distorted faces above me. As if they were visually there but somehow not."
I became paranoid and mistrustful of people I cared about, thinking they were going to harm me. At the time I had a high school boyfriend, and I remember hanging out with him in my basement. One second everything was normal, the next his face changed, I didn't recognize who he was, and I thought he was someone who was going to harm me. He approached me and I screamed. He screamed, unknowing what was going on. And all of a sudden, he was back to being my boyfriend and someone I recognized and loved.
This circumstance was not the first nor the last and I had no idea how to explain what was going on. I remember telling my psychiatrist about what I experienced. My psychiatrist ended up having a separate conversation with my mother that day and saw me separately again afterwards.
This was the first time anyone ever brought up the VCUG test. My psychiatrist, Dr. Ralph, asked me if I remembered the procedure. I immediately started to cry and shiver uncontrollably. Feeling as if a wound opened up that I didn't know I had.
I must have been 7 or 8 when I undergone the only VCUG in my life. I remember waking up that morning and my mom telling me instead of going to school, we were going to the doctor's office and afterwards she would take me to Chuck E. Cheese. I was so excited at the thought of going to Chuck E. Cheese.
When we got to the hospital, I remember entering a room that was large and clean, holding a lot of toys and other children playing. Me and my mother were with a young, pretty woman who was holding a teddy bear. I remember smiling with my mom and this woman at the fact that the bear was wearing the same medical gown as I had.
The woman explained to me what I was about to experience, taking a small tube and covering the bear's genital area with it. She stated this is what the doctors were going to do with me and that it might feel a little uncomfortable. I had no idea how misleading that statement was.
"The woman explained to me what I was about to experience, taking a small tube and covering the bear's genital area with it. She stated this is what the doctors were going to do with me and that it might feel a little uncomfortable. I had no idea how misleading that statement was."
After our talk, I was led back to a room without my mother. I was laid on a cold, hard table and told to spread my legs in a butterfly position. There were several doctors hovering over me. I felt scared in this new environment, but I knew what I had to do, and I did it.
The next thing I remember is when they began to try inserting the catheter. It felt like something extremely sharp going right up me and I immediately squeezed my legs shut. One of the doctors told the other two to hold my legs apart. I squirmed and squirmed. I didn't understand why it hurt so much and why they were doing this to me.
When I was clearly unable to cooperate, I remember the doctors speaking to one another to bring my mom in. My mom came in and she coolly told me to relax and that this would all be over quickly. I was told multiple times to relax. More and more poking with the catheter, each time was a stab to my urethra, and it was finally in. I felt very uncomfortable knowing it was there and I couldn't move. My belly felt sore, and I was so tense all over my body. After what felt like forever, I was told it was going to soon feel like I was peeing.
And at last, it was all over. The next thing I remember was having a good time at Chuck E. Cheese with my mom, as if the memory was already fading away. Later that night, my mom took me and my three siblings out to Friendly’s, something of a rarity for my family. We were all happy to be eating food and drinking Shirley Temples, and my mom said I deserved a treat for doing such a good job today. I remember my little brother saying he didn't know what I did today, but he was happy I did it.
Flash forward to my conversation with my psychiatrist. She hinted she thought what I experienced as a child was severely impacting me as a teenager, just by how I reacted to trying to recall this memory hidden in the back of my mind.
At home, my mom explained to me how when I was younger, I used to get many UTIs (which I had known) and this procedure was something to see if I had reflux. Back then, she worked in an OBGYN office as a medical assistant turned administrative assistant.
Her boss, who was the main doctor, recommended I receive the test to see if the issue was more than a UTI problem. When my mom questioned taking me because she was slightly aware that the test can have negative consequences, her boss told her she would be a bad mother not to give me the medical attention I needed, and thus my mom went through with the decision.
I didn't give much thought else to this procedure and reassured my mom she did what she thought she needed to.
"When my mom questioned taking me, her boss told her she would be a bad mother not to give me the medical attention I needed, and thus my mom went through with the decision."
Even after what I learned, I dismissed the experience for what it was. A violation of my body and my innocence. My mental health was on an upward track and there was no looking back. However, I hadn't realized that my mental health challenges were not the only obstacles this procedure put in my path. My mind may have forgotten what happened, but my body sure as hell didn't.
When you think of your mental health and physical health, they sometimes seem like two entirely different entities. At least they did to me, until I discovered the Unsilenced Movement.
I got my first period when I was 12. Some of my girlfriends already had theirs, some did not. As time went on and I had my period every month, I was never able to insert a tampon into my vagina. By the time I was in high school, I was much more open to sharing that information with my friends who were all well able to. They were supportive, encouraging me that one day it would click. But it never did.
At times I felt like less of a girl for being incapable. I felt self-conscious and like there was something wrong with me.
Why couldn't I just do it? Every time I tried, it was like my entire body wanted to convulse, I wanted to squeeze my legs shut, my palms would sweat, and it eventually became disturbing to even think about.
My cycle would come every month and I'd worry about the next pool party I'd be invited to or beach trip my family would go on. Pads were uncomfortable to wear, especially during soccer season. I eventually convinced myself I would rather stay home from these events than suffer trying to wear a tampon.
My older brother wanted me to participate on our school's swim team with him so we could share that time together. I was so excited he wanted me to until I remembered, what if I have to get in the pool on my period? I never joined and even though he insisted every so often, I never had the courage to share with him why. I was too embarrassed.
At one point, I received some advice from a friend to use a slender tampon, to make it go in easier. I remember being on the toilet with my legs spread apart. My heart was racing as usual and all of a sudden as I brought the tampon closer to my vagina, I could picture the catheter. It was just too similar, too slender. And I had to stop.
Even then, even in the moment, I STILL didn't see the connection for what it was. It was like I told myself it was a coincidence although deep down I think I really knew. I started to explain to people as I felt more comfortable with them that I had a "traumatic" procedure as a kid but didn't think much of it, using quotations around the word trauma to indicate it wasn’t real. It is such a heavy word.
I had a high school boyfriend at the time of two years, and we began trying to have sex. It did not work out well. I remember feeling as if he was hitting a wall. My legs were open, and my mind seemed willing but there was a block. Time and time again, I felt like I was interested but we just couldn't. Again, why was I unable to do the things I wanted to do?
Further into our relationship, we were able to be more comfortable with each other in other intimate ways that penetration wasn't entirely necessary...until it became an important matter. We had to force things to happen multiple times. I remember the first time, it hurt, and I bled afterward. It was terrifying.
Our relationship finally ended after four years with only being fully able to have sex, although not a pleasant experience for me, a handful of times.
In the meantime, I was on birth control. Which meant I was lucky enough to require a visit to the gynecologist every year. The first time I visited a gynecologist was when I was 18 and my sister took me.
I was once again in a medical facility uncomfortable, nervous, and alone. My doctor told me that I only needed a breast exam. As she was touching my left breast during the exam she exclaimed "oh that's a big one!"
I was so surprised; I didn't know what she was referring to until she showed me where to touch myself. Inside my breast was a lump the size of a golf ball. After the exam, we met in her back office to discuss the unlikelihood that it was cancerous, but we needed to get it checked anyway.
My brain stopped listening and I glided out of her office like a ghost. My sister took me to her car, and I shared with her this new information. I ended up having the lump removed during the biopsy to discover it was a fibroadenoma. Nothing to be concerned about. However, I believe my experience with this doctor further deepened the invisible scar I already had…matching the new, visible one now resting on my left breast.
Although my mental health drastically improved to not needing medication or therapy in college, my other issues persisted. I still could not wear a tampon, sex was either painful or very uncomfortable, masturbation was nonexistent and going to the doctor's office was necessary but horrid every time.
I continued my annual OBGYN appointments to keep my birth control. The birth control I was on lessens my flow to the point I almost never bleed, meaning I was happy to not have to worry about wearing any type of absorbent for my period. Going to the OBGYN once a year seemed like the lesser of two evils. However, it still doesn't keep me from obsessing about when my next appointment will be. From almost wanting to cancel it each time. And sweating through my shirt as I walk up to the front desk to check myself in.
Needless to say, one of my most challenging feats is getting through an appointment with a required pap smear. Again, something I know I must do, but it is never, ever easy.
Since my mother worked with an OBGYN who knew my history, I went to see him after I was 18 and until I was 26. The first three times he performed a pelvic exam, I cried viciously during the entirety of the exam. The first time, he told me what was going on wasn't an issue "down there" but "up here" and pointed to my head.
He knew. He knew what it was that made me feel this way.
When I informed him that it was not possible to insert a tampon, his medical advice to me was to drink alcohol and try to relax before inserting one.
I felt uncomfortable with this advice, especially because at the time I was on medication that prohibited me from drinking, which should have been in my chart, not to mention it was illegal at my age. Again, I found myself asking why I couldn't just do what I wanted without these complications?
"When I informed him that it was not possible to insert a tampon, his medical advice to me was to drink alcohol and try to relax before inserting one."
Years passed, and I stopped crying during pelvic exams or pap smears, albeit still painful and alarming. I stopped caring that I couldn't wear a tampon and accepted it wasn't for me. I stopped having as many sexual issues and found myself enjoying my time with my new partner who knew me, loved me and supported me. I stopped being so afraid of my own body and began to start loving it. I started HEALING.
Flash forward to the very present and I have a new job, a new ring on my finger, a new sense of self-worth and self-love, a new house and thankfully a new OBGYN.
My sister, who recently gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, informs me that she is seeking pelvic floor therapy. I had never heard of this before, but she shared an article with me explaining how it can help people who experience something called vaginismus. Also, a term I never heard before. I start to cry as I read how it is a condition that women can have in which your pelvic floor muscles involuntarily contract so it becomes painful or nearly impossible to insert anything into the vaginal cavity.
How had I in all my years NEVER known this was a medical condition? After years and years of questioning my worth as a woman? After speaking with multiple medical professionals who KNEW my history. Never once diagnosing me or giving me any other medical advice than ‘drink alcohol and relax’. I was furious and hurt and somehow… relieved to know I was not alone.
Information is POWERFUL. And after all this, I was finally feeling like there was something else I could do to further heal from the physical and emotional wounds I've endured.
So, I went on a rampage. Deeper and deeper I went in search of answers on the internet. To finally end up reading the stories of other women who have experienced such eerily similar narratives as mine on the Unsilenced Movement page.
It almost seems unbelievable. Even after what I've been through personally and after reading these other stories. It is so hard to digest that one life event can cause such immense suffering. But I cannot deny that I HAVE gone through this, and it cannot be a coincidence how similar each of our lives have played out. All these women who have different homes, different bodies, different backgrounds can very truly identify with each other through our mutual trauma.
I've read the several research articles associating VCUG tests to childhood sexual abuse. Describing the procedure as something as traumatic as violent rape. Using children, like I was, who had this test to study memory of traumatic events because it is the closest condition researchers could find besides actually studying children who have been sexually abused. And seeing all these research articles published back in the early 90s. Before I had that test. Knowing damn well now that hundreds of thousands of children continue to be tested to this day.
It absolutely disgusts me. And although sharing my story is the most vulnerable thing I can do, especially on the internet, I will gladly tell it if it means to help bring attention to this issue. If it will help change the mind of the medical community to find other ways to detect VUR. Because I do not want any other person to endure what I have been through if something can be done about it. I cannot get back what I’ve lost, but I will be damned if I don’t try to help someone else.
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