As I walked out of the building, surrounded by shiny, gleaming posters for the brand of birth control I was taking, I couldn’t help but feel bitter.
I started talking to my friends about the birth controls they were on. One was on a pill that made her gain 50 pounds, another was on one that made her feel crazy and empty inside, another was experiencing anger problems so bad that they’d almost ended her marriage, and another friend had actually developed acne when she went on her birth control.
Every option came with an unacceptable side effect or compromise.
If I was a birth control Goldilocks, no porridge was just right.
After my 12th bladder infection, I discontinued use of the birth control. And no, I never had another bladder infection again.
When I dropped the birth control, I said goodbye clear skin, hello breakouts. Not only that, but I gained even more weight. My confidence was shrinking down to nothing.
I was heart-broken and miserable. I thought the battle was over and I’d lost.
By my late 20s, despite all the money I had poured into (well, spread onto) my skin, my acne hadn’t improved at all. If anything, it had migrated, spreading to new locations on my face, lower cheeks, jawline, forehead, and even my shoulders.
I was defeated. I was never going to figure this out.