Women Keeping Secrets

I am just starting this blog because I am tired of feeling like I need to keep all these secrets and the secrets of my friends because we are all so embarrassed to be women, goddammit. Our bodies are multi-faceted, and sometimes multi-fauceted and there is no point in pretending that we are like those plastic dolls with no pee-hole. Why oh why is it a crime to have depression? Urinary tract infection, anyone? How's about migraine, myopia, miscarriage, menopause, manic depression - okay, bipolar - or just plain self-diagnosed mania? My neighborhood is quite lovely with all sorts of friendly people and then one by one as I got to know the gals around, I discovered whoa! Some of them were really hurting but there was this sort of code regarding psychiatric, gynecological and other types of health. Is it really that bad to just say "I have diarrhea?" We're all like "I had a little upset tummy," as if we're pre-schoolers - even to our good friends.

I guess I gotta walk the walk here so I'll tell you I have depression, I have anxiety, I have migraine, probably epilepsy, a bad back, something called hypertonic pelvic floor, which involves being, basically, in a permanent kegel exercise, and is only remedied by invasive physical therapy (by an absolute goddess of compassion, but still). Perhaps you're thinking - holy shit! This chick's a mess! Well, no! I work full time, I have 2 kids, a healthy relationship, and an excellent dog. No one really knows about all this crap put together except my husband who is like 'what the hell is goin' on?' when I have to see, say a uro-gynecologist, or an endocrinologist.

I go into the medical office, though (or alternative medicine - but that's pricey), and there are all of these other women sitting there, and the chances are - I know from the compassionate goddess physical therapist - some of them are young as 16, others are senior citizens, and plenty are smack-dab in the middle like me - 40 fucking years old with a list of maladies that I would like to burn with the end of a Marlboro cigarette that I cannot smoke because it's bad for me while I drink some red wine which I cannot drink because it's bad for me but I do sometimes anyway.

So tell me, tell me. Why are we so quiet? Why did my mother - a devoted mama through all sorts of crap - never tell me about vaginal discharge? Did yours? That stuff comes out daily. Didja know that that itching might be a yeast infection, or did you wait, like me, until it was unbearable? No one ever said! How to use a tampon? I walked around with that thing just inside so it really hurt because that's where the muscle pulls in. No one ever said. My feeling is: say it, sister. Goddammit.