Musings: People with Uteruses are Gotdamn Champions

“Surprise, sucka!” — my uterus, this morning

I had so many plans for the day. Actual house-leaving to do and errands to run. Now, I will completely restructure today’s aims for both physical and emotional reasons whilst my lady bits throw a surprise and violent bitch-fest-tantrum because their biological imperative doesn’t align with my personal world view and prioritized life goals.

And if that isn’t the epitome of womanhood and why we’re miraculous beasts for ever getting anything done ever, I don’t know what is.

Anytime something is achieved by a uterus-containing body, the world should be made uncomfortably aware that one quarter of that shit was done under extreme physical duress and in bloodshed.

Like, that’s just going to be my response when congratulated about anything here forward:

“Thank you! And I was bleeding for 20% of the time, too!”

“And for three days this week, I was working from bed, juggling my laptop and a heating pad on my uterus while waiting for the pain meds and muscle relaxants to kick in!”

“All this while balancing cramps made of cheese grater filet knives with the emotional reactivity and food cravings of an impregnated feral beast.”

And this doesn’t even include the unspeakable things that procreating folks experience while carrying their progeny LITERALLY INSIDE THEIR OWN ACTUAL SELVES!! Like, super human. Super. Human. Supersuper. Most supe.

Oh man. And then comes MENOPAUSE. Dude. DUDE. Because if it isn’t bad enough being brutalized by the years of monthly ravages of not becoming pregnant and the trimesters of aggressive disfigurement that happens to a body when another body grows inside of it, let’s cap that off with an internal raging hellfire that burns you physically and emotionally alive in punishment for no longer being of baby-making age.

So. Please. Take a minute to think of the amazing uterus-containing bodies you know and all of the amazing things they have accomplished, and remember: they routinely fucking kill it while feeling as though they are being murdered to death from the inside out.

Have trouble routinely remembering this on your own? I dare you, set a weekly reminder on your phone. When that reminder goes off, take a minute and think of all of the badasses in your life who menstruate. And THEN, allow yourself to consider that at least one of them at that very moment is probably in absolute agony somewhere unseen, straight-up badassing their way through their to-do lists and responsibilities, climbing toward ambitions, setting their own pain aside to care for someone else, and generally managing to not only survive, but to kick so much damn ass!

And for those of you who are uterus-containing bodies yourselves, take a gotdamn long moment to celebrate your godlike ability to not absolutely crumble under the recurring and continual trauma of your very existence.

You’re a fucking champion.
You deserve ice cream.
You should have some ice cream.

I’m gonna go eat ice cream. Right now. Like, a pint of it. In one sitting. With no regrets.


Multidisciplinary artist and human-shaped stained glass window. Equal parts vulnerability and sass.

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