I Am, Host

A poem about how pain can feel like it takes over your identity. Written in a flare. Any Spoonies who can relate, please make yourself known in the comments!

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Pelvic Pain Awareness Month – the Spoonie Tag

For me, every month is pelvic pain awareness month. Nevertheless, I thought I’d honour this by completing the ‘Spoonie’ blogging tag and carry on my ‘Diary of a Broken Vagina’ series. Prepare to know me a lot better.

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Waiting for God(ot)

For the disciples, the hours must have seemed like eons. The day after Jesus’ death was the day everything looked like it had gone horribly, horribly wrong. Holy Saturday is the day when the disciples are waiting, and God doesn’t show.

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Useful Reads

Want to know more about chronic pelvic pain, self-help, and vaginas more generally? Of course you do. Here’s my entirely-not-definitive list of useful articles, books and even the odd video.

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Diary of a Broken Vagina: An Introduction

For about seven years now, I have lived with a dirty secret. When it first came to my attention aged 17, I kept it to myself, letting it rot inside me and making me feel utterly freakish and disgusting. My name is Rosalind, and I have chronic pain in my vagina.

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Long Time, No Oversharing

As anyone with chronic pain will tell you, sometimes the huge effort it takes to do little things, like make a cup of tea or shower, really grinds you down. So when something big comes up, it can really knock you for six. Like, for example, having to make the significant decision to quit your Master’s degree because you’re not well enough to finish it.

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Ain’t Nothing But a Membrane…

WARNING. DO NOT READ THIS ARTICLE IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH ABOUT FEMALE BODIES AND/OR DON’T WANT TO KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MINE AND/OR ARE MY DAD.

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They Weren’t Kidding When They Called Me Uptight

In my first meeting with the Women’s Health Physiotherapist, there was a lot of talk about bowel movements, and then she proceeded to give me an internal examination. In the second meeting, she forgot my name. This wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been such an intimate introduction. No, she couldn’t remember my name, but she’d had her fingers inside my vaginal tract. Usually, name-knowing is a bit of a deal-breaker when it comes to access to that particular area.

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Warning: May Cause…

It’s like the worst Blind Date episode ever. I don’t want any one of the three mystery bachelor drugs, you can all get in the sea.

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Someone Understands!

Finding solace in Paula Kamen’s ‘All In My Head: An Epic Quest to Cure an Unrelenting, Totally Unreasonable and Only Slightly Enlightening Headache: A Memoir’

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