Surrogacy felt right to me. It made sense. While I’ve never considered myself the picturesque pregnant person, I loved the birth experience with each of my own children and was excited to go through it again. 

As a Birth Doula, I've experienced the transformative moment of people becoming family. So, the opportunity to not just bear witness to, but to play an active part in making that happen for others was an easy and decisive yes. 

In the time since that first discovery about myself, I’ve dived deep down the rabbit hole of researching, experienced several “attempted” family matches that failed, and ended up carrying a baby girl for my dear friends. Now I get to work everyday as a Surrogacy Coordinator — helping others experience the same wonderful journey I got to be a part of. 

I first met Taylor and Kyle back in 2019 and there was an instant spark — a “these are my people” sort of moment. We bonded over Broadway and rosé and, over the next year, built a close friendship.

When they officially asked me to be their surrogate, it felt like the stars were aligning; all my experiences had worked together to get me here. It’s hard to convey the deep sense of honor I felt being asked to do one of the most intimate and trusting things imaginable: helping house, grow, and bring someone else’s child into the world. 

With the help of a wonderful egg donor, they had already worked to create and freeze embryos years in advance. So the “ingredients” were already prepared and my task was pretty straight forward — to be the oven!

I knew I wanted to mark the experience and have a way to look back on my surrogacy journey. So, I did something way outside of my comfort zone and began to document and share my experience on social media.

I documented the process — starting with the initial steps, like being medically and psychologically screened, all the way through hormone medications, embryo transfer, and the eventual birth of Rafa, the dads’ sweet baby girl.

When I was pregnant with my own children I had memorable, vivid dreams about each of them. I would wake every morning to recount the latest updates to my husband. Sometimes it was about gender or how their birth would look — sometimes even details of who they would be as a person. 

Perhaps it sounds cold, but the starkest difference I noticed with my surrogate pregnancy is that I never dreamed of Rafa. It’s like my body recognized there were already two other people out there dreaming of her every night. In fact, many times over those 9 months, I would wake up to texts from the dads excitedly detailing a story from that night’s sleep.

Maybe it was because I already had kids to keep me busy or, perhaps, it was the removed weight of having to plan to care for an infant, but I often had days when I forgot I was even pregnant. 

I faced down some of the typical prenatal nemeses, like morning sickness and sleep issues, but the pregnancy was (relatively) breezy. In fact, one of the only challenging parts of my journey as a surrogate was being faced with misconceptions and negative opinions from others.

@hellokayde #fyp #xyzbca #surrogacy #lgbtq #parents #ivf #surrogate #baby ♬ Я буду ебать - Moreart

Through sharing my experience online, I found so much more than a platform for a digital diary — I found community. Now I use my platform to share insights into the world of third party reproduction, which for so many has been a place shadowed by mystery, misinformation, and even shame.

Throughout and after my journey, I was frequently asked: “But how were you able to give up the baby? I could never do that.”

The truth is, it was never my baby to begin with. Instead of “giving up,” surrogates give babies back. Back into the arms of their parents. Back to the people who planned, saved, struggled, and fought to build a family. I was just a temporary home. 

The feeling of passing over a baby I helped grow and carry with love for nine months to her dads was, undoubtedly, one of the most meaningful moments of my life. It’s the best part. It’s what draws many others to this journey and makes some surrogates eager for a second (or even third) go at helping a family become whole.

@hellokayde #ad What are your favorite ways to love on yourself during your cycle? @knix makes it easy for me ✨ #knix #knixpartner #periodroutine #postpartum ♬ original sound - Kayde Mason

Eight years ago a door was opened, and now my life feels largely shaped by surrogacy. An added bonus to this whole experience is that my kids have learned so much and are well-versed in the different ways families can take shape. 

Surrogacy has enriched my life in every way. As I continue my work as a Surrogacy Coordinator and advocate, I hope to continue to demystify the process and help others along the same journey.

Everyday looks different. One day, I could be creating a bio for a new intended-parent, detailing the path that brought them here. Other days, I might be guiding a surrogate through medical clearance or be on a late night call providing tips and tricks for pumping breastmilk for a surro-baby.

But everyday I’m reminded of the ways I get to help change others' lives for the better, of the gratitude I hold for my own journey — and how ready I am to do it all again.

My last tango with diet culture was 4 years ago. It was at this time I came up with the Perfectly Imperfect Campaign. The goal was to show people their bodies are beautiful and worthy regardless of their shape or size. People from around the world posed at iconic locations in their skivvies. The beautiful images were shared and celebrated on social media. 

Launching this campaign was the beginning of my self-love and body positivity journey. It was in my most vulnerable state that I became my most empowered self; I came to love, accept, and heal myself.

With this new found self-love and self-acceptance, I felt I was finally coming into my truth and living my authentic life. I started to love myself enough to have the courage to try new things and, through those experiences, I learned more about myself and who I am. This ultimately helped me come to terms with my sexuality — I was free to let myself be exactly the way I am.

Finding the body positivity community and being on social media has been transformational. The body positivity movement was founded by queer, fat femmes, and it’s allowed me to meet more queer people, find community, and have a safe space to talk about my sexuality and queerness. 

Last year, I started to openly question my sexuality. I reached out to a fellow queer, body positive influencer and asked: “How do you know if you’re gay?” Their simple response was, “If you think you might be gay, you probably are.” I wish someone had given me this advice when I was younger. 

TikTok was the final push for me to come out. During the lockdown, I ended up on the magical “Lesbian TikTok” side of the app. I had never seen so much lesbian representation. Finally, all those thoughts I’d suppressed around wanting to be with women were unlocked.

I came out at the age of 32. Growing up I never knew being gay was an option. There was so much shame, internalized homophobia, and outward homophobia in my home that it didn’t feel safe to even come out to myself. 

There was also a lot of fear that if I did come out, or if I was gay, that my family and online community would reject and abandon me, and I would have no one. That wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

My first Pride was everything I hoped it would be. I felt so much love and happiness rooted in finally being myself. Last year, I had a partner and got to celebrate Pride with them — and at a drag show no less. 

The space was filled with joy, a sense of belonging, and true acceptance. I felt proud to finally be out. I had finally found where I belonged — a place where it was safe for me to take up space. It felt like freedom and liberation. It brought tears to my eyes to know I finally got to experience the type of love I never knew I could have. 

This isn’t to say I haven’t had struggles since coming out. Since coming out, I’ve felt a lot of pressure to conform to queer stereotypes in order to “signal” my identity to others. Some of the signifiers I’ve contemplated include piercing my nose or septum, getting tattoos or a pixie cut, and wearing more androgenous or masculine clothes.  

I present as a feminine lesbian. My outward appearance is mainly feminine in gender. There’s nothing about me that outwardly signals, “HEY, I AM GAY,” and it makes me feel insecure. It makes me feel like I’m not queer enough.

Through therapy I’ve been unpacking why I feel pressure to fit into lesbian stereotypes. Truthfully, It’s about acceptance and wanting to belong. But I’ve personally decided that my queerness isn’t dependent on my physical appearance. I already belong because I’m gay. 

To others who may be facing the same struggles with their identity and not feeling “queer enough,” the moment you say you’re queer, that’s all the validation you need. There is no such thing as “queer enough.”

There’s also never any pressure to come out. You deserve to be accepted for exactly who you are. That is what the queer community is known to be: a safe space for all people to belong as they are.

You are loved and you are accepted.

Gazing into the eyes of your dream baby after years of traveling down that impossible road makes appreciating the journey that much easier.

But what about those of us still on the journey? Do we have to wait until the end until we can go back to loving our life? What about those whose end doesn’t even involve a baby? Then what?

For myself, as I am sure many, focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel blocked me from appreciating the joys right in front of me.

I was exhausted at living a life with the thought that I would only be happy once I delivered my baby. I felt paralyzed and riddled with anxiety. So, I decided to do the work needed to change the narrative.

Finding Strength Through Adversity

These past two years have been brutal, to say the least. In October of 2019, when I was six months pregnant with our second child, my husband and I lost our baby girl, Ruby. Exactly two weeks later, my father passed away and my world, (which was already crumbling before my eyes), completely fell apart.

Fast forward two years of trying unmedicated (during COVID might I add), one IUI, and three IVF rounds resulting in two fresh embryo transfers and one ectopic pregnancy causing the removal of my right fallopian tube — a mouth full right — I find myself in the midst of another big decision on what to do next.

"Focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel blocked me from appreciating the joys right in front of me."

I am sure the details of my fertility story sound intense, sad, and lonely, and I’m not going to lie, it is all those things and more. But it has also been empowering, eye-opening, and inspiring all in the same breath and I can say this not having reached my goal YET.

Sure, there are moments when I can’t see the light, when I ask why this is happening and when my dream feels impossibly far away. But I keep coming back to how, without this experience, I wouldn’t have evolved into the person I am today, and for that I am grateful.

Working to Shift the Narrative

However, this new perspective did not come easily. I attribute much of this shift to the mindset work I have been doing over the past year, which consists of working with a mindset coach, learning about the spiritual laws of the universe, and a daily journaling routine.

Fertility protocols tend to focus on hormone injections, cycle monitoring, and supplements. But I believe mindset is the missing piece needed in every protocol — I’ll have a side of mindset coaching, with 75 units of Menopur, please.

I used to look at Ruby as only a painful memory, representing the life I should have had. But now, l look at her as giving me the gift of purpose, propelling me forward in a new and beautiful direction.

What if everything is working out exactly as it should be? It might sound a bit woo-woo, but what I’m trying to convey is that you have a choice on how you view your story, your life.

Growing from Loss

Emily Getz wearing the Knix Waffle Robe, Good to Go Seamless Bra, and BlissFit Maternity Leggings

Putting my mindset work into practice, in May of 2021, I launched Day 1, a one-of-a-kind fertility network, comprised of an engaged community, a podcast, marketplace (fertility support gifts), and an exclusive membership program (which will be available to join in January 2022).

Day 1 is the baby that grew from my loss. It represents my calling and a purpose that in helping others has, in turn, helped me in ways I never could have expected.

"I keep coming back to how, without this experience, I wouldn’t have evolved into the person I am today, and for that I am grateful."

If I read this article two years ago, I probably would have rolled my eyes at the idea of mindset and manifestation, but then again I had not suffered any real loss up until that point.

Now here I am ordering myself a pair of Knix Maternity Leggings to manifest that I will be pregnant soon.

The idea of only being able to appreciate my journey once I was at the finish line didn’t work for me, so I shifted my own paradigm. If you’re open to experiencing the ups and the downs of the road you’re on rather than focusing solely on the outcome, you may just find a strength in yourself you never knew existed.

After a few years of my body slowing down and a growing list of injuries, I was diagnosed with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. I call it hEDS for short, and it’s a genetic connective tissue disorder that doesn’t allow my collagen to work properly. Collagen is basically the glue that holds your joints, tendons, muscles (and everything) together. It can cause joint dislocations, muscle weakness and pain, fatigue, and a host of other things. Thanks to my faulty glue, I am now a full-time wheelchair user—  although I can get around very short distances with the help of my leg braces and crutches. 

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Now, moving through the world is something that I have to think about all of the time, because the world isn’t built with this new version of my body in mind. As a disabled woman who is still learning to navigate this world on wheels and with a body that is constantly changing, there are some things I wish I knew beforehand. Here are some of them: 

Movement looks different for everyone, and there’s no right way to do it. 

When I first realized that I had a disability, the only thing that really mattered to me and to some people on my medical team was for me to keep walking.  For a long time it was the main goal. “Keep walking, no matter what.” When I started using a cane it sort of felt like failing because walking unaided was being placed on such a high pedestal for me. 

Lisa is wearing the Good to Go Hoodie and HiTouch HighRise Legging

When I finally got my hEDS diagnosis we realized that forcing my body to over-exert itself was very detrimental to my long-term health, and we started to focus on my quality of life rather than ensuring I move through it without help. I started using crutches, then a rollator and now a wheelchair. I began moving through the world in a way that caused me less pain and exhaustion, and allowed me to enjoy myself way more. Everyone is different and walking shouldn’t be seen as the “best” way to get around. There is no “best” way, and it’s okay to rely on tools to help you move. It’s also okay if you need to constantly switch up how you move. Maybe sometimes you can walk and maybe sometimes you need to roll. Do what feels right for you.

Rest is good and needing it doesn’t make you a failure.

Everyone has to move at their own pace. It’s important to listen to your body and not to work against what it wants. For some people, pushing through the pain and discomfort to keep moving is okay. For others, it can cause a lot of problems. We live in a society that values the “grind” and “hustle” but not one that values resting. It took me a long time to realize that I am still just as valuable as the next person, even if I have to rest when they can keep going. Bodies that aren't always on the move are still good bodies. You shouldn’t feel guilty when you need to take it slow. 

The world isn’t built for disabled bodies, and we need to change that.

When I was an able-bodied person I barely registered the built environment around me. Not many things were considered obstacles to me because I could just jump over them and continue on with my day. Once I started using mobility aids I finally realized how inaccessible the world around me was. I’ve only been using a wheelchair for less than two years now and I’m still shocked regularly by the amount of places that I can’t get to. 

Spontaneously moving through my city is no longer a reality for me. I have to plan ahead, think through my routes, call or Google businesses before going there to see if I can get in, pick places based on parking and how good the sidewalks are for wheelchair users. It’s a lot for me, and I have privileges that some disabled people don’t have (like access to a car). I now understand that movement is often stifled for disabled people because of our society and not because of our disabilities. I wish I had recognized these issues and paid more attention to them before it impacted me directly. We need more non-disabled people to notice these barriers and to help us address them so we can have the same access to the world as everyone else. 

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As someone with a disability that has been steadily progressing over the last few years, the way that I move is constantly changing. Some days it feels like hard work to love my body and how it moves (accepting the muscle spasticity and weakness is a process) but there are plenty of days when it comes more easily and I am proud of my progress. My relationship with the world that I’m moving through is changing too, but I’m slowly figuring it all out. It’s certainly a learning experience. 

@damselinadress.blog

@accessyyt

Cover Image by: @vanessa_iddon

Language sometimes fails us. Expansive and yet often limiting, words carry century old meanings, connotations and years of societal weight. For example, I say "menstruation" and I can bet your brain immediately lands amongst these words: bleeding, puberty and womanhood. And while the pink packaging, Feminine Hygiene signs hanging in pharmacy aisles and the middle school anatomy classes have all trained us to think of the word "period" as just a girl thing— we know that’s never actually been true.

So we sat down with Coach Kendra to talk about the importance of evolving language and navigating meaning, their own experience around menstruating as a trans non-binary person, and how they create space for people to simply exist. Meet Kendra. 

We talk to a lot of people about their first periods. What was your experience with your period like as a trans non-binary person growing up?

Being socialized as a young girl, being socialized as a woman, I was so young that my parents hadn’t even had “the conversation” with me yet. When I got my first period, I literally thought my butt was bleeding, I had no idea what was happening! 

At a young age, I just didn’t understand it. And growing up, now looking back— my period was a constant reminder that I never felt I fit in with boys or girls. I wanted both. So I was kind of a chameleon, because I could be in both worlds early on. But getting my period was that defining factor for me. You don’t belong in this group of boys, so you are one of them— one of the girls. But my experience now has definitely changed. 

Tell us a bit about that!

I’m completely comfortable disclosing this but— being both socialized as a woman and then as a trans person, I developed a really bad eating disorder. And it wiped my period away. So for a long time, it was all about getting my period BACK. We need to get your period back, this needs to happen if you want to have children and on and on and on. 

But I discovered I actually liked not having my period. Was that the eating disorder? Was that gender dysphoria? I still don’t know. 

I still haven’t gotten my period back. That may be just because I’ve been on testosterone for the last year and a half. For me as of right now when it comes to bleeding or not bleeding, I don’t experience any of the symptoms. I don’t bleed, but I can certainly still relate to people who do. 

Up until I was 19 I had a period. I was ashamed of my womanhood during that time, because having a period made me feel like I didn’t fit in. So not having a period now really aligns with who I am as a trans non-binary person, but that’s not the same for everyone. It’s so not the same for everyone. 

Some non-binary people or trans masculine people really DON’T want their periods. Some people get hysterectomies. If I did currently bleed, I don’t know if I’d be pushing for that. I just do not know! This is just my unique experience and it’s not talked about a lot, even in the trans community. For some people, it can feel shameful to have these parts sometimes. 

There’s so much shame and stigma for periods still when it comes to just cisgender women, so adding this other layer of queerness and gender on top of it—it seems really difficult to talk about it. 

Yeah! It gets to the point where we’re like, let’s just not talk about it. It’s uncomfortable! I say… talk about it! But I feel comfortable enough in my privilege to do that. I own a vulva! And I don’t have bottom dysphoria. I’m fine with it, but maybe my opinion would be different if I menstruated regularly. 

I’m curious about what the future of periods looks like in general. What’s your hope for the future of menstruation and conversations around different bodies? 

I think that’s the golden question when it comes to inclusivity. You can take the topic of menstruation out and apply it to anything. 

I think ultimately what I strive for is a place where my gender isn’t the most interesting thing about me. A place where whether I bleed or not is not the most interesting thing about me. We’re so fixated on genitalia! I wish for a world where I don’t have to disclose I am transmasculine non-binary. The second I say transmasculine, people assume I was born with a vulva. Which might not even be true, there are intersex people too. 

Can we stop ignoring the fact that sex, like gender, is a spectrum. Stop invaliding people based on bodily parts and functions.

Not all women menstruate, and not all people who menstruate are women.

FACTS.

— Kenny Ethan Jones (@kennyethanjones) June 7, 2020

Why are cis men so frightened of talking about periods? It’s because we’re socialized that way. So in terms of the future of menstruation, I think the first step is just education. When I was a young kid, I didn’t know what was happening to me. Why aren’t we telling young children about these experiences, and not just children who bleed? We should be talking to everyone about what happens to different bodies. 

It’s almost like, the goal is not have this be a conversation. But in getting there, you need to have those conversations. You need to talk about things... so they’re not things anymore. 

Right! It takes an immense amount of work to have these conversations, and to continually advocate for these conversations. It’s work. It’s not easy. And language is not easy at all. I slip up all the time! Was that okay? Did I not include everyone? I’m constantly thinking about it. But if we can queer up language, and queer up period conversations and menstruation— that’s the goal. And I don’t just mean queer as in gay! I mean queer in the sense of things ever-evolving, always creating, and forever changing. 

The past few years at Knix we’ve really worked to remove gendered language from our website when it comes to periods. And that upsets a lot of people! When we use words like menstruator or people who menstruate, we’ve definitely gotten some angry emails about it. Which is funny to me because I always think, in what world does that language affect you at all? 

To say it bluntly, it hurts peoples’ cis-egos! It hurts people to hear that other people who are different from them can share their experience. 

I think changing language is one of the hardest things we can do, Like, we still use words from their origins. But I was saying to someone recently that these inclusive phrases like people who menstruate—  that’s not cute! It’s not fun! It’s a mouthful. But it is so necessary. We’re trying to navigate spaces right now where we’re really careful with our words. We have to think, who is this going to impact? Who will this exclude? Whose ears will be turned off? But I think language can change culture.

You know who is really good at navigating language? Teens. Even just seeing it on Tiktok, they have the language, and it’s so natural to them. It’s comforting to me to see that evolution happen. 

I agree! I was talking to my wife Kaylynn (note from Knix, we chatted with Kaylynn last year here!) about the Gen-Z’ers. I think they are so cool, and their emotional intelligence is far beyond where we are now. They’ve done some self-reflection. When I was that age, I had no idea. I was like Am I… gay? Will I ever tell my parents? And then they’re here casually like Yeah, don’t label me, it’s whatever. 

When we were talking about things not being a conversation anymore, they’re definitely already there. 

It’s like, they’re annoyed that they even have to talk about it still! 

Truly, thank goodness for them. Okay, I have one last question for you! You’re an Inclusive Active Performance Coach. I’ve never heard of that before, what does that mean? And how do you create a space for everyone in your work? 

For me, I’ve tried to find words that define what I do and what I’m about… and nothing ever feels right. You can say that about my entire gender identity!

We have words like fitness, exercise, personal trainer and if I said those words to a group of people, they already have an idea of what I do. They have an idea based on their own experience in that space. Especially if they have traumas. We hold a lot of traumas in our bodies— especially if you’re in the queer community! Or if you’re a person of color. Queer women, Black women, Black Queer women— we’re at a place in our society where we’re finally navigating and holding space for all of these people. 

When you hear fitness, you might think— that’s not a space for me. The words personal trainer can have a negative connotation for some folks too. If people know I’m a personal trainer, they automatically want to talk to me about food, or their weight, or how good or bad they’ve been. But woah! Back it up! You do you. I don’t need to know those things! 

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So I see it in terms of performance. Performance is something we all have to do. Whether that’s showing up as a partner, a working professional, a parent, or just existing in society — we all have to perform in our lives one way or another. Performance doesn’t just mean lifting weights and running. It means slowing down and thinking about what your breathing is like, what your daily stressors are like, what your sleep is like, are you getting enough water? 

That’s why I like calling myself a Coach! First and foremost I want to be an educator. I want to educate you about your experience with your body, because everyone’s experience is different. When people see my title, I almost want them to think… what does that mean? What do you do again? I’d rather have that conversation than the assumptions. And then it opens up doors to all sorts of different conversations. 

When it comes to creating an inclusive space, people want a recipe. You have to do A, B and C to have an inclusive space. We’re looking for the perfect, cookie-cutter way to do things. But there are no measuring cups involved. There’s nothing written down. There are no instructions. I think we just need people to feel empowered in their space, so they in turn can empower others. You have to just live it. 

The hope is to have people walking away thinking, this space is somewhere I feel like I exist. 

@thecoachkenj

I was shaving because it was what I was supposed to do, what everybody who was assigned female at birth did, and I found that I did it with the same mindless, joyless energy that propelled me to regularly brush my teeth or trim my toenails.

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There was a time when the idea of shaving felt like a rite of passage into a kind of womanhood I coveted, and I’ll never forget the feeling I had in my body the day my mom allowed me to shave my legs for the first time. I might’ve been 12 but I felt grown and excited to flaunt what felt to me like a badge of adulthood that I longed to embody. It’s hard to pinpoint why shaving felt so special to me back then, why slathering my legs with cucumber-scented shaving cream and sporting bandaids on my knees where the blades cut too close felt so big and important. Maybe it’s because it felt like it was my very first act of agency over my body, that I was old enough to look at my legs and say, “I want you to be hairless” and had hands steady enough to make it so. 

But as I grew older, the novelty of shaving wore off and the excitement of doing this act was shadowed by the utter chore of it. There would be so many times where, as I was precariously balancing my soapy legs on a slippery shower ledge to do once again what it felt like I had done only two days ago—  I would mutter to myself, “Why am I doing this?” I would ask this question many times with zero intention to actually answer it, until one day almost 10 years ago. 

“Why” I am shaving? 

When I took this question even deeper and explored why I continued to do something that I derived no joy or pleasure from, it brought up all these feelings within me about what societal beauty standards had taught me: how a hairless woman is feminine and desirable; how having hair under your arms or on your vulva is unhygienic; how men’s expectations of hairless women were standard and that if you went against this tradition you wouldn’t get chosen. 

On the surface it seemed like shaving was something that all women had done since the beginning of time, but even I knew that wasn’t true because of all the jokes I heard growing up about European women with bushes under their arms and peach fuzz above their lips. So I started to do some research on the invention of shaving to try to understand how this recent (historically speaking) tradition became such second nature in the US. 

I found that up until the early 1900s, women largely did not have the same relationship to shaving as they do now. That they rarely (if at all) shaved their legs or underneath their arms and there wasn’t a correlation between hairlessness and femininity or hygiene that is the cultural impetus we have now.

The only reason women started shaving was because in 1915 a razor company, who wanted to sell more of their product, created an ad that convinced women of everything they have internalized today about body hair: that having hair anywhere else besides their heads was unhygienic and unfeminine, and that in order to be “a woman of fashion, the underarm must be as smooth as the face.” Seeing the old-timey ads that manufactured, then exploited, the insecurities of women to get them to buy more products (and that also created this narrative of respectability politics) absolutely floored me.

 And so when I asked myself that question again, Why am I shaving? and the answer was:

“Because I was taught that I have to do this to uphold standards of beauty and respectability that were sold to me by capitalism under the guise of concern for my health”

I never shaved again.

Questioning cultural narratives 

Choosing not to shave is a personal decision I made as a way to free myself from very old and very oppressive beauty standards rooted in white supremacy and capitalism. That decision was important to me to help reclaim my body as mine from the grips of harmful, sexist narratives. And ultimately that, for me, is liberation—challenging narratives that have always seemed unquestionable, all while creating new narratives for yourself that are in alignment with who you want to be.

Questioning cultural narratives about our bodies is crucial because most of what we’ve been taught has come down the pipeline of misogyny, sexism, patriarchy, and white supremacy. Oftentimes, the belief systems we’ve been given about our bodies have been given without our active choosing. It might seem like it’s innocent because it was passed down through tradition, but those traditions are usually connected to systems of oppression that have been designed to manipulate and distort who we see when we look in the mirror. Even if, in your questioning of these cultural norms, you decide, “That’s nice, and I still want to shave” at least you’re making a conscious decision to do it rather than continuing to go along without autonomy or agency.

I’ll say here that I respect and honor all people who choose to do whatever they want with and to their bodies— including shaving, particularly if they are making an active decision to participate in those things because it genuinely makes them feel good about themselves. As for me, shaving was a joyless chore that I wanted to divest from as a way to take back the power that I felt was being stolen from me, and then sold back to me in the form of a hairless armpit.

One of the things that was important to me was going deeper than questioning shaving itself. It was more about the revulsion I felt about my own body hair that prompted me to remove it the moment it began to resurface. It was about the way I would question my own desirability if I forgot to shave my bikini line before putting on a swimsuit. It was about how I would talk to myself when I saw the hair beginning to form under my belly button. That was what needed to be unlearned and shifted. Not shaving, for me, was the way I healed myself from those narratives.

How to unlearn what we were taught about our bodies 

I encourage people to get into the habit of observing their self-talk, of listening to what they say about themselves and their body on a daily basis. This’ll take some practice and some intentional pausing as our thoughts are often on autopilot. But I think it’s important to be curious about what exactly it is you say about your body so that when you go to unlearn it, you know exactly what it is you’re trying to unlearn. 

The key here is to not be judgmental about your self-talk or to criticize yourself about it; just observe it without creating any deeper narratives about it. If it’s helpful, you can write down the narratives you’ve adopted about your body thanks to social norms. Maybe it’s about body hair, maybe it’s about keeping your legs crossed, maybe it’s about what you’ve been taught is beautiful or desirable. Once you have a good idea of what needs to be unlearned, start to create shifts in your internal dialogue about these things with affirmations that counter those old narratives. 

You can also tailor the people you follow on social media to represent what you’re wanting to reclaim within yourself. One of the best ways I found comfort and confidence in wearing a tank top with a bush under my arms is seeing so many other people I admired doing the same thing. You can’t be what you can’t see, as Marion Wright Edelman says, and it’s so true.

My last tip: Be kind to yourself as you’re unlearning. This won’t be a one and done thing as what you’re unlearning has been with you (and with us as a society) for hundreds of years. Be patient with yourself as you continue to walk this path of liberation.

Ev'Yan Whitney is a Sexuality Doula and author whose work has been featured in Cosmopolitan, Glamour and Vogue. You can follow along with them and read more of their work on @evyan.whitney

Sources and Extra Resources: 

Cover photo by @evyan.whitney and first photo taken by @jreiphoto

Bustle: The Sneaky Manipulative History of Why Women Started Shaving 

Women's Museum: The History of Female Hair Removal 

BURO: Unpopular Opinion, Do Women Really Need to Shave?

Doctor after doctor ran test after test. Some inserted needles into the epidermis of my head, injecting me with steroids to promote hair growth, others delicately offered contact information for the “best” wig stores near me, specializing in hairpieces for those with hair loss resulting from radiation, chemotherapy, or Alopecia Areata— a phrase that for me long felt like acid on the tongue. I wore some awful wigs in my first few years of baldness. Itchy, hot, uncomfortable... I wore them everywhere. I felt like a character in a Doctor Seuss story. “She wears it on a boat, or perhaps even in a moat! Under blazing sun and red-hot sky. What a strange hairline! Something is awry!”. I eventually grew tired of wearing a wig, and began going out with a scarf, and then at long last, my bald head. 

📸: @abaldleo

I’ve become more comfortable with my baldness since my initial hair loss, but I’d be lying if I said those nagging voices in my head stopped completely. You know the voices I’m talking about. The ones that say, “this outfit would look better with a wig,” or “maybe people wouldn’t stare at you so much if you looked normal”. 

Now granted, those voices are much quieter than before and they don’t come around as often, but one place that used to give me so much anxiety (and still does occasionally) is the swimming pool. I started swimming when I was eight years old with all of the other neighborhood kids. We would show up for practice bright and early five days a week. I was never very good, but it was something that gave me joy. I absolutely adored swimming. I loved the way jumping into a cold pool felt on a hot summers’ day, and the way the smell of chlorine would stick on my skin for hours. To be honest, it didn’t feel like a day at the pool if my eyes didn’t burn from keeping them open under said chlorine water. 

That changed when I lost my hair, though. My hair was long and curly, a warm brown with slightly red undertones. It was my favorite physical feature at the time. Given the circumstances, I was understandably distraught when I lost my hair. It makes me chuckle now, thinking about how in denial I was about my hair loss. I insisted on wearing a wig under my swimming cap, just so I could feel more normal, despite the fact that with every lap I swam, the cap inched further up my head, taking my wig with it. Being in the pool with a wig was easy compared to what came in the dreaded changing rooms and showers. Being 13 is awkward enough without a balding hairline. I was never very self-conscious of many things, but having alopecia made me pick apart my appearance so incessantly that it more than made up for any other insecurity I would have had. After practice, when everyone would go into their respective changing rooms, girls would shake their (usually) long hair out of the caps… except me. I insisted on keeping mine on until I was home. I felt so uncomfortable with myself and I couldn’t let anyone see the way my head really looked, sparse and awkwardly placed pieces of hair poking out in every which way.

I only swam competitively for another six months after my hair fell out. Alopecia took something I loved so dearly and turned it into something I never wanted to go near. For the first few years after I lost my hair, I stayed away from pools, rivers, you name it. 

My relationship with myself and my hair loss didn’t really start to change until I had been bald for about 6 years and had given up basically all hope my hair would ever grow back (which does happen in some circumstances). Despite how uncomfortable I was with my personal appearance, I never hated myself. I hated the situation I was in. There was an anger inside of me for so long that has only recently started to dissipate. In its place exists a peaceful wave of empathy and understanding, two things I owe to my younger self. Having alopecia is never something I thought I could (or would!) celebrate, but here we are. Here I am. I love my bald head, and the lessons that have come with it. 

Despite having grown more comfortable with the reflection that looks back at me, I only started going to the pool without a wig, or any type of head covering for that matter, within the past two years. My relationship with hair is a little strange. It used to be the only physical feature that made me feel beautiful, and when I lost it the sadness was immeasurable. The comfort I found in wearing wigs quickly faded as it dawned on me that a wig would really get in the way of my favorite active pastimes. I knew I would probably have to learn to love my bald head, or at least live with it, if I wanted to do many of the things I enjoyed. 

Learning to appreciate ourselves through our perceived flaws will almost always be a challenge. Understanding that we all have our own insecurities we work through helps each of us develop empathy, and a better understanding of the individuals around us. It takes a lot of work to sit down and face what makes you uncomfortable about yourself, but be it a physical trait or otherwise, we all possess the ability to overcome it.

@abaldleo

📸 @robiee.zee 

Hi Misty, tell us about yourself! 

I'm Misty Diaz! I’m a model, adaptive athlete, powerlifter, obstacle course runner and dog mom to an amazing dog Lola. I was born with a condition called Spina Bifida which is a birth defect where the spinal cord doesn't develop properly. There are four types of Spina Bifida, and I have Myelomeningocele, which happens to be the most severe. It’s resulted in me having over 28 operations, using forearm crutches full time, and leg braces. 

What does being an adaptive athlete mean?

To me, an adaptive athlete is someone who has to adjust and make modifications based on their disability. Each person, including myself, is able to make different adjustments to accomplish their own goal!

How and why did you start racing? Do you have an event that’s most memorable to you?

I started racing after my 28th operation during a very hard breakup. I started by walking just a block… which seemed like a marathon. I kept up that consistency daily and soon enough, realized I had made it to the beach that was blocks away from my house. 

I didn’t want to stop so I signed up for a charity walk. And then a few months later I was introduced to a 5k run. I honestly got so tired of sitting on the sidelines watching my life go by, so I took action. Uncomfortability truly led me to take action. A little over 250 races later, a handful of powerlifting events later, here I am!  

There are so many memorable events, but one that really sticks out to me is one in Canada where I raced with a mom who has a child with SB. A few kids who have Spina Bifida waited for me at the finish line as well. Now that was amazing!

You are the 1st woman on crutches to run the Red Bull 400 course, which is known as the most intense 400m run in the world. What motivated you to participate in that? 

Honestly, I saw this guy running the course on Facebook, and I thought it looked fun! I reached out to RedBull to see if they had anyone ever accomplish the event on crutches, and sure thing... NO! 

I made some modifications and started training by doing rowing, ski rig, sled pulls, and rope climbs.  I knew I needed to use all of my upper body, so I made adjustments and adapted. This helped me condition my upper body to pull. I finished under 30 mins! I also created a solid team— one person to give me my crutches when I needed, and another to tell me a joke when I felt like giving up. I kid you not, I had someone telling me jokes!

You’re the founder of Adaptive Beauties. Tell us about it! What’s one thing you’ve learned since you started it? 

 I’ve learned that there are so many people who are adaptive who still haven't met someone with their same condition. So many amazing adaptive friends still think they're the only ones who have such conditions. I noticed a lot of these girls simply just need a bit of encouragement and connecting with others via social media has been great in helping them be reminded that they’re not alone.  

When it comes to accessibility, what do you hope the future of athletics is like?  

Acceptance. Acceptance that there's more than one way to reach the finish line. I can’t tell you how many races, where they've tried to separate me in a start line and I've had to speak up and say NO! I run with everyone else.  

What are you the proudest of? 

I’m most proud of creating a community for my Spina Beautiful girls (a hashtag I created #spinabeautiful), and using my voice for greater things beyond my wildest dreams. Seeing my Spina Beautiful kids go above and beyond is super rewarding— because they've seen there big sister push past negative labels. 

Misty in the Catalyst Front Zip (featuring all her medals!) 

Thanks Misty! See what Misty is up to next and follow her journey here. 

Through learning about the piece, Kate also told us about her experience with endometriosis. We asked her to talk about her journey, what it’s taught her, how Leakproof plays a role in her recovery, and how she finds her strength. Meet Kate. 

It’s been a weird summer. First and foremost, I have been trying to stay sane during a pandemic by taking long walks in nature. Though quite honestly, I have been mostly focused on the process of IVF. TMI?? I have severe and aggressive endometriosis.

I think in order to share the entire breadth of my journey with endometriosis, it would take several books. Suffice to say, living with endometriosis has been my biggest test of strength and endurance by far. I pretty much have had to understand what severe pain is from my first period. The excruciating cramps, agonizing back pain and referred pain in various other body areas has quite literally brought me to my knees. I've passed out on the street more than once from being suddenly debilitated. I've projectile vomited as a bodily response to the level of pain. My hands have gone numb with anxiety because of such all consuming agony. I get migraines that last for 3-4 days without relief.

I always understood I most likely had endometriosis because of the genetic aspect of the disease and my mom's own struggle with it. But I wasn't officially diagnosed until I was 30 years old— so I had lived with it for 17 years without genuine concern or help from doctors. You can only really get a diagnosis from a laparoscopic surgery by a specialist who is truly familiar with the disease. 

 The first surgery I had was to remove a giant ovarian cyst which was entirely made up of endometriosis tissue (an endometrioma). Since that surgery I've had 3 other laparoscopic surgeries specifically to deal with my aggressive endometriosis. I finally found a doctor and surgeon who is actively trying to help me feel better. Having a health professional and supportive medical team you trust helps the recovery and overall health maintenance.

Unfortunately, as a result of how fast and ruthlessly endometriosis grows in my body, I have had an additional 3 related surgeries for appendicitis and kidney stone - which all my doctors seem to agree were most likely the result of endometriosis scarring, lesions, or adhesions disrupting my body's normal health. Seven surgeries and I'm only 35.

Recently, I had to reckon with the fact that my body would not conceive naturally and so my husband and I opted for IVF.  Between the insane amount of hormones being pumped into you and their side effects; the constant monitoring and probing of your body; the failed embryo transfer attempts; and the related cascade of anxiety, stress, and sadness — I quickly became aware that endometriosis had led me to another draining and intense process in IVF.

One of the aforementioned laparoscopic surgeries had to happen this past month after my IVF doctor realized I had fluid building in my fallopian tube which was negatively impacting the ability for implantation to occur. Both my tubes were removed because of how much damage they had from endometriosis. IVF Is the only way forward if we want a child.

Endometriosis makes me angry. It has robbed me of A LOT of joy, comfort, activities and normalcy. Even, and more aptly especially, as someone who relies on their physicality for their livelihood, endometriosis has made me feel betrayed by my own body. But after all that I have gone through, endometriosis has taught me of my own resilience, strength, stamina and the power of hope in healing. Every time I've felt at my worst, I have ultimately come out the other side feeling even stronger physically and mentally. It has opened my eyes to the deep inequalities women face in the healthcare system. Having a relentless disease like this doesn't define me, but it certainly has gifted me fearlessness and a deeper sense of instinct. If something feels wrong to you, don't question it, find medical help and don't stop until someone really listens.

Kate in Super Leakproof Underwear 

Make sure you read about other people's experiences and educate yourself about the symptoms of endometriosis. Know that having an extremely painful period is not okay; having bad pelvic pain at other times of your cycle is not okay either. Get regular health check ups and find an OB-GYN that listens to you and takes your pain seriously. Try to find sources of comfort you can rely on in times of pain or stress. For me, foot reflexology has been something I rely on to feel good. I don't drink a lot of alcohol because I know it makes me feel worse. Other people find a vegetarian diet or specific foods offer relief over time. I've started acupuncture with the hope that it will aid in blood flow and help lessen the anxiety that occurs at certain times of the month in anticipation of pain.  

The pain during my period can be all consuming. There is no way that sticking a tampon in feels comfortable— so I also find comfort in wearing Leakproof Underwear too. When I first tried them it changed my period routine completely. Now when I know my period is coming, I've got a system. I get my Leakproof panties all ready to go and I don't get anxiety about the discomfort of shoving anything in an area that already feels extremely sensitive. I feel comfortable even on my heavy flow days wearing Super Leakproof panties for hours and hours. Not having to worry about changing a tampon or pad or being distracted by the prospect of a leak, allows me to totally focus on finding comfort (heating pad, resting, yoga stretching).

I've also found Leakproof Underwear to be perfect post-surgery.  After waking up and trying to heal from surgery, when you want to feel as unencumbered as possible and are most likely bleeding a little bit, it's perfect to have these in your arsenal! Leakproof helps to give some sense of ease in an uneasy time when you have endometriosis (or adenomysosis, or other women's health conditions that are associated with pain/heavy bleeding).

Through all of my advice, my main point here is that not every journey with endometriosis is the same. Many women find long lasting relief from 1 laparoscopic excision surgery. Many women feel a huge impact from a combination of pain medication, being on birth control, and incessant heating pad use! Lots of women find therapy and meditation helps them overcome extreme flare ups and also helps  deal with the emotional effects of the disease.

The most important thing is to find what works for you and know that endometriosis isn't a one size fits all disease and likewise, the treatments will differ from one individual to another. Just know you're a badass and if you can handle all that comes with endo, you are a freaking warrior who can literally handle anything.

When I’m not smashing the racist patriarchy through reading, writing, teaching, and advocacy, you can catch me making pour over coffee, eating vegan donuts, woodworking, and/or lifting heavy stuff.

Menstruation has been difficult my whole life. It has been a constant point of contention in terms of its contribution to my gender dysphoria. So, before I dig deep into my struggles with menstruation, I want us to develop a common understanding of my experiences with gender dysphoria, coming out, what these things have meant to me, and how it’s manifested.

The most jovial way I can describe this is through a food analogy.

Imagine if we were told from birth that we can either be a coffee person or a tea person. Sometimes you put cream, milk, or sugar in your coffee or tea, but you’re only allowed one or the other. You cannot like both and nothing else exists. 

So you look at your parents. They like tea. Their friends like tea. So you like tea too. Liking tea means you’ll be accepted. But something’s missing. 

One day, you’re walking on a random side street and suddenly smell something different. You’re not used to this but the smell envelopes and reaches every crevice in your body. It fills you with a different sense of joy— it’s not better. Just different. And it’s nice.

You turn the corner and you see a group of people making coffee. You want to approach them and try it, but you know you’re not allowed. You can’t possibly like coffee, because then you’d be a coffee person. You can’t be both. 

So you go about the rest of your day. Tea is served with dinner but you can’t stop thinking about that haunting aroma you experienced earlier that day. Your family asks you what’s wrong. You’re confused, but don’t want to start anything. After all it could be nothing. So you tell them, “nothing”. 

Weeks, months, years pass.  But you don’t ever forget about coffee. You bump into coffee folks on the occasional, but it doesn’t ever cross your mind that it’s cool for you to try it.

But then, one day, you see people on TV who love both.

Then you see lattes. Suddenly, there’s tea lemonades everywhere. The next year you start learning about Frappuccinos! Inevitably, you start asking: “What the heck is going on???” So you want to try them. But, you don’t, because then what would people think? Say?

One day, you move out. In your new community, you notice people around you are openly drinking both coffee and tea. Eventually you gain the courage to try your first coffee. It is sensational. Magical. You’ve never experienced such flavours before! You didn’t even know if you had a palette for it! Officially, you love both, and no one here is mad at you.

Jess, drinking coffee, in Knix Swim

You visit your parents a few months later. Over the weekend, you continue to reach for the tea. It’s enjoyable- but if only your family knew the possibilities. You don’t broach the subject. You like tea, and talking about other drinks would just cause a problem. So you just don’t bring it up. It’s easier this way. 

But of course, what I experienced was not quite like this.

While I could draft countless analogies and metaphors for you, there are ultimately limits to the English language. In the same way the presence and majesty of a mountain can’t be described to someone who’s never seen or been near one, the pain and depths of dysphoria and coming out cannot be accurately described. You can do your best to use big words and even pictures to complement it, but it’s never the same. 

But, I digress. This isn’t just a preference or a choice between coffee or tea. 

This is about not being able to live authentically.

This is about being statistically more likely to be murdered.

This is about knowing the statistics on transgenderism and its relationship to homelessness. 

This is about knowing that there’s very little research on how to take care of elderly trans people, and even less research on how to care for those who are also racialized.

This was about knowing that who I am is not equally valued in this world, and that I will never have full access to the full spectrum of humanity. 

This is about being constantly dehumanized and belittled for existing. 

This is about prioritizing others’ comfort over my humanity.

So, how does this relate back to menstruation?

For a long time, I used a menstrual cup to cope. Because menstruation was such a trigger for dysphoria, sensibly, I worked hard to never think about it. With the menstrual cup, I could clean and use it in the morning, go 12 hours, come home, empty, and restart the cycle until the cycle was over. Basically, I would minimize the number of times I had to interact with menstruation, as much as possible. 

But as much as this worked for me, I dreaded it. Sometimes it would leak at work. Over time, it would start to smell funny, despite boiling it 4 times a cycle. I tried to get rid of my period with the hormonal IUD. To my chagrin, it’s never fully gone away. Some months it’s just light spotting. Other months it’s definitely heavier, and definitely an ongoing, recurring source of dysphoria. 

Discovering Leakproof Underwear was a transformative experience. During the lighter periods, I was able to stave off the dysphoria and anxiety. I stopped having to use the menstrual cup, which made things even better. 8 out of 12 months of the year, I was free from dysphoria. Leakproof Underwear freed up that cognitive load so that I could do things like my job and my Masters. However, there were some cycles that would be surprisingly heavy, and that Leakproof were unfortunately, not enough.

But, what I LOVED about the new Super Leakproof was how entirely forgettable my period became. I threw on the Super Leakproof in the morning, would go about my day, then change everything at night before I hit the shower, threw on another pair, and slept. No overnight leaks. No more having to choose between breakfast and showering.

Having gender neutral period products like Leakproof are important,

but first, I want to make sure this is clear: we can’t discuss gender without discussing race. Not only do period products need to be gender neutral, but they also need to be marketed in a way that amplifies melanated, intersectional voices.

As a racialized trans person, I learned early on that my various identities were threatening to the dominant culture (read: the White, cisheteropatriarchal, colonialist construct). Only one part of me was allowed to be different so that I could be palatable to the community. I know now that I really shouldn’t be suppressing myself to make myself likeable and palatable. As the old adage goes, those who mind, don’t matter, and those who matter, don’t mind. 

When products are marketed for their function rather than their arbitrarily associated gender and race, you stop reinforcing the idea that everyone needs to look and be a certain way. Functional undergarments are meant to make you feel supported. Some people with vaginas aren’t women. And frankly, not everyone with a vagina menstruates. Intersex folks exist. I’m sure there are plenty of transwomen who would love a pair of Leakproof underwear, but aren’t sure about whether or not it’s for them.

According to Sam Reidel from The Establishment, trans people have historically been met with violent opposition when discussing their needs. Non-gendered, racially diverse menstrual products normalize our bodies and existence, and work to remove the additional stigma associated with menstruation.

When we shamelessly market and publicize the diversity of humanity, traditionally invisibilized, underserved, and marginalized— people can start to see themselves represented, important, and loved.

~~

Through this all, I love how strong my body and mind have become.

For a long time I feared coming out. I thought I would be ostracized and isolated. I thought my friends and family would leave me.

But, as is quoted in The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho—“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself, and that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams”. My fear of ostracization and rejection kept me from living my life authentically. I reached 25 and realized I didn’t even know who I was. I’d spent so long cultivating this lie of a feminine identity to everyone around me. 

As is true with all lies, they eventually unravel. 25 was a good year. When I approached 26, I cut my gorgeous, long hair. I went through my closet and created a donation basket full of my womanly costumes. I threw out my expired makeup— makeup that I kept in my drawers to help me keep lying to myself. 

Coming out was liberating. Those who truly knew me, didn’t care and saw it coming. Work respected me for me, and even worked through the transition with me. I had a handful of family members who felt blindsided and betrayed by my true identity, and didn’t talk to me for a while.

Truthfully, Paulo Coelho’s quote resonated with me in these moments. While their rejection was truly painful, my fear of it was definitely worse than what it really was. The joy I experience as an openly trans, non-binary Southeast Asian person will always supersede those moments.

Don’t get me wrong, the COVID-19 pandemic has brought with it an onslaught of unique challenges and obstacles for all of us. It has tested us in ways we never would have imagined. But personally with less buzzing, fewer email notifications and more blank space in my schedule, I am grateful that the pandemic afforded me the time, space and mental clarity to finally push harder on an issue I had been dealing with for months— arguably years. 

Pre-pandemic, I was finally at the top of my game. Over the past decade I completed two Master’s degrees, I had attained countless professional credentials, I was being awarded top positions in my field and was successfully running not one, but two small businesses (check out Press Play Physio). I didn’t have the time to let anything slow me down. 

So, 

I took Advil and muscle relaxants for 10 days every month in order to work through my otherwise debilitating cramps.

I laughed off my increasingly frequent need to urinate claiming my bladder was the size of a pea.

I told myself I was just ‘too tired’ when the truth was I had zero sex drive.

I blamed not dealing with an old injury for the deep ache in my hip and groin every time I tried to work out. 

I thought the dark hairs starting to sprout up on my chin were just a part of getting older. 

I cursed my massive belly bloat thinking I just needed to be better at drinking water (lol). 

I thought my deep sense of exhaustion was just me doing what it took to be successful.

You know, women stuff. It seemed like everyone was dealing with similar things. So like so many, I pressed on. I thought I was ‘dealing’ with it. 

But after many months of being business on the top with heating pad and track pants on the bottom, that existence was starting to wear thin.

“Maybe you should consider birth control”, “Have you tried taking warm baths?” and “Maybe those hard workouts are too much for you” weren’t really the answers I was looking for from my health care team. So, as the world was slowing down and I was able to really check in with myself, I had an inner knowing that there was more to the story. I demanded a requisition for a pelvic ultrasound. 

And there they were, two massive cysts on each of my ovaries, one being over 3x the size of my ovary itself. MRI’s, hospital visits and cancer screenings later, I will say I am still ‘in it’ — awaiting more answers and next steps. Nonetheless I must say I am already grateful for the lessons that my body’s disease has brought forth. 

YOU KNOW YOUR BODY BEST. You are the only one who knows exactly how you feel so strive to be the informed patient, ask all the questions, challenge the answers and advocate for yourself. Always (always always) follow your own instincts and your gut. No symptom is too small or too insignificant. None of the symptoms I have been experiencing should I have every deemed ‘normal’ and I urge you to speak up. 

ASK FOR HELP (especially if you are a health care professional yourself). I’ve worked with a pelvic floor physiotherapist, a naturopath, a group of specialists, and a spiritual healer. I have read books (I highly recommend Alissa Vitti’s In the Flo), listened to podcasts and have spoken with other women who have gone through similar issues. Asking for help doesn’t come easy for me but the more I feel I am asking for help and taking control, the better I feel. I don’t have the answers but I am so grateful to have learned from brilliant people who do (Thanks team)!

GIVE YOUR BODY WHAT IT’S ASKING FOR. I would love to claim I am crushing this one but it’s probably where I need to do the most work. I LOVE what I do but I know that sometimes what my body needs most is to simply relax, release and rest. I have needed to set projects aside, overhaul my schedule and pull back from some opportunities so that my body can work its magique. My real work is leaning into listening, stillness and slowness —  my feminine energy. Taking a step back and truly trusting that I can continue to pursue my dreams and ambitions armed with the proper energy, compassion and resources my body needs.  

SHARE (but only when you are ready.) For me, it was starting to feel like I was hiding something from my family, friends and community and I didn’t like how it felt. Early on though, I needed some time to process and learn for myself before I felt comfortable sharing. I still don’t know what lays ahead for me and there are many unknowns but what I have found is that the more I share the more in some way I give permission to others to share their stories. This whole experience has helped me to realize that so many women have been fighting similar issues in silence. We need to make these conversations the norm. 

The past few months have been A LOT. We can’t ignore it. The world is shifting in so many ways and we all find ourselves in an important political and cultural moment. But in this shift, I hope I can underscore how it is important that in order to serve our communities and the outside world we first must tend to ourselves. Check in, slow down and understand how YOU are first. Listen. Because there may be a lot that your body is saying. And if ovaries are one of your problems too, please know you are not alone. Reach out anytime. 

I have never been a fan of cardio. In all my years of professional dance training, I dreaded our conditioning classes. It always felt hard, and boring, and uncomfortable. After living through an accident that shattered one of my feet, and left a small brain injury, it’s come as a great surprise to me that it is now something I love.

Before my accident I was a full time athlete. My body was a movement machine, dancing for about 6 hours a day- some times more. Dropping to the floor and then getting up milliseconds later. Moving and sweating was my life, and I loved it. I loved feeling physically powerful, and dynamic.

The summer before my final year, I was on a second floor balcony when the railing collapsed. I fell 20ft onto concrete steps. My head smashed open to the bone resulting in frontal lobe damage to my brain. I had major whiplash and tissue damage down the right side of my body, immense pain around my right hip, and multiple bone breaks in my left foot.

My immediate, and only true memory of that moment was praying I would still be able to move.

When I first started walking again I had been in a wheelchair for a couple of months, and was working with muscle mass that had deteriorated down to almost nothing. It was really hard for me to look at my legs, and see that one was muscular and strong, while the other had completely atrophied. 

I was forced to be kind, and humble to my body. I was grateful for the days when I didn't feel like I had been hit by a truck. I was grateful for small, slow movement, and the ability to walk to the bathroom without assistance.

One year, and two surgeries later I was able to walk around mostly comfortably without any assistance. I refused to lean in to the chronic pain and stiffness, so went to pilates and yoga multiple times per week.

Five years later, I ran my first half marathon. When I signed up for the training program, I was scared. I was scared to work hard, and I was scared to fail. I was scared my body wouldn’t be able to handle it, and I was scared feeling incapable would send my back into a PTSD spiral.

Our first group run was 5km. I had run 5km before, but never without stopping, and only ever on a flat treadmill. For some this was a breeze, talking casually to the runners next to them. For me, it felt like the route had been designed to challenge every step that I took, every breath inhaled. My body was confused. Why were we doing this? Hadn’t we been through enough? I spent the entire run reminding myself “You can do it, you’ve already won”.

5km run, or walking to the washroom alone, knowing that YES, I CAN-  was the only important thing I needed to focus on. That being in recovery didn’t define me, that having brain trauma, or PTSD didn’t define me. That accomplishing the things I go after, THAT’S what defines me.

"You can do it,

you've already won"

My first training goal was to run for 10 minutes. When that felt like too much I reminded myself of all the other, much tougher things I had done. Like the time I woke up after surgery, and was in so much pain it silenced me. This was nothing compared to that, so I ran.

When we got to hill training I would look at the monsters we had to climb, and think of them as my recovery. One big mountain to climb, one little step at a time. Maybe stopping for a breath, but always moving forward.

The combination of visualizing my story in our routes, and constantly chanting “yes I can” got me through 18 weeks of training. When it came time to actually register for race day, that familiar fear started to creep back in. But this time, I was ready and prepared to give my fears a big sweeping hug, and remind myself it wasn’t about the finish. It was about proving to myself I was more than my traumas, than my PTSD.

The amazing thing about repeating a positive affirmation to yourself, is that at some point, you don’t have space to believe it isn’t true.

When I crossed the finish line of the Scotiabank Half Marathon 2019, I wasn’t thinking about my past pains, or past struggles. I was thinking of how incredible, how HUMAN our bodies are. That they can do amazing things, and that I will never, ever take that for granted. That no matter WHAT comes my way in life, Yes. I. Can.

I am also extremely grateful to have had an amazing training group via The Running Room Yonge and Eglinton, who were quick to remind me Yes I Can, in the moments I forgot.

Follow along with Dominique's journey @domchesh and stay tuned for her new project The Embodied Alchemy Podcast, launching January 30, 2020. You can also follow along here. Photos by Eva Charalambides. 

When I arrived at the OBGYN’s office pregnant just 6 months after Charlotte was born, there was excitement but also large concerns because recent biopsy results showed a high amount of HSIL cells once again. My medical team explained that there was a small chance that the HSIL, if left untreated, could turn into cervical cancer during the pregnancy but that cervical cancer is typically slow-growing and the chances were very small. Doctors encouraged us to continue with the healthy pregnancy, and both Victor and I felt really comfortable with our decision and I think there was an overall sense of well it won’t happen to me. 

My pregnancy with Sofie was amazing. I had gestational diabetes with both of the pregnancies (insulin injections and all) but other than that I loved being pregnant. Throughout the pregnancy, I had many doctor appointments but towards the end they definitely started to increase to what felt to be a bit more than ‘normal’. Sofie arrived, safe and sound on May 1st - she was perfect. Life was beautiful and I was sent home. I knew that a biopsy had to be taken but my doctor said that we could do it in the weeks to follow - go home, enjoy your newborn and rest up. So I did. In my heart I knew that something was wrong but in the madness of a newborn I went home and went into the whirlwind of life after a baby. Six weeks after the birth I returned to the hospital for my scheduled biopsy and it was then that my doctor prepared me for the ‘thing’ that had felt like ‘the something wrong’. She took a biopsy and her exact words were ‘it doesn’t look good... but we are going to do a biopsy to confirm what that exactly means to be sure.’ I left that appointment feeling heavy but also with the hope that perhaps there was a chance that ‘the something’ was ‘nothing’. That biopsy turned into more tests, CT scans and an MRI and the dreadful ‘waiting game’. 

Nothing really prepares you for a phone call from the cancer hospital. 

It was a rainy day in July, 2015 and my husband Victor was away at an event. Being a new mom caring for two babies postpartum is challenging on the best day, but that day Charlotte had managed to shove four peas up her nose and I couldn’t get them out and the nurse on the phone told me I needed to come straight to the doctor’s office to extract them! While I was trying to deal with that minor emergency, I had a hungry newborn trying to latch to my boob as I frantically moved around the kitchen trying to just deal with what was happening in the moment, on top of trying to manage my persistent sense of dread waiting to hear back from Princess Margaret Cancer Hospital with my CT results. I remember it clear as day - I had just hung up the phone with our family doctor dealing with Charlotte's nose and I was trying to assemble the girls in the stroller to get to the doctor’s office before it closed and the phone rang. The truth is I wasn’t really supposed to get the proper diagnosis over the phone from the receptionist - it was a minor glitch in the system but so it happened... such as life. 

And so the story goes on that Friday afternoon over the phone - standing with a baby on my boob in the middle of my kitchen and a crying toddler in a high chair I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. 

After I hung up the phone, the tears started to stream from my eyes and down my face straight on to Sofie’s cheek and my entire body was filled with an overwhelming amount of mixed emotions... the world was at a complete stand still. 

I couldn’t breathe - it was suffocating. 

There was no sound just silence. 

I feel nothing. I am numb. 

My entire life being viewed like a movie reel moving both on fast forward and slow motion all at once and there was nothing I could do to not see it. 

And then just like that - life snapped me out of the fog of overwhelming fear with the sounds of babies crying and the sweet face of Charlotte staring up at me in the high chair - tears still rolling down my face - a tidal wave of opposite emotions and then I began to laugh. Uncontrollably laugh. 

PEAS!!!!!!! PEAS!!!!!!! Are you fucking kidding me right now? How did you stick... no wait... WHY did you stick... 4 FUCKING PEAS up your cute little nose? I have to walk in the rain to the doctor’s office now. RIGHT NOW?!!!! BUT I HAVE CANCER!!! 

That summer I hung up my ‘mom hat’ and took on Cancer as my full time job.I underwent chemotherapy, endless rounds of radiation and intense in-hospital brachytherapy (internal radiation) treatments. It was one of the most epically difficult times of my life - it challenged me in ways physically and emotionally that no one could possibly prepare you for. It took a long time after my last radiation appointment to start feeling ‘my new normal.’ The fatigue was like nothing I had ever experienced. Thankfully, I had never experienced sleep deprivation, as both babies were good sleepers, but the chronic fatigue felt like a train had run me over and I could just shut my eyes and never wake up. 

Grief is exhausting. The pull of life’s ups and downs is grueling. Resilience is a skill set you learn - one that if you don’t attain it will drag you through the dirt and leave you bruised for life. I grew up with horses and my mother would say to me,“If you fall off the horse, get back on.” But there were moments when this just wasn’t possible. The fall was too hard. The fall had broken everything I had ever believed in and tested every physical and emotional barrier I had ever known. It was outside of me and I was feeling lost, lonely and completely broken. Life postpartum after cancer and a medical induced menopause was too much and life was suffocating trying to put the pieces back together. 

I remember standing in the kitchen with Victor one day months after I had finished treatment, my eyes closed and tears streaming down my face just like they had the day the phone call came that changed everything, but this day was different. Sadness was present but rage was creeping in and the rollercoaster of hormones running through my veins was like nothing I had ever experienced. I wanted to break every glass in the house, every single one. I wanted to scream. I wanted the feelings to ‘go away’. With Victor’s help and encouragement I went to an appointment to speak to someone regarding my overwhelming wheel of emotions and was put on a high dose of sleeping pills to help me rest and for the time being it helped. Along with the countless offers of more medication, the doctor suggested I start up with my yoga practice again and put me into a 6-week yoga nidra program at the hospital. That was the shift that gave me the power and brought my healing in my own hands. 

Over time I weaned myself off of the meds through a dedicated practice to yoga nidra and with the support from my yoga & meditation teacher Molly Birkholm and Swami Kashi (pictured below), there is no denying that the practice saved my life. Yoga Nidra is often translated as “the yoga of sleep.” It is a form of meditation that gently guides you through an experience of your body, breath, feelings, emotions, memories, and out into a deep state of rest and relaxation. My beloved Molly taught me that the practice helps us stay connected to the part of yourself that is unchanging, healthy, whole, and complete. And if that isn’t enough, it is said that a 30-minute yoga nidra practice is equivalent to 2 to 4 hours of sleep. In yoga nidra, the benefits are immediate, from reduced stress to deep rest! 

Having these specific tools to help my nervous system and a strong like minded community to help me in difficult times has been the most empowering experience of my life. It has taught me that I am not alone and I am more than just this body. I now understand and trust that life is happening for me - not to me. I understand that to build and regain trust in my body I have a personal responsibility to show up daily and help it heal in small and subtle ways. 

Two years after my first cancer diagnosis of stage 2b cervical cancer in May of 2017, just as I started to regain my strength and get back into so called ‘regular life’, I once again was faced with a new cancer diagnosis. One early morning Sofie ran straight into my right breast as we were playing around and just 20 minutes later at the park I was bleeding through my nipple. A lot. It didn’t hurt, to be honest I didn’t even notice. A lady in the park came running over to ask if I was ok. 

As soon as I looked down, I knew that it wasn’t good. I remember when I phoned my family doctor and they said they didn’t have an appointment for a couple of weeks I said directly to the receptionist on the phone: “This can’t wait – it’s an emergency.” When you’ve been in the ‘Cancer Seat’ it’s hard to not let your mind race, every ache, pain – is the Cancer back? 

Tests revealed I had a new cancer - Invasive Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS) Breast Cancer with a small component testing positive in one of my lymph nodes. Surgery was a must – they explained the way the DCIS had spread, they couldn’t save any of the breast so a complete mastectomy on the right side was the only option. In that moment there was a rush of sadness and then a mix of emotions, one of them laughter because the very thought of being diagnosed with a completely new cancer was insane – I was brought directly back to the moment in the kitchen with the peas stuck up Charlotte’s nose and Sofie attached to the breast that was now bleeding. Here I was spending so much time worrying about the cervical cancer coming back, not once thinking about a completely new cancer. 

Again, the whirlwind of emotions flooded in but this time something felt different. I’m not saying that there was a heavenly feeling, but there was something more romantic about the diagnosis because I felt like I could really sink in and feel the sensation of the diagnosis in my body. It was as if I was training for this moment to happen - all the things I had been learning over the year were now coming to me in full effect, helping me and supporting me through this experience and that was - now I was full of empowerment. Something so out of my control felt a bit more ‘in control’ and that even if just for a moment meant that I could breathe. 

The experience changed from the first time. 

I couldn’t breathe - it was suffocating. 

Now it was... I have my breathe... breathe now. Inhale 1, 2, 3, 4 - Exhale 2, 3, 4. 

The first time there was no sound just silence. 

Now it was... I am ok with the stillness - I embrace the quiet and the need to stand still in this moment to hear the clarity of my own voice. 

Before, it was I feel nothing. I am numb. 

Now it was... I feel this sensation in my body and I welcome it all. I allow it to move through me and welcome it all. No need to fix. No need to change. You are perfect just the way you are - there is a part of me untouched by anything or anyone. 

The first time, my entire life being viewed like a movie reel in fast forward and slow motion all at once. there was nothing I could do to not see it. 

Now it was... I see everything for what it is - my awareness is alive and everything I say and do matters in every moment. Life is happening for me and I am responsible for how I respond to this diagnosis. 

The mix of emotions felt more in control - less out of control. I had knowledge and past experiences that I used for me in a positive way and empowered my voice and my choices. 

My choice for no reconstruction was personal and intuitive. 

I decided on a bilateral mastectomy with no reconstruction. It all happened so fast. Having to make such drastic choices in the midst of dealing with such a vicious disease is overwhelming. I was sent to the plastic surgeon just 45 minutes after I had officially been diagnosed with an invasive breast cancer. I stood naked in front of my close family while doctors touched, examined my body- an experience that I can best describe as a mix between a bad science experiment and how small toddlers treat their broken dolls and put them back together. Rough, purposeful, cold. 

I knew a bilateral mastectomy was the only decision for me as the other options just didn’t feel right. The only thing that I was 100% comfortable with was to remove both breasts even though my left breast was ‘healthy’. My medical team fought to save the ‘healthy’ breast and encouraged me to consider reconstruction as they felt strongly that I would regret my decision to have a flat chest. But in my heart, I knew it what was best for me. 

I spent a lot of time doing my yoga nidra practice to check in with my internal dialogue and to try to block out the loud voices of what the outside world wanted and/or thought should happen according to history. Encouraged by my teachers, I spent the days before doctors appointments in silence, my phone turned off wandering in nature connecting to the vibrancy of life around me. I focused on eating cooked easy digestible whole foods, drinking my proper amount of water quota per day, cut out sugar & alcohol, limited caffeine and although very difficult at first, I learned to welcome all things that supported me and my daily self-care regime. 

History has told us that a woman is defined by her body and that being feminine and beautiful is something that we simply ‘see or look at’. No imperfections, flaws or scars. But I believe that this is not my truth nor anyone else’s. In fact, it was the furthest thing from the truth. I recall a time on retreat that while standing in nature I was struck by the beauty surrounding me, both in the aliveness of the surroundings and the death of what ‘once was’. The balance in nature of the perfect knots in the large maple trees and the rotting, fallen limbs of others. From this I could see that there is symmetry or “oneness” in this and it is beautiful. And just like me, is perfectly imperfect. 

“Women are not just their bodies and their breasts and whatever they come with. The power of femininity is within.” 

It’s not as easy as piecing body parts back together; the entire process is devastating. For me, I needed to grieve the loss of my breasts and it didn’t feel right for me to replace them with something that wasn’t mine and that had the possibility of harming me in the future. This was my second cancer diagnosis in just two years and I heard the strong message that my body wanted to heal and I needed to give it the best opportunity to do so. I also choose not to wear a prosthetic bra, something I’m completely comfortable with but not everyone around me is. 

In fact, I’m so comfortable with it - I’m proudly half naked on sides of streetcars, bus stops and public transit across Canada as part of a campaign with KNIX on a mission to inspire all women to live unapologetically free. 

And still... I’m often confronted by people saying, “it’s not the norm” but I’m ok with that because I’m comfortable with being uncomfortable. 

I’m ok with your questions. 

I’m ok with your comments. 

I’m ok with your judgments.

I’m ok because they are yours and not mine. 

I’m ok to listen - I’m here for you. 

I’m ok to be seen - I see you. 

In the beginning, people would ask when I was planning on reconstruction and I would answer, “oh.... not right now – maybe later”, when the truth of the matter was that I had no plans for reconstruction. In fact, I have never felt more myself. I am more empowered now than ever, more myself than ever. I have a clear understanding that I am more than just this body and that love comes from within me and has always been there waiting to be seen, touched, heard. My mind is exploding with creativity and my heart is full of love and I’ve never been more grateful for this precious life. 

Throughout this process I have grown to understand a deeper sense of my true nature. Cancer forced me to be a student of life. Life has and will continue to bring unforeseen challenges to me physically, emotionally and spiritually. I have experienced some of the darkest sides of me but I have also witnessed some of the brightest light coming out of me and others, and for that, I am grateful. 

I’ve been asked many times for advice on cancer/life/reconstruction and my answer is “You’re on your own kid - you know what’s best you and you just have to listen to you and not to everyone around you.” It’s a time to get quiet - push the noise out and invite in the sweet whispers. Trust the process. Only you can know what’s ‘best’. I can tell you what my experience has been like and what worked for me but at the end of the day - what works for me and what works for you is totally different. We need to honour our own truth in every situation. 

I think throughout this experience what sticks out the most is that I have seen many people rise to a greater understanding that we are all responsible for our own healing and decision making. In the end we need to make the best decision for ourselves, but having a tight community to help support that decision is key. My hope out of all of this is to inspire both men and women to follow their heart and trust what their own knowingness is telling them. Find a community that will ‘just listen’ but have the skills to push you out of your comfort zone when life gets tough. Let’s live in a world where we support and release the judgement - we are just mirrors of one another after all. If something is really bothering you, I invite you to ask yourself and challenge yourself to ‘why it is so’. 

Ask how you empower yourself, your kids and your community in kind and compassionate ways. What you are doing to create a safe space for people to come as they are with no need to fix or change anything. 

Almost a year ago KNIX gifted me with the opportunity to share my story through a photograph. Not just any photograph, a photograph of me standing boldly in underwear, bare flat chested. Empowered, ready for transformation, embracing change and all that comes with it. Many people have asked me how I 'really' feel about this photo and my honest answer is... it's stunning and takes my breath away. As soon as I saw the image I knew it had to be shared. I remember standing in my robe in the studio with Joanna Griffiths, the fierce founder and CEO of KNIX - both of us were a bit lost for words. As a photographer myself, I was captivated by the raw beauty, strength, resilience, self-love and the power of storytelling through one single frame that Carlye Routh, the photographer, had captured. In some ways I still always experience the photo as a complete witness. And that’s the truth - it feels a bit larger than me and not in an egotistical way - in a vulnerable truth that showcases beauty in a simple and raw form. The entire experience was and still continues to be empowering for me personally and I’m so grateful that we are moving into a world that is curious about topics that may feel uncomfortable for some. 

We are all learning how to be comfortable with the uncomfortable, free of judgment and full of love and curiosity. May we all find a piece of ourselves untouched by anything or anyone and know that our true nature is whole and complete just as we are. 

May we all learn to soften the loud noise of our mind and turn up the volume to the sweet whispers of our truth and play in nature singing - I am 'Beautifully Complete' just the way I am.