The Sororities No One Wants to Join
I smile as I type the title because back in the day when Greek life surrounded me with suite mates pledging and joining sororities, I could not have been more against it. Always the non-conformist, and in college during a time when hazing wasn’t really taken seriously, I wanted no part of it.
Then I got older and learned there were worse things than pledging.
Recently I talked with a friend and realized how too often women struggle in private. I’m sure men do as well, especially with the lie so many grew up with not to share emotion. But I’m not a man, so I can only relate to the issues I’ve faced that made me feel less than and isolated. I call them the sororities no one wants to join.
The first is the infertility club, and just as heartbreaking, the miscarriage sorority. Who would ever sign up to be a part of these things? No one I know, and I certainly wasn’t banging on the door wanting admission. I was 25 when I was diagnosed with polycystic ovaries. Over the years we learned my case was one of the most severe, requiring a wedge resection surgery that took out half of each surgery. Just so I could function. As in walk. The surgeon told my husband my ovaries were 5x the size of normal, and the biggest he’d ever seen. It was a weird relief because I felt crazy for years. My periods brought a lot of pelvic pain and a deep depression I felt so much shame for, especially as I embraced my faith in Christ after college. What kind of Christian entertains dark feelings that take them as far as the medicine cabinet in a “what if” moment? This one.
It may be a paragraph or two, but the physical and emotional pain was daily and devastating. I remember having just enough strength to do what I had to do at work, fix dinner, and go to bed. It hurt that much, and my tolerance for pain is quite high. My husband didn’t know what to do or say. So he stayed quiet, which felt like another layer of rejection.
My miscarriage was another heartbreak I never yearned to experience. I’d already endured shots in my behind, all the infertility stuff, a high-risk pregnancy where I had a car accident the first trimester and a devastating season of postpartum depression no one, not even me or my doctor identified until much later. The miscarriage felt like a frozen slap across the face from God Himself. To add insult to injury, it happened at church during worship. To make it even worse, when our pastor called and offered to visit as they too were in the club, my husband said it wasn’t necessary. “We” were fine. No. We. Were. Not. It took me a complete year to process the bitterness and pain. I was obsessed with the why behind it. Only through time, God’s leading, and another sister in the miscarriage sorority who knew how to handle me was I able to start healing.
It’s been over 15 years since then. I’m blessed with two biological children. The pelvic pain was taken care of once and for all in 2008 with a hysterectomy. I dealt with instant menopause pretty well until the last couple years. I had a brief respite, but I’m back in another sorority. The menopause is going to be rough for a bit club.
I’ve been warm since I was first pregnant. It was a huge change because I was always cold. Teeth-chattering cold. Each year since the hysterectomy, I’m volcanic. It isn’t a hot flash, it’s being warm all the time. If the humidity is high, it’s hard. If I’m anxious or embarrassed, I will turn beat red and sweat through my clothes. I can’t mow the lawn like I used to. Now I have to split it up into two days. I can only do it early morning or late night. I’m not winded, it’s all heat related. I turn so red that it takes hours to return to a normal color. When it is really humid, I can be sitting still doing nothing and just sweat. If the humidity lasts more than three days, anxiety and depression set in. It has become quite debilitating this summer.
Then there’s the weight gain. That’s always been an issue for me, but since the surgery, I’ve gained between 30-50 pounds, depending on how I’m doing. There are times I am starving even though I just ate. Exhausted. Up every hour. Down because clothes don’t fit.
I started seeing an endocrinologist in 2016 when all this happened plus intense mood swings that mirrored what I endured decades before. It was bad enough I sat my family down and explained it all. Shame wasn’t going to rule this time. The medical appointment helped a lot. I lost weight, only late last year to start gaining again. The summer was harsh with the heat and humidity, hunger cravings and exhaustion. It all felt so lonely.
The last two weeks have been especially warm and I spoke with three other women of various ages who admitted the heat has been hard on them. As we shared our symptoms, one even confessed this wasn’t a sorority she asked to join.
Boy, can I relate.
But here we are. The one part I never considered with sorority life is sisterhood. I always thought about the conforming and stupid rule-following I saw during pledge season. The issues I’ve battled and still deal with tempt me with isolation and shame at every step. But there is sisterhood. I am not the only one suffering. Already one touched base with me with an encouraging word. Just that brief message helped me feel for the first time in a long time—more than. Not less than.
If you have a struggle that’s difficult, lonely, painful and the last thing you want to be a part of, welcome to the club, sister. Don’t be afraid to reach out. You’re a treasure!
***
I shared my infertility experience with five other authors in a book called A Walk in the Valley. This was the book I wish had existed when I was going through infertility. It takes the reader from diagnosis to where we are now. If you know anyone who longs for a pregnancy and each month brings heartbreak, I highly recommend this book. It’s also helpful for husbands and loved ones.
