On Hormonal Birth Control 

When I was seventeen years old, I was put on birth control. I was told it would regulate my cycle, treat the polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) with which I had just been diagnosed, and help my skin. This was the same course of treatment many of the women in my family had been offered, and I accepted it without question. After all, my doctor and my mother were telling me this was best for me. Why would I doubt them?

After three grueling months of feeling like a brick was sitting on my pleasure receptors with no reprieve (read: I was miserable and made those around me miserable), my mood finally evened out. I had called my doctor six times during those months, and each time, he told me to “wait it out” and assured me that things would get better. And they did—but I didn’t realize that "better than miserable" was not the same as feeling like my normal, happy, relaxed self.

I remained on hormonal birth control for the next seven years, sometimes switching brands or methods, but never going off hormones entirely. I was never able to skip my period successfully, one of the purported benefits of hormonal birth control. Every time I got on an airplane or took a long car ride, I made sure to stretch my legs and move around, with the threat of a blood clot vaguely hanging out in the back of my mind. I went on SSRIs for anxiety, never pausing to wonder whether my mood symptoms were actually side effects. I stocked up on my pills, afraid of running out. Hormonal birth control felt like a non-negotiable, a requirement for me until I wanted children. And when I pictured having children, there was just a blank space between the daily swallowing of a hormonal pill and being pregnant. What did life without this daily regimen look like? I had no idea.

Only when I visited my gynecologist as an adult living in a different country—this time with concerns about birth control side effects—and left the office with a prescription for yet another hormonal drug and a sticky note full of big-name medications and hormones “we” could try did I begin to question whether hormonal birth control was necessary for me.

I started researching and found an overwhelming amount of information online. Some sources seemed reputable and evidence-based; others were influencers selling a lifestyle brand of “artificial hormone-free” living. My last gynecologist appointment before stopping hormonal birth control was on a Thursday morning. That day, I neglected all of my responsibilities and sat on my couch, poring over articles, blog posts, scientific journals, Instagram reels, and everything in between. Only when I noticed I was suddenly sitting in the dark did I realize I had spent six hours in the void.

Ultimately, with guidance from doctors, acupuncturists, friends, and my own intuition, I decided to go off hormonal birth control. The debilitating nausea I had been experiencing for seven months dissipated almost immediately. I was suddenly happier, able to joke more freely, as though a weight had been lifted off my chest. The craziest part? I hadn’t even known the weight was there in the first place. I did not know myself as an adult without artificial hormones in my body. There were plenty of scientific reasons to explore life without hormonal birth control, but ultimately, the biggest reason I stopped was that my gut told me it was time.

I am not anti-hormonal birth control. To the contrary, the invention of these drugs revolutionized women’s lives. They allowed women agency over their bodies, sexual freedom, and the ability to plan their childbearing with a level of control previously unavailable to them. I am simply pro-education about hormonal birth control. There has been shockingly little innovation in this field over the last fifty years. The side effects and risks women face in asserting their right to family planning, avoiding painful periods, or any other reason they may choose hormonal birth control are shamefully commonplace.

An educator I learned from during my journey off birth control said, “If men had to deal with the side effects of birth control, there would be way more and better options.” This is why, when brides are prescribed hormonal birth control simply to avoid their period on their wedding day, I cringe. If that same bride were to be fully informed of all options, risks, and benefits and still chose to take hormonal birth control, I would celebrate her decision. I am not opposed to that choice—I just believe it should be an informed choice. And for that to happen, true informed consent is required.

A chupat nidda is not the end of the world. Neither is taking hormonal birth control. What is unacceptable is taking away a woman’s ability to make an educated decision about her own body. Here’s to a life full of choices and bodily autonomy in the truest sense of the phrase.