Trust Your Gut (And Maybe Use a Condom)

Let’s set the scene: I was in what I thought was a monogamous relationship. I had an IUD, so condoms weren’t a thing we used (rookie mistake). And because I’m a responsible adult, I asked my partner to get tested before we ditched the rubbers. He said he did. I believed him. You can see where this is going.

Fast forward six months. My body had been giving me signs—more discharge than usual, frequent urination, a weird smell that didn’t belong to my usual bouquet. Oh, and I also started spotting after sex, but brushed it off as my period acting up (newsflash, periods don’t come and go in that manner, we all know that she likes to make one hell of an entrance). Instead of listening to my gut, I gaslit myself. “Maybe it’s just stress,” I thought. “Maybe my pH is off, Maybe I’m just paranoid.” Spoiler: I was not paranoid. My body was literally screaming at me, and I ignored it.

Eventually, I got tested. The result? Chlamydia. And not the “caught-it-early, quick-fix” kind. Nope. This had been chilling in my system long enough to evolve into pelvic inflammatory disease (PID), which, for those unfamiliar, is basically what happens when an STI gets bored and decides to start messing with your reproductive system. PID can cause scarring, chronic pain, and infertility. Fun, right?

But here’s the thing—I didn’t know that I had PID when I first got my diagnosis. I took my antibiotics, did my seven-day celibacy stint, and thought that was the end of it. Until a month later, when I ended up in the hospital because I was internally bleeding. (Yes, I am the main character). Turns out, the spotting I had been ignoring was my body giving me yet another warning sign. The doctors ran tests, and that’s when I found out—PID had been silently wreaking havoc on my reproductive system.

The first wave of emotion was shock. I had taken all of the precautions. I had asked him to get tested. He told me he had. So why was I here, clutching a hospital bed in pain? Then came the shame. Because, let’s be real, society loves to make women feel disgusting for being sexual beings, let alone contracting an STI, even though one in five people have one at any given time. And finally, rage—at him, at myself, at the doctor who looked at me like I was reckless instead of just…human.

The treatment for PID was brutal—14 days of antibiotics, injections, and a whole lot of resentment. I had always been diligent about getting tested before, but I had let my guard down because I trusted my partner. And yet, trust can’t protect you from bacteria (spoiler alert, the bacteria was that toxic man).

The hardest conversation was with my partner. He was somehow both defensive and confused—didn’t understand how STIs could be transmitted through oral sex, didn’t seem to grasp why lying about getting tested was a big deal. It was infuriating. But also, it was clarifying. I realized that trusting someone shouldn’t mean ignoring your own instincts. My body had known something was wrong long before my brain was willing to accept it. And that was the real betrayal—I had stopped trusting myself.

The fear of infertility lingered on. I’ve always wanted to be a mother, and the thought that this man’s carelessness might have taken that from me was devastating. So, I made a decision. I opted to freeze my eggs—not because I’m extra, but because I needed to take control of my body in a way I hadn’t before. IVF was a scary and lonely process, but it made me feel empowered. It gave me options. It gave me time—whatever that means. Because, let’s be honest, the whole “biological clock” thing? A patriarchal construct designed to keep women scrambling for stability before they’re ready. Freezing my eggs meant I didn’t have to settle for less. It meant I could focus on what I wanted, when I wanted.

So what did I do? I got smart. I got loud. And I got over it. I had an IUD, but going forward, I was going to double up on protection. I was going to have ‘The Talk’ with any future partner before getting naked. And I was going to get tested regularly—not just when I was single, but even in relationships, because my health is my responsibility.

I don’t blame myself anymore. I did everything I was supposed to do. And even if I hadn’t, that would’ve been okay, too. Because sexual health is just health, period. We don’t shame people for catching the flu. We don’t make them feel dirty for getting food poisoning. So why the hell do we act like STIs are some moral failing?

If there’s one thing I want you to take from this, it’s to: trust your body, communicate with your partners, and get tested. Oh, and if a guy hesitates when you ask for his test results? Run. Trust me, it’s not worth the 17-hour hospital visit.