Please welcome guest blogger Christa, founder of Giggle On:
For as long as I remember I have resented being a girl. I have never been very good at Owning Pink. I deduced having female reproductive organs was not a blessing, but a curse. As a kid, I remember being told I couldn’t play with boys because I was a girl - discrimination due to ovary ownership. By my estimates, I was the victim in a super-sized scam!

Getting my period for the first time was one of the least favorite times in my life. I was 13 years old, babysitting at my neighbor’s house, when I started to bleed. Big. Fat. Yukky, Yuk, Yukkerson! All the other girls in school couldn’t wait to get a front row seat on the blood train but I dreaded the day womanhood would start.
Back in high school I remember making up new words to U2’s song Sunday Bloody Sunday. It became my period anthem. Later, in my mid-twenties I remember making a painful trip to the ER in the passenger seat of my male date’s car. Talk about embarrassing! Um, yeah,great date, a lot of fun and all. But I think there is an alien in my gutso, um, could you please take me to the hospital? NOW! I don’t remember much from that day except the examination I received from a male gyno (we’ll call him MG).

Up until this fateful day in the ER, all my gyno exams were performed bywomen. As Murphy’s Law would have it, I got a male doctor who obviously failed Bedside Manner 101 in medical school. So here I am, grimacing in pain with my legs in stirrups, hoo-ha completely exposed and lit from above with what seemed liked stadium lights from a football field. The whole bloody gynecological experience is so mortifying. I would rather have a root canal than be exposed, spread eagle, to a complete stranger. In an effort to lower my blood pressure and inject some levity into this uncomfortable and highly embarrassing situation, I smiled at MG and said, “Hey, if you’re going to be down there, shouldn’t we head out for drinks first?”

With a stone cold judgmental face and reprimanding condescending tone, the MG barked, “This is no time for jokes young lady!” There I was, in the stirrups, thinking “That humor-deficient, stethoscope-wearing penis DIDN’T just say THAT? Did he?” Apparently MG never read the Female Jokester Chronicles in medical school. If he had taken the time to check out Chapter 3: Humor Heals, he would have understood a fundamental rule all women know:“One of the best times to utilize humor is when your gynecologist has one hand shoved up your crotch and the other hand pressing down on a soon-to-be-bursting cyst.” Duh!

Over the course of several years, I have had 4 surgeries to help “fix” acommon and often painful female condition called endometriosis. I spent years in pain. I spent hours of my life pissed off because I felt cursed. I was probed, prodded, poked and processed in several Philadelphia area hospitals. I asked God “Why me? Why me?” over and over and again. Recently my female problems started up again. This time I am taking a different approach to managing the issue. I am not asking God “why me?” because now, I finally know why I am having this problem again. In the parking lot of my gynecologist’s office last week I had a HUGE ovarian mind-body-spirit revelation!

This revelation didn’t come easy. My Ah-Ha moment came only after I had a hissy fit and screamed a string of expletives at the sky. My rant would have made a longshoreman blush. Here’s my revelation: All the pain, drama and bullshit I experienced while walking around in this girlie skin was caused by my very own thoughts. It is all so simple. I thought I was cursed - so my body cursed me. I thought the pain controlled me, when in fact, I created the pain.AH-HA!!!!

THOUGHTS CREATE REALITY.
Wash, rinse, repeat.

THOUGHTS CREATE REALITY.

And one more time.

THOUGHTS CREATE REALITY.

Wow. Light bulb. So now I resolve to:

Accept the skin I am in.

Act in loving and nurturing ways toward myself.

Embrace my good health.

Raise a toast to my two ovaries.

Love myself unconditionally.

Nourish my female fabulousness.

P.S. I still refuse to wear pink clothes, eat pink food, or sip pink drinks. You can quote me on that!

Christa

www.giggleon.com