He was a soldier with a MySpace. I was a feral, blunt little goblin with trauma and zero chill. Now we’re 18 years married, still surviving deployments, infertility, field trainings, toxic trolls—and I still want him to tie me to a tree.

It took years to get diagnosed with PCOS. Years of “just lose weight” and “just relax.” Add infertility, hirsutism, and AuDHD into the mix—and my body felt like it was glitching on every level. I didn’t just grieve what it couldn’t do… I grieved who I thought I was supposed to be. This drawer? It’s hormonal, hairy, heartbreaking—and I’m opening it anyway.