Today marks five years since my hysterectomy. Sometimes it seems like such a morbid thing to recognize, year after year, when it was the thing that ended life as I knew it. For five years, Iʻve been gaslighting myself, wondering if Iʻm attention seeking or just beating myself up as a means of redemption.
But today, I feel different. I cried, yes. Itʻs hard shit, yo, what Iʻve been through. I celebrate this anniversary today with tears because I can finally turn toward it instead of pushing it away. Instead of denying it or downplaying it or telling myself to just get over it already. I open myself up to and invite in all the difficult emotions, all the confusion and contradictions, the relief and even the joy.
For example, I learned a few weeks ago that I still harbor sadness over losing my ability to bear children. Like, what the fuck is that? And by “still,” what I really mean is that I never even realized I felt that way, especially because I have no desire to have more babies and feel immense relief that I would never have to worry about it again. I still donʻt understand it, except that maybe because my choice was taken away? Or maybe itʻs even that Iʻm intensely grateful to have borne two awesome-ass human beings.
What Iʻm saying is that Iʻm still learning about the ways that this hysterectomy has affected me. Is affecting me. More than that, Iʻm OPEN TO THE EXPERIENCE.
Celebrating this anniversary-- marking this day as special-- gives me the opportunity to reflect on it, to make space for it, to remind myself that I indeed went through some fucked up shit and not only endured, but softened, grew, healed. I am redefining “strength” and “trust” and “love.” My softness is my strength, presence is my trust, and love? Boy, that love is tenderness and vulnerability and boundaries.
The hysterectomy changed everything. And it did, though I amend that statement today: My hysterectomy was a catalyst. It wasnʻt just a thing that happened. It was not a passive voice— “a hysterectomy happened.” No. It was a force, it was an agent. My hysterectomy was a loving and insistent hug, whispering, coaxing (because power and strength and force will not be conflated with anger, guilt, or shame today), “Itʻs okay, Kanani. You can let go.”
So today I celebrate with tears and grief and mourning. I celebrate with laughter and friendship. I celebrated by submitting my very first request for vacation time and it was approved almost immediately. I am not where I was one year ago, let alone five, and things… CHANGE, rather… rarely ever looks the way I think it will, and that is a good thing. Change can be a SAFE thing.
Today, I celebrated by sharing with a few friends how Iʻm feeling. I set aside some time and made the decision to talk about how I experienced today. Thatʻs different.
Today, I celebrated by going to pole. I was very limited in what I could do because of my chewed up right hand, but I wanted to dance. I wanted to celebrate with dance. And community. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to feel my body the way it is now: powerful and sensual and goofy and hale. I wanted to be among friends, to feel known and seen and loved.
September 7 is a complicated day for me. I mourn because I have lost, I celebrate because I am healing, and I rejoice because I am alive. I feel such gratitude for all the love I have in my life and for the tremendous opportunity to hold myself with tenderness and compassion.
