Understand that I have never regretted being a woman. In fact, I relish it.

Modigliani's Female Nude (Iris Tree)

I think we women have gorgeous bodies. I love our voluptuousness and our distinct softness. And when it comes to the things I really, truly value, the things I want to accomplish–I know I can do them just as well (and probably better) as a woman.

But the great irony is that the thing that defines me most as a woman, and which creates in me the curves that I cherish, is the one thing that I find to be a woman’s greatest disadvantage: Our bodies are built for childbirth. They are constantly preparing for it.

And part of that preparation is that every month of our child-bearing years and beyond, we have periods. Meaning our bodies shed the linings of our uteruses. Meaning on a monthly basis, for five or six days, we deal with our everyday lives–working, studying, exercising, dealing with our families–while bleeding from our vaginas. Boys, if I haven’t lost you by now, you’re probably not even the kind of guy who really ought to be reading this, and thank you.

These happy little weeklong visits from Aunt Flo are marked by some of the most extreme discomfort you can imagine. Moodswings, cold sweats, unwanted tears and cramps, some of which can be so violent they’ll have you doubled over in pain and complete debilitated. Mine are like that. My mom’s were like that. And all the women in her family have periods like that. The difference between a stomachache and really intense cramps like these is like the difference between a bad dream and a night terror.

When I first started on the pill I was 16, and this was the reason I had started it. Part of the pill’s wondrousness is that it regulates periods, and their symptoms. I think when I initially told my mom I wanted to go on the pill, for a moment she feared it was because I’d become sexually active. My mother is a Catholic. She raised my sister and me Catholic. So there is most certainly an ethical dilemma for religious women to get on the pill; their bodies are not only physically but spiritually meant for making children. But when I told her my periods were causing me to vomit from nausea, that they had been since I was 12, she took me to a nice Filipina woman gynecologist from our church the next day.

At this point, to put it bluntly, birth control changed my life. For the first time I felt in control of my body. Because, let me tell you, when you suddenly have to run out of class to breathe through a cramp, you feel totally helpless.

In my 20s I decided to try Depo-Provera. A friend of mine who was on it swore by it. Every three months I got an injection of hormones. Like the pill, Depo prevents ovaries from releasing eggs. But here’s the advantage: After a year you stop having periods.

OK, naturally, you’re freaking out about what I just said. It sounds sick and wrong to stop your body from having periods. But as I’ve said, mine are like night terrors. I thought, No periods? No cramps? No more emotional meltdowns? No pill to remember to take every day at the same time? Nothing to insert or apply or put on?

Yes please.

Every day for about five years, I enjoyed everything I love about being a woman without suffering the one thing that I find to be at our disadvantage. On a more profound level, being on Depo allowed me in my coming-of-age years to develop my identity as a woman without the influence of my body and my perceived source of ultimate vulnerability.

But they say that you should not take Depo for longer than four or five years. Any longer would be destructive to your bone density in later life, as well as your ability to conceive. By the end of five years I was ready to go off it anyways. I had gained 15 pounds, and I felt weak all the time. Plus, even though I wasn’t and am still not ready to have a child, I want to someday.

After I got divorced, birth control was suddenly of the utmost importance. And let me tell you why: men/condoms are not reliable. Without reliable birth control, you have to ask yourself very consciously: Am I OK with the possibility of having this dude’s baby? When you’re just dating people and not even thinking about marriage or a family, seriously ladies, don’t take that chance. Use birth control and a condom. Watch Knocked Up. Then throw out the happy ending and think about what it would be like in real life to bear the child of an unemployed pothead that looks like Seth Rogen.

Still, shit happens. When I lost my health insurance, it was much more costly to get the pill. I started dating my current boyfriend exclusively. And he’s the kind of man who–though I’m still not ready–one day I could see myself having kids with. And sometimes we get lazy. And–to introduce a somewhat controversial point–condoms don’t feel as good. For either party. My partner and I have both been tested and are disease-free. But, let’s just put it this way: nothing wakes you up as to how important birth control is like a pregnancy scare. Nothing makes you feel less like an adult than an inability to take care of yourself on such a basic level.

So a few weeks ago, on my birthday no less, we went to Planned Parenthood. Being a reformed Catholic, I had never been to a Planned Parenthood. Honestly, Planned Parenthood always made me think of abortions. But planning parenthood is so much more than reacting to it. I’ve come to recognize how important it actually is to women to have their clinic as an option. Particularly women without health insurance.

The visit–consisting of a Pap and pelvic exam–was $100. The pills were $20. After hearing my history and what I’m looking for in my method of birth control, the gynecologist prescribed me LoSeasonique, a pill that makes it so you only have a period every three months.

“So is birth control the primary reason for your visit?” she asked me. I told her, “Yeah.”

“Smart woman,” she said.

“Getting there,” I replied.