u/Colors-with-glitter

Μου αρέσει, όταν με αγκαλιάζουν, να νιώθω να βουλιαζω στο λίπος, και όταν χουφτωνω να πιάνω μπόλικο μπουτάκι μούρλια. Να βάλω την φάτσα μου στην κοιλιά και να κάνω πρπρπρπρ και τα βυζια προσκέφαλο. Θέλω να θαβομαι λες και είμαι η πριγκίπισσα Λεία σκλάβα του Jabba The Hutt. ΝΑΙ ΡΕ ΜΕ ΤΟ ΜΠΙΚΊΝΙ, ΕΊΜΑΙ ΜΟΥΝΑΡΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΟ ΞΈΡΩ.

Τι έλεγα? Ααα ναι. ΜΟΥ ΑΡΈΣΟΥΝ ΟΥ ΧΟΝΤΡΈΣ.

Είμαι νηφάλιος από το αλκοόλ 2 χρόνια, 8 μήνες και 2 μέρες. Είχα μια on/off σχέση κατάχρησης του από παιδί αλλά δεν είχα βάλει σοβαρό σκοπό να μην το ξαναπιάσω. Η τελευταία φορά που ήπια ήταν σε ένα φιλικό τραπέζι όπου και κατάλαβα ότι η απλή ροπή που είχα ήταν κάτι πιο επικίνδυνο από ροπή, οπότε και το έκοψα για μια τελευταία φορά προτού με πιάσει από τα μούτρα. Την πρωτοχρονιά την πέρασα νηφάλιος με νύχια και με δόντια. Οι επόμενοι μήνες αποτέλεσαν άσκηση αυτοσυγκράτησης, υπομονής και σκέψης. Κάλεσα τον εαυτό μου να σκεφτεί τι με οδηγεί, ως χαρακτήρας επιρρεπής στον εθισμό και σε κάθε εθισμό, να βρω διέξοδο.

Κοιτώντας πίσω, κατάλαβα πως ο τρόπος που μεγάλωσα, τα άσχημα βιώματα που είχα, η βία και η οργή που είχα μέσα μου και είχα ενίοτε σαν πατερίτσα, με είχαν κάνει αδύναμο στο να έχω αυτοέλεγχο και στο να αντιμετωπίζω με σθένος την καθημερινή ζωή. Ήταν έξοδος, μια διαφυγή. Και το χειρότερο είναι ότι η κοινωνία μας το επικροτεί. Από την στιγμή που σταμάτησα να πίνω άρχισα να παρατηρώ, πόσο, μα πόσο διαδεδομένο είναι το αλκοόλ σε όλες τις μορφές του. Διαφημίσεις, περιοδικά, χορηγίες, περίπτερα, μαγαζιά, γιορτές και πανηγύρια, όπου κι αν πηγαίνω βλέπω μια ανοιχτή τάση στην κατανάλωση του. Στάσεις λεωφορείων έχουν διαφημίσεις μπύρας και άλλων. Αν σε καλέσουν κάπου, σίγουρα θα υπάρξει κρασί, ούζο, τσίπουρο, ρακί.

Μου ήταν πολύ δύσκολο, συνεχίζει να είναι δύσκολο διότι ο χαρακτήρας μου είναι τέτοιος που συνεχίζει να ψάχνει για το επόμενο πράγμα στο οποίο θα εθιστώ. Αλλά είμαι νηφάλιος.

I was recently reminded of a club encounter I had last June. I was in a famous gay club in my city and after hours of dancing and having fun between acquaintances and such, I had the pleasure of dancing up close and personal with a beautiful, voluptuous hot woman, memory of her makes my blush and sigh, she was nice and I was very, very interested in getting to know her better, but she asked my age and I was like "oh I'm 27" and she said "oofff too young for me, I could be your aunt! " and anyway, nothing happened, but now I'm thinking, what's the biggest age gap one can put up with?

This is the story of the glory, the lion, the witch, and the sheer audacity of this feral bitch to pull this off, while still living with a disfunctional family, without anyone realising I had it done.

Mind you, there are many ways this could have gone wrong. It is not foolproof. It is not even a sane plan. But it's what I ended up planning out and doing, taking into account many factors, such as family environment, logistics, recovery time, money, doctors. I'm fully aware this looks crazy. It is crazy, but it was a matter of survival for me.

This is the tale of how I did so.

BACKGROUND

My story begins with me growing up, being ever so disgusted and alienated from the act of childbirth, as to freak out at the idea of my body being nothing more than a future vessel. Didn't help the fact I was born in a country in which society had it as a must that a woman should give birth to a kid or 2. I remember growing up and hearing all about how I destroyed my mom's body coming out and how having children was soooo difficult for her, which meant she was naturally given right over life and death over us, and actual pain was our price to pay her with her moods.

Needless to say, by the time I turned 18, I was desperate to escape the fate of motherhood. Add in my curiosity for all things medical, and I knew what episiotomy was and what prolapse looked like, how loss of calcium led to loss of teeth and bone density far better than the average nulliparous young adult. In my head, I had a list before the girl with the list had hers. I was fully aware I was the carrier of some lifelong disabilities, incurable things. I wasn't going to force into existence a life which would suffer.

I was 19 when I first stumbled upon this subreddit, lurking and reading about thoughts and feelings I once thought myself as broken for having instead of a maternal instinct, and 20 when I started looking around for a doctor, any doctor, who could do the surgery. I've heard doctors dismissing my age, my partner status, my future partner status, my recorded family history with said incurable lifelong disabilities and my PCOS symptoms (now renamed PMOS, iirc).

I am also still living with my family, as it is the norm in my society and in this economy. Comments about giving a grandchild, about my supposed currency, my value as a woman being the organ inside me and not my achievements. The only reason I haven't ended up in an arranged marriage, or whatever, is because I knew that as long I had to continue my education, my family would be willing to back off and not pressure me into giving this "son of a friend a chance". Kinda related, but I also happen to be bi and on the non binary spectrum, closeted to Narnia, because I really don't wanna risk them seeing marriage as a way to "fix" me. My family is problematic.

NOW ONTO THE SURGERY PART

I was aware of the existence of a list of doctors, but I hadn't seen anyone in my country yet. It was, I believe 2024, when I asked a mod about any doctors from the list, since I was unable to find anyone yet on my own. I was given the name of the doctor I ended up choosing.

My first hurdle, was the fact that I couldn't schedule the appointment without my family realising something was going on. Second was the lack of funds, as I chose to go fully private instead of public. Third was when I called, the lady at the desk was negatively surprised, and dismissed me from making an appointment. At this point, I was aware that the logistics were not in my favor, and I knew from previous experiences that our public health care system was not to be trusted with, so I had shelved this idea. But the doctor's phone was in my contact list. I knew I was going to get that surgery, just didn't know how. My 2025 new year's resolution was getting this done.

Over the rest of the year and the beginning of the new one, I would pour over the Internet and especially subs like this one, for what the surgery entails, what recovery looks like, what bingoes get used, how can doctors be either prejudiced or open to the patients. I saw how things went wrong for some people whose families somehow found out and tried to sabotage them, and how they sometimes succeeded. I prepared a binder, in which I added my medical history, my family's medical history, previous attempts at BC which ended in vain, other doctors' notes about series of side effects for any other form of hormonal protection due to my blood work and my elevated risk of strokes. I also saved money like crazy. It wasn't easy, especially when working in a family business, but I faked enough expenses to be able to hide the money. I also found the chance to go to my rescheduled appointment and have it passed as some other academic obligation.

October 2025, I met up with the doctor himself. We went over my history, my concerns, his concerns, any previous measures I had taken, the time I had to take plan b because the condom broke one time during the last month, and how this was the final nail in the coffin for me because I was already prepared in the event my period was late, to do anything it takes to bring it back. I had with me my binder, from which I retrieved my blood work, my endocrinologist notes, and I explained that I was already fully prepared for, either way to go the IVF (when asked about regrets, I already beat them to the punch and mentioned the "acceptable" route for a hypothetical planned pregnancy) round since I already didn't plan on passing on my family disabilities, and was fully aware of my choices, and I was fully aware of the permanent nature of this process. The surgery would take place in the morning of the first day, and I would be kept for 24 hours for observation until I was discharged the next day, in total 1 and a half days.

Now, I was aware that my disappearance for 1-2 days would be sus for my family, so I tried to schedule the surgery for a time where the holidays would overlap and they wouldn't think of it as something serious. But, there were concerns over the safety and the ability to perform so close to the break, so the immediate next was late January. This was problematic as the family business was about to pick up and scheduled appointments were to go in effect. Nonetheless, I had already sneaked out the schedule from one of the computers, and used it to plan around it the least busy days, to minimise the fallout. I knew there would be a fallout, it was my job to ensure the "reason" behind my brief disappearance was something like "family fight turned ugly" hence me leaving to cool off. My family being disturbed enough to be believable.

I remember that December, making a list on my phone, and a post in this subreddit, over my supplies for a smooth recovery, and me hiding them to not raise suspicion, as well as planning on how to make my bag as light as possible to handle and manage on my own. My partner was not in the country anymore, and I was all alone handling surgery. In the meantime, I stopped grey rocking and escalated on purpose any argument I could possibly do so.

I was scared I would fail, but I was also done. Done with the dysphoria of my own body betraying me one day, of my own existence being defined by a child which didn't even exist yet and I didn't want to exist, done with the fear that one day my family would say "enough! It's time to marry you off because you are close to expiring" and ending up trapped in a marriage with kids, done with me ending relationships once they expressed any desire to have kids (I had someone tell me that they would make sure I was a good mother and wouldn't let me be a bad one, I felt my insides shrivel up, broke up with them soon after) the fear of something happening and ending up pregnant nonetheless. I don't want kids, I never want to give up a life I haven't yet lived for a societal norm, I don't want to go through this pain and suffering.

January of 2026, I was as ready as I could be. The tensions in the family were high as I didn't grey rock as usual. I had my money, my schedule, my bag of supplies, easy clothes to slip in and out of and this feeling of "now or never".

THE NIGHT BEFORE

There was yet another big argument, one which was enough for me to turn audibly nasty, part genuine emotional outburst and part calculated to make my departure believable and not seem out of place. Up until that point I had made sure my upcoming surgery was kept secret, as I knew from my life so far, that my family was not to be trusted with this information. I had already tested them a year before by mentioning offhand the type of surgery I wanted to get at some point, and their reaction was bad. I didn't eat as prep. I only drank water and juices.

That night, I spent it sleepless. I was waiting for the tension and the anger to quiet down, for everyone to sleep, I've learned to listen for their breathing patterns and when was the best time to move around as they were in the deep phases of a sleep cycle. I felt awful for this, but I knew it was necessary if I were to be believed to be just an emotional creature. I made sure everything I had was silent, even my keys weren't jiggling, the Uber was already scheduled for early in the morning, taking into account the traffic and the scheduled arrival at the hospital. I managed to get out with everything, lock the door behind me, no one stirred.

I arrived at the hospital at 6 am, by 7 am I was done with my pre op exams and by 8 I was in the hospital room, preparing by being washed with that special soap, shaved, making sure there was nothing in my track, earrings removed, waiting for my phone to blow up with calls, which never did, because my plan had worked and the general ambience of the house was "mutual avoidance" and a "tit for tat" feeling, instead of panicking over my sudden disappearance. Plus a message or two I sent to a family member which I said that I would be back when I cooled off, my phone was set on airplane mode so at the very least it wouldn't ring in the room.

My intake forms had no one listed as emergency contact. The people on the beds next to me had family members around them, and I was alone, binding my time. The doctor saw me, at 9? 10 am, talked to me once again about the plan, asked me for one last time if I was sure about it, and I let him know with my full honesty that I was 100% on board. With that being said, he left to prepare, and 10 minutes later, a nurse came to pick me and wheel me out, to go into the surgery room.

I remember being sleepless, I remember being hungry and thirsty and cranky and without coffee. I remember being anxious as I entered the operating room and I got myself into position. I remember as the anesthesiologist tried to get a line it at first, but my veins were dancing around, and had to retry at a different spot. I remember worrying over my personal belongings as I was gone, and I remember my legs trembling, because I was alone about to have surgery, no one knew I was about to go under, and if shit hit the fan, it was up to me to get myself out of it. But most of all, I was ready to get my body back. I was ready to live my life. Last thing I remember, was the distinct feeling of the anesthesia taking hold with my vision becoming double, my nerves calming down, and my consciousness fading to a stop.

WAKING UP AFTER THE SURGERY

First thing I remember, was the analogue clock, which read somewhere after 11, I don't remember exact minutes. First thing I noticed was a feeling of soreness that comes after you were bloated, and the next was the fact that my surgery notes were on my blanket between my legs, which I picked up and promptly skimmed what they wrote. I saw fent in the notes for the anesthesia and apparently I said something funny like, oh you gave me the good batch of the stuff, which apparently made the guy who moved me back to my room to recover, laugh out loud. I had made sure, before the surgery, that everything I had would be accessible from my bed, and that it would also be hidden from prying eyes (corner beds for the win). Sure enough, I was very glad I had done so, as I was able to get my bag with ease and get my phone. No new messages about missed calls, no new calls, after the airplane mode was turned off.

As the doctor told me, the surgery went very well, no complications arose, the cuts were small and glued shut, so no stitches, to expect gas pain on shoulders and chest, and to go slowly and not strain myself in the bathroom. I remember when they moved me to my bed, how carefully I had to scoot over, the mesh like underwear and pad they had for me. I remember the first plate I tried to eat, I couldn't stomach anything more than a jello, everything else would upset my stomach. I remember being glad I brought a powerade with me for later and eucalyptus candy for my neck. I remember the feeling of cuts on my belly, and how weird the incisions felt. Not bad, just weird. I remember being extra careful on how I moved, I asked for help the first few times I took my walks to the door of the room and back, to help with the gas and the aftereffects of surgery. The worst thing, was the gas pain. Radiating on my back and under my ribcage, I had to find ways to turn and dislodge it, just to find relief. Also, I just slept until the evening, when I was able to stomach a bit more food, do a walk. I don't remember when, but at some point they also took the catheter out, so I was also able to go slowly to the bathroom. I was prepared and told beforehand about the uterus manipulation and how I would have some light bleeding, so I wasn't surprised for what I saw on the pad.

But, the greatest feeling was that of peace. There, on the bed, with cuts under my bandages, occasional gas pain, IV line slightly uncomfortable and the nurses changing bags after bags of fluids, I was finally at peace with myself. Despite it all, I was calm for the first time ever since I started this journey. I heard a newborn baby crying echoing somewhere in the building and for the first time, I didn't feel a twist in my stomach over an inescapable fate, like I used to get whenever I heard anything about babies. Because I knew now that I would never have to go through this. No matter what, I own my body in a way no one can take away from me. I finally felt secure and at home within my body, that evening, with all the pains and such.

NEXT MORNING AND DISCHARGE

The next morning, I woke up recharged and in less discomfort, and I saw for the first time what my cuts looked like, as they showed me how to change my bandages, how to clean them and keep them dry. They looked alright, small, and my bellybutton itched a bit, but all and all, they were doing great. I had made sure to bring loose fitting clothes, my shoes were easy to slip in, and my appetite was fully back. They kept me until 12 am, where my discharge papers were ready, so I was able to pick up my (light) things, walk myself to the desk, pay the hospital bill and the doctor, sign my discharge papers, and haul myself downstairs to the lobby area, where I took a breather, called an Uber and went back home. On the drive back, I made sure to take off the gauze from the IV, the bracelet, hide the medical forms in my bag, and ensure it would be at least a full day before anyone from my family had to see me.

I remember arriving at home, the tension still there, but had lessened significantly, no word over the arguments, just sweep under the rug. They didn't pay close attention to me, so they didn't see my lax clothes, or my careful walk. For them, I just disappeared for a day "God knows doing what" like throwing a tantrum and now I was back, still sulking. I had made sure that no bills would reach them, no phone calls, no nothing.

AFTERMATH

Over the next few days I took it easy, I avoided my family, I avoided heavy work on the family business, at some point there was a heavy ass one sided spat, In which I grey rocked like a boss, and that was the last of the tension that was brewing, because at the end of the day, they couldn't do anything than stop being asses because my presence and unpaid labour is still needed heavily in the family business. I was prepared for this stunt to get me thrown out of the house, but I banked on the codependent nature of the disfunction, because even when they say they want to kick you out, they never let you go. And I was right, the love bombing was beneficial to me.

Day by day it was getting easier for me to walk, and by the first week I was walking around like normal. I followed the care instructions with religious care, made sure no one saw me or my bandages, and I was sure glad I had prepared accordingly beforehand by getting sterile adhesive bandages. I used scar cream for the first few months, I had magnesium daily and vitamins to help along with my recovery and iron supplements which my doctor had prescribed. I also had near me lots of protein bars to snack on, and I also had a laxative, which proved itself to be the most useful of the bunch. All in all, my recovery was swift, uneventful, my family had and still has no idea I even had surgery in the first place.

Eventually, when I did get a chance to go on my follow up, everything checked out and I even got footage from my surgery, whenever I feel anxious over my family's pressure to have kids, I just know that I have proof of my freedom in a hidden folder in my phone.

EPILOGUE

Before I had the surgery, I held myself back from so many chances, I distanced myself from many relationships and potential partners, because even though I was vocal of my desire to not have kids, I was fully aware people didn't take this seriously and low key expected me sooner or later to give up this silly notion or end up with an "accident".

This surgery, this freedom over myself has given me a sense of inner peace unrivaled. I have started making plans for the future again, plans which I don't need to stash away for the sake of a future kid. I have taken my future back, and even though my family is still trying to get me to consider marriage and hurry up for the babies, I feel a new source of strength within me. I can now face them with calmness and say "I don't want kids, I don't plan on having kids" and remain calm when they try to hit back with the classic "it's inevitable, you must and you will".

WHAT I WOULD CHANGE IF I WAS ABLE

First of all, living with an overbearing family is a whole can of worms one must handle delicately, one must know how and when to play their hand and how to deal with them. Yes, that includes manipulation. Which takes me to the first thing I would have done differently.

-MOVE OUT AND LIVE ON MY OWN.

Seriously. The amount of freedom one gains when living away from home, as I had the experience to do so for 4 years until covid striked, makes you able to do things your way, plan your schedule and focus on your health.

-DO IT SOONER

I fell for the classic trap of leaving it for later, because all these people told me that I was wrong, that eventually I would want my own kids, and that everyone does eventually. I lost precious time agonising over this ill advised wait.

-MONEY

Money can't buy happiness, but sure as hell makes it easier to find it. I saved 3 grand and I was able to have this surgery fully private, without dealing with my country's public insurance, get top notch care and secure my transportation and aftercare. What I would have done was also rent a place like an Airbnb or a hotel room, to do it in a much calmer, private place, without worrying over snooping family members.

-LET SOMEONE KNOW

Due to the fact that I knew they would sabotage me, I could never trust my information with my family. I have some friends I texted and were aware and one also childfree and "fixed" so I wasn't totally alone, but I had no one to turn to in case everything went to shit. It's a surgery. They make 3 cuts, they pump you with carbon dioxide to inflate your abdomen area and cut your fallopian tubes with tools from tubes passing through said cuts. Something may happen, like bleeding, or the anesthesia doing something. And even after no complications arose, I may had packed light, but I still had to walk my ass out, handle the paperwork and the payment and carry my bag. While I was barely 24 hours out of said surgery.

In the end, the whole experience was a challenge for myself, to truly fight for my freedom, my peace of mind, and my future, and I can honestly say that I've earned this opportunity of a lifetime. It was a test of my skills, my patience, my will, and my knowledge. And since I was able to pull this off, I'm able to do anything.

I've done appeals almost constantly.