u/Possible_Beyond2759

aniversário dele chegando, e sempre gostei de presentear meu marido com coisas mais significativas, sabe? coisas que realmente têm a ver com os gostos pessoais dele e hobbies…

em 2022 dei um oculus quest 2, em 2023 um celular novo, em 2024 um headset da razer + alguns conjuntos de lego, em 2025 um mousepad novo + um monitor aoc de 32” 180Hz + dois sticks de ram ddr5 (sei q é meio aleatório mas ele gostou bastante KKKKKKKK)

agora em 2026 tô tentando decidir entre um steam deck ou um volante logitech g29. mas aceito outras sugestões também!! não precisa ser necessariamente relacionado à jogo.

homens gamers do sub, o que vocês gostariam de ganhar da esposa/namorada de vocês? especialmente pensando em algo realmente divertido, útil ou memorável.

Mulher, 23 anos, casamento sem sexo. Meu marido é 1 ano mais novo que eu. Estamos literalmente no auge da juventude e estamos desperdiçando ela, pq vivemos como colegas de quarto.

Eu não quero atenção de nenhum outro homem. Sou 100% fiel em todos esses anos, e só quero a dele, e é a única que, por mais que eu tente, não consigo ter. Somos católicos, casamos cedo e acreditamos genuinamente que o matrimônio é sagrado e indissolúvel. Separação não é uma opção pra mim, mas sinceramente… eu nem quero isso. Eu amo ele de verdade.

Nos conhecemos muito jovens, namoramos, e casamos uns 5 anos depois. Fomos os primeiros um do outro em tudo.

No começo, sexo parecia algo empolgante pra ele, talvez por ser uma experiência nova, éramos virgens os dois, e inclusive demorou várias tentativas até realmente acontecer. Mas depois que finalmente aconteceu, ele parece que simplesmente perdeu o interesse. Comigo foi o contrário, eu queria frequentemente ter intimidade com ele. Com o passar dos anos, o nosso “normal” virou passar meses e meses sem absolutamente nada, até que eu finalmente cedo, tomo iniciativa e aí acontece uma vez… talvez a cada 2 ou 3 meses.

Isso não pode ser normal pra um casal tão novo.

Anos atrás ele tinha problema com pornografia e destruiu minha confiança conversando com outras mulheres online. Tenho certeza de que nunca foi físico porque literalmente vivemos juntos o tempo inteiro (os dois trabalham home office), mas emocionalmente aquilo me destruiu. Mas, se passou muito tempo e preciso ser justa, ele realmente mudou. Ele começou terapia e leva muito a sério. Parou com pornografia, ficou mais disciplinado, melhorou academicamente, profissionalmente, fisicamente, emocionalmente… honestamente, ele se tornou um homem muito melhor do que era antes. Eu admiro muito ele. Ele é inteligente, esforçado, culto, temos vários interesses em comum e as vezes ficamos horas discutindo sobre eles. Política, filosofia, doutrina e história da Igreja…Eu realmente acredito que ele é o amor da minha vida. Mas sexualmente parece que eu simplesmente não existo pra ele.

Nós já tivemos essa conversa incontáveis vezes ao longo dos anos. Já chorei, implorei, tentei conversar de forma calma e compreensiva… mas nada nunca muda de verdade.

Ele só joga videogame o tempo inteiro. Mesmo quando “passamos tempo juntos”, ele continua no celular jogando. Às vezes parece que toda a energia compulsiva que antes ia pra outros vícios como a pornografia foi redirecionada pra jogos (ele já tinha vício em jogos desde sempre, principalmente CS e LOL, mas tbm Valorant e etc. Eu inclusive passei a jogar com ele, pra podermos passar tempo juntos de alguma forma).

Ele leva seu trabalho mto a sério todos os dias no home office. Faz exercícios diariamente. Tem rotina rígida. Busca melhorar em várias áreas da vida. Mas quando o assunto é intimidade comigo… simplesmente não existe interesse.

E isso dói mto porque eu estou sempre aqui, esperando ele e alguma atitude, e ele sabe disso.

Eu não sei mais o que fazer. Não sei se ele é evitativo, traumatizado, se tem medo de intimidade, se o cérebro dele ficou destruído por dopamina rápida, ou qualquer outra coisa… pq as vezes eu deixo MUITO claro que quero e ele simplesmente caga. Eu genuinamente não consigo entender como um homem de 22 anos consegue passar meses sem tocar na própria esposa e aparentemente ficar bem com isso.

Conselhos? O que eu faço? :(

I really think more women with anxiety or panic should look into post birth control syndrome, especially because one of the biggest reasons many of us never make the connection is that the symptoms often don’t begin immediately after stopping hormonal birth control. It’s not talked about enough. We’re often silenced about it, actually. But that’s what happened to me. Months after stopping the pill, I developed extremely severe anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia, intrusive thoughts, derealization, constant dread, just this horrible feeling of impending doom and etc. Since some time had already passed, neither I nor the doctors associated it with birth control at all. I was pushed to psychiatrists who tried treating me with SSRIs, but they made me feel even worse.

And yes, I already had anxiety before this. But it was NOTHING like this. My usual anxiety was manageable. It had specific triggers and improved a lot with psychotherapy over the years.

What happened after stopping birth control was completely different… It didn’t feel mental first and physical second. It felt physical first. Like my body was stuck in permanent fight or flight and my brain was trying to make sense of it afterward. I would wake up already terrified before even having a conscious thought. It felt foreign to me, like something had chemically shifted or idk. It did not feel like me.

The pill itself didn’t even make me anxious while I was taking it. The crash only started months later, around month 4 or 5 after stopping, and peaked around month 7 which is exactly why I never connected the dots.

Eventually, after a long time, I recovered completely. Then years later, since I still hadn’t made the connection and doctors kept pushing it, I tried another hormonal pill, stopped it because it gave me migraines with aura, and the exact same thing happened to me again.

That second time is what made me stop dismissing the connection myself.

I’m not saying this is what everyone here is experiencing, obviously. But I genuinely think there are women out there suffering right now who may never even think to look back at hormonal changes because nobody talks about the fact that symptoms can appear later, after stopping. And if you do bring it up, most doctors will immediately push you toward psychiatry instead.

Also, something important I’ve learned through all this: “normal” test results do not necessarily mean your body feels okay or fully regulated. Sometimes things are a lot more complicated than that. Make sure they’re all “optimized”.

If you’re going through something similar, there are support groups here on Reddit and on Facebook filled with women describing almost identical experiences. Finding those communities was one of the only things that stopped me from feeling completely insane and alone during the worst of it.

You are not alone. And you can recover from this, even if it feels impossible right now.

I’m sharing this as a personal experience and broader reflection on how post-birth-control symptoms are often handled medically.

I have spent the past few months thinking about how to write this without sounding “crazy,” dramatic, emotional, or hysterical, which is interesting in itself, because I don’t think men are taught to preemptively defend their sanity every time they describe a medical experience.

But women are.

Especially when the symptoms involve hormones, mood, the nervous system, fear, intrusive thoughts, insomnia, or anything else that can conveniently be collapsed into the word “anxiety.”

Two years ago, I started taking Minima (gestodene + ethinyl estradiol). The pill itself already affected me badly from the beginning. I had constant nausea, migraines, felt sick most of the time, and eventually had to stop taking it because my body simply was not tolerating it well. And I thought that would be the end of the story.

Instead, a few months later, something happened to me that I still struggle to properly put into words, mostly because language itself feels insufficient for this kind of experience. People hear words like anxiety, panic, OCD, derealization, insomnia, and they automatically translate them into familiar concepts. Stress, worry, trauma.

This did not feel like that, though. I would know. What happened to me felt profoundly physical.

I remember trying to explain to people that it felt as if my entire nervous system had become incapable of producing a normal emotional baseline anymore. As if my body had been stuck in some state of chemical alarm that my mind then had to desperately make sense of afterward. The fear came first. The thoughts came later. Not the other way around. There were no triggers, it was generalized, and I did not identify with it or recognize it as myself.

Because when you are dealing with ordinary anxiety, there is usually some degree of identifiable psychology behind it. Patterns, associations. Even when irrational, there is still some emotional logic connecting things together.

What I experienced felt completely detached from context.

I could wake up terrified before even having a conscious thought. I developed severe insomnia. Obsessive thoughts. Intrusive thoughts so violent and disturbing that they made me afraid of my own brain. Waves of dread so intense that I genuinely started wondering whether I was losing my mind permanently.

And throughout all of this, every single explanation I received was psychiatric.

I was prescribed Lexapro first, which made everything exponentially worse. Then venlafaxine. Then anxiolytics. At one point, it felt as though every professional I spoke to had already decided what category I belonged in before even listening carefully to what I was actually describing. An anxious woman, a psychiatric case, another girl overreacting to stress.

What nobody seemed interested in discussing was the timing.

Why did this happen only after hormonal birth control?
Why had I never experienced anything remotely close to this before?
Why did the entire thing eventually disappear after enough time had passed?

Because that is the part people tend to ignore when they dismiss women talking about post birth control syndrome: many of us recover.

Slowly, painfully, over months or years, our systems stabilize again. We become functional again. We feel like ourselves again. Which should, at the very least, raise questions worth investigating more seriously than they currently are.

Eventually, after nearly two years, my life returned to normal. Completely normal. The anxiety vanished. The insomnia disappeared. The intrusive thoughts stopped. It was as though my nervous system had slowly crawled its way back toward equilibrium.

And because nobody had ever connected the experience to birth control in the first place, I later trusted another doctor and started Slynd.

At first, everything seemed fine. Then came the migraines with aura. So I stopped again.

And then, horrifyingly, the exact same psychological and neurological collapse began returning piece by piece. The same fear. The same insomnia. The same unbearable physical anxiety. The same obsessive intrusive thoughts.

That was the moment I stopped being able to dismiss the connection myself.

What frustrates me is not that medicine does not yet have perfect answers. I understand that science evolves slowly, that anecdotes are not clinical trials, that correlation alone does not prove causation.

What frustrates me is the arrogance with which women’s experiences are often discarded the moment they fall outside currently accepted frameworks.

There is technically recognition that hormonal contraceptives can affect mood. There is recognition that they alter neurosteroid pathways, stress responses, neurotransmitter activity, inflammatory processes, and hormonal regulation. There is recognition that some women experience severe psychiatric symptoms both during use and after discontinuation.

And yet when women actually describe these experiences in real life, they are still so often treated as unreliable narrators of their own bodies.

It reminds me of how medicine has historically handled countless issues affecting women: first dismissal, then minimization, then decades later a reluctant acknowledgment that maybe something real had been happening all along. And I think one of the cruelest parts of this experience is the uncertainty. Because when your tests come back “normal,” when doctors tell you this cannot possibly be happening, when nobody around you understands the depth of the terror you are living in, you begin questioning your own reality constantly.

You start wondering:
Am I developing schizophrenia?
Am I permanently damaged?
Will I ever feel normal again?
Did I somehow break my brain?

People underestimate how dangerous that uncertainty becomes when someone is already in such a physiologically fragile state.

Not everyone survives this experience emotionally.

And no, I am not saying birth control is evil, or that every woman will experience this, or that millions of women who take it safely are lying. Obviously not.

But I am saying that women who experience catastrophic nervous system and psychiatric symptoms temporally associated with starting or stopping hormonal contraceptives deserve far more curiosity, investigation, humility, and compassion than they currently receive.

Because being repeatedly told “it’s impossible” while living through something this severe does not calm you down. It isolates you. And the isolation becomes almost as frightening as the symptoms themselves.

If you are experiencing something like this, you are not crazy, and you are definitely not alone.

Sometimes I think about how many women are probably living through this right now without ever making the connection. How many are being told they are simply anxious, unstable, overreacting, mentally ill. How many are questioning their sanity in silence because nobody around them recognizes what they are describing.

And then I think about how many women are about to go through the same suffering without even knowing it is a possibility.

That is the entire reason I wrote this.

Not to scare women away from birth control. Not to claim that every symptom is caused by hormones. But because WOMEN DESERVE informed consent, and informed consent includes acknowledging experiences that medicine still does not fully understand yet.

And above all, because people deserve compassion while they are suffering.

If you are going through this, please seek support. Therapeutic help can still be extremely important, especially when dealing with the fear, isolation, OCD symptoms, intrusive thoughts, and emotional exhaustion that experiences like this can create.

And if you need someone to talk to, you are also welcome to message me.

No one should have to navigate something this frightening completely alone.

I’m sharing this as a personal experience and broader reflection on how post-birth-control symptoms are often handled medically.

I have spent the past few months thinking about how to write this without sounding “crazy,” dramatic, emotional, or hysterical, which is interesting in itself, because I don’t think men are taught to preemptively defend their sanity every time they describe a medical experience.

But women are.

Especially when the symptoms involve hormones, mood, the nervous system, fear, intrusive thoughts, insomnia, or anything else that can conveniently be collapsed into the word “anxiety.”

Two years ago, I started taking Minima (gestodene + ethinyl estradiol). The pill itself already affected me badly from the beginning. I had constant nausea, migraines, felt sick most of the time, and eventually had to stop taking it because my body simply was not tolerating it well. And I thought that would be the end of the story.

Instead, a few months later, something happened to me that I still struggle to properly put into words, mostly because language itself feels insufficient for this kind of experience. People hear words like anxiety, panic, OCD, derealization, insomnia, and they automatically translate them into familiar concepts. Stress, worry, trauma.

This did not feel like that, though. I would know. What happened to me felt profoundly physical.

I remember trying to explain to people that it felt as if my entire nervous system had become incapable of producing a normal emotional baseline anymore. As if my body had been stuck in some state of chemical alarm that my mind then had to desperately make sense of afterward. The fear came first. The thoughts came later. Not the other way around. There were no triggers, it was generalized, and I did not identify with it or recognize it as myself.

Because when you are dealing with ordinary anxiety, there is usually some degree of identifiable psychology behind it. Patterns, associations. Even when irrational, there is still some emotional logic connecting things together.

What I experienced felt completely detached from context.

I could wake up terrified before even having a conscious thought. I developed severe insomnia. Obsessive thoughts. Intrusive thoughts so violent and disturbing that they made me afraid of my own brain. Waves of dread so intense that I genuinely started wondering whether I was losing my mind permanently.

And throughout all of this, every single explanation I received was psychiatric.

I was prescribed Lexapro first, which made everything exponentially worse. Then venlafaxine. Then anxiolytics. At one point, it felt as though every professional I spoke to had already decided what category I belonged in before even listening carefully to what I was actually describing. An anxious woman, a psychiatric case, another girl overreacting to stress.

What nobody seemed interested in discussing was the timing.

Why did this happen only after hormonal birth control?
Why had I never experienced anything remotely close to this before?
Why did the entire thing eventually disappear after enough time had passed?

Because that is the part people tend to ignore when they dismiss women talking about post birth control syndrome: many of us recover.

Slowly, painfully, over months or years, our systems stabilize again. We become functional again. We feel like ourselves again. Which should, at the very least, raise questions worth investigating more seriously than they currently are.

Eventually, after nearly two years, my life returned to normal. Completely normal. The anxiety vanished. The insomnia disappeared. The intrusive thoughts stopped. It was as though my nervous system had slowly crawled its way back toward equilibrium.

And because nobody had ever connected the experience to birth control in the first place, I later trusted another doctor and started Slynd.

At first, everything seemed fine. Then came the migraines with aura. So I stopped again.

And then, horrifyingly, the exact same psychological and neurological collapse began returning piece by piece. The same fear. The same insomnia. The same unbearable physical anxiety. The same obsessive intrusive thoughts.

That was the moment I stopped being able to dismiss the connection myself.

What frustrates me is not that medicine does not yet have perfect answers. I understand that science evolves slowly, that anecdotes are not clinical trials, that correlation alone does not prove causation.

What frustrates me is the arrogance with which women’s experiences are often discarded the moment they fall outside currently accepted frameworks.

There is technically recognition that hormonal contraceptives can affect mood. There is recognition that they alter neurosteroid pathways, stress responses, neurotransmitter activity, inflammatory processes, and hormonal regulation. There is recognition that some women experience severe psychiatric symptoms both during use and after discontinuation.

And yet when women actually describe these experiences in real life, they are still so often treated as unreliable narrators of their own bodies.

It reminds me of how medicine has historically handled countless issues affecting women: first dismissal, then minimization, then decades later a reluctant acknowledgment that maybe something real had been happening all along. And I think one of the cruelest parts of this experience is the uncertainty. Because when your tests come back “normal,” when doctors tell you this cannot possibly be happening, when nobody around you understands the depth of the terror you are living in, you begin questioning your own reality constantly.

You start wondering:
Am I developing schizophrenia?
Am I permanently damaged?
Will I ever feel normal again?
Did I somehow break my brain?

People underestimate how dangerous that uncertainty becomes when someone is already in such a physiologically fragile state.

Not everyone survives this experience emotionally.

And no, I am not saying birth control is evil, or that every woman will experience this, or that millions of women who take it safely are lying. Obviously not.

But I am saying that women who experience catastrophic nervous system and psychiatric symptoms temporally associated with starting or stopping hormonal contraceptives deserve far more curiosity, investigation, humility, and compassion than they currently receive.

Because being repeatedly told “it’s impossible” while living through something this severe does not calm you down. It isolates you. And the isolation becomes almost as frightening as the symptoms themselves.

If you are experiencing something like this, you are not crazy, and you are definitely not alone.

Sometimes I think about how many women are probably living through this right now without ever making the connection. How many are being told they are simply anxious, unstable, overreacting, mentally ill. How many are questioning their sanity in silence because nobody around them recognizes what they are describing.

And then I think about how many women are about to go through the same suffering without even knowing it is a possibility.

That is the entire reason I wrote this.

Not to scare women away from birth control. Not to claim that every symptom is caused by hormones. But because WOMEN DESERVE informed consent, and informed consent includes acknowledging experiences that medicine still does not fully understand yet.

And above all, because people deserve compassion while they are suffering.

If you are going through this, please seek support. Therapeutic help can still be extremely important, especially when dealing with the fear, isolation, OCD symptoms, intrusive thoughts, and emotional exhaustion that experiences like this can create.

And if you need someone to talk to, you are also welcome to message me.

No one should have to navigate something this frightening completely alone.