To Reproduce or Not to Reproduce? That is My Choice

to reproduce or not to reproduce? That is my choice.

by brooke harrison

TW: contains material relating to sexual assault and rape 

While I’m as pro-condom as one can be, I’ve never had a shot, a patch, an arm or uterine implant, a ring, or a pill besides Plan B (or the off-brand ones because, let's be real, they're cheaper and we’re broke college students) to prevent me from having kids. I find that fact kind of ironic given my genuine, palpable fear of ever getting pregnant (honestly praying for infertility at this point). 

It took me this long to firmly decide on using personal birth control because of the fear that was ingrained into me by my mom and many older women around me. The fear (or knowledge, as I’m sure they believed) they shared was that if girls under the age of 30 were to use any method outside of condoms, it would mess with their hormones and they would be catapulted into early menopause. It was always talked about in a way that seemed like my mom never considered her daughter could ever want or need birth control until I was off their insurance, and it was solely my responsibility. So, I never really discussed my going on birth control in high school; it just didn't seem like something I could ask for. 

I think part of her reasoning was that I never had any boy I was consistently (rarely ever) seeing in high school, let alone one I was introducing to or talking about with my parents, so to her, it was a non-issue. I remember at one point later in high school that my dad even had a conversation with me that he would bring me somewhere if I needed anything related to the OBGYN, (which is insane to think about if you knew what a crazy conservative he was and is) because there was that little of a dialogue between my mom and I when it came to this subject. 

We started speaking more about reproductive health care together at the end of Donald Trump’s (wish I could say my name for him) first term as president, but even then, it was mostly about rape culture and abortion access. 

I distinctly remember the anxiety that riddled me when I had a conversation with my mom the summer before college about going on birth control, and it was met with a shocked look, another lecture on the danger of messing with your hormones, and her telling me we would discuss it later (which apparently meant in four years). 

I have to make this clear: my mom isn’t conservative, ultra-religious, or anti-choice in any way. Let's just say anything that had to do with sex when I was growing up mostly felt like an untouchable, uncomfortable, have-to-walk-on-eggshells area with her. It’s gotten a little better over the years, but I know if she read half of what I write or knew a fourth of what I do, she’d most likely shit a brick. She’s who I love the most, my favorite person, one of my role models (in some areas), yet one of the judgiest people I know; somehow, all those identities coexist (says almost every mother-daughter relationship song/movie ever).

This brings us to November 2024, when Trump won his second presidential term, starting what one could call “The Age of Panic.” When I learned that Trump had won, the first person I called was my mom. Like a child who had a nightmare, I needed the maternal comfort she could give me. I was distraught and rambling about how scared I was, and amidst my ramble, I told her I wanted to get an IUD.

For the first time in my life, I wasn't the least bit anxious to bring up my birth control use to my mom because I knew that she knew–like most women–that this Trump term was different, and I think she was as scared for me as I was. Her reply was something along the lines of, “I understand. Do your research to see which one will be the best fit for you… then book an appointment, and I’ll send you our insurance card.” 

Maybe to some, it looks like a hasty decision to want to insert something into my body for years immediately after hearing breaking news, but it felt like one of the only ways I could have control over my future. 

When Project 2025 was first announced, I made the conscious decision to try to exclude Assigned Male at Birth (AMAB) people from my dating pool because of my fear of possibly getting pregnant at all, let alone in Trump’s America. However, that decision did little to calm the voice in my head that was shouting at me that I would likely be raped again, but this time there would be no options to protect myself after. After his win, that voice manifested into full-blown anxiety attacks. I knew unless I took control of my reproductive future while I still had a choice, that choice would be stripped from me violently, no matter how much I tried to fight it. 

While my inner monologue was doing my head in,  I was doing my research on IUDs and asking people around me who had experience with the procedure to make sure I was choosing the best IUD type and brand for myself. 

The appointment was booked at a Planned Parenthood (which I can’t recommend more… we need to use them while we have them), and I was leaning towards the copper IUD but wanted to wait to talk to my doctor before I made a concrete decision. 

This would be my first time going to any gynecologist, and the stories of speculums were already haunting me, but I knew they were a “necessary evil” (debatable because of how medieval it is). I first got a routine line of questions… how many partners I’ve had, condom use, then more in-depth questions about the IUD, and both physicians I met with answered all the questions I had. I chose the copper IUD because it can last up to 12 years (all I heard was 3 Trump terms), I wouldn't have to worry about hormonal acne, and I had a relatively light and short period with minimal cramping, so the symptoms of a more intense period on all fronts wasn’t a deal breaker for me.

Two gynecologists performed the procedure, and they checked in with me constantly to make sure that I was okay. Any time I spoke of needing less or more of something, they would tell me how proud they were of me for speaking up. I had never felt this safe and comfortable with doctors before… they even told me I could play songs during the procedure to ease my nerves. I immediately asked my bestie, who was in the room as my support person, to hand me my phone so I could play my Happy Disassociation playlist. Charli XCX was blaring as I got my cervical shot to accompany the ibuprofen I took to ease the pain of inserting the IUD. One of the gynos joked about how Charli would be proud to be part of this moment (to which I giggly told them they couldn’t make me laugh or the speculum was gonna shoot out). My bestie held my hand the entire time, and a part of me felt overwhelmed with the sense of community and sisterhood I felt in that room. There wasn’t a single time where I felt out of control, out of my body, unsafe, unloved, or judged by any of the women in that room. It was, interestingly, one of the most gratifying experiences of my life. 

After it was done, they told me to take all the time I needed and gave me menstrual and heating pads for the side effects. My bestie drove me back and lovingly took care of me when we got back to our apartment as I dealt with the truly horrific cramps that followed. 

I felt and still feel so lucky and grateful that not only did I get to choose that appointment but that I was supported through the entire process. If you, too, are contemplating going on birth control, I strongly suggest the IUD because of how hands-off and long-lasting they are after they're in; then you just have to debate the non-hormonal vs hormonal. No matter what method you decide on, please bring a support person with you; no one should have to deal with those appointments, procedures, and sometimes their aftermath, alone if they don't want to. (I’m so serious, so if you’re in Boston and you feel like you don't have a person you can trust to come with you, I'm begging you to please reach out to me. I will clear any weekend, no questions asked). 

Whatever y’all decide to do with your bodies and your futures, I hope you feel loved, supported, and safe.