For most of my adult life, birth control was just another thing to check off the list—like paying rent or remembering to defrost dinner. I got on the pill in college because that’s what everyone did. No one explained what it did beyond “you won’t get pregnant.” That was enough at the time.

Fast forward a few years, and I started noticing things. Subtle, quiet shifts that were easy to ignore if I wasn’t paying attention. Low energy, random waves of anxiety, a weird detachment from my own cycle. The irony? I had no cycle. Not really. Bleeding on the pill isn’t a period, and it took me years to realize I hadn’t had a natural one in almost a decade.

That realization hit harder than I expected.

I decided to stop. Not dramatically—no big moment, no loud declaration. I just… didn’t refill my pack one month. I thought I was ready, but I wasn’t prepared for what came next.

First thing no one warned me about: your body’s not going to snap back overnight.

I assumed my period would come back in a month or two. It didn’t. It took almost six months for any kind of pattern to show up, and another few after that for things to feel somewhat predictable. During that time, I had breakouts, fatigue, and a whole identity crisis around my fertility.

I felt disconnected from my body, but in a different way than I did on the pill. Now it was like I was learning it all from scratch—like tuning into a radio frequency that had always been playing in the background but I never paid attention to.

Second: your emotions might get louder—but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Without the hormonal regulation of the pill, I started feeling more emotional around my cycle. At first, it scared me. I was worried I was becoming unstable. But the more I tracked things, the more I realized these fluctuations weren’t random. They had a rhythm. There was clarity in it once I stopped treating my emotions like problems to be fixed.

Turns out, what I thought was “emotional” was actually just me being in tune with myself for once.

This is also when I found Natural Cycles. At first, I was skeptical. The idea of using body temperature to track fertility felt like something out of a wellness influencer’s fantasy. But it wasn’t about vibes—it was backed by research, and once I started using it, it changed the way I related to my body.

Every morning, I took my temperature. It was simple. And within a few weeks, I started to see patterns. Ovulation spikes. Luteal phase drops. It made sense. Natural Cycles didn’t just help me avoid pregnancy—it helped me finally understand what the hell was going on inside me.

Third: birth control isn’t just about not getting pregnant. It’s about control.

When I was on hormonal birth control, I outsourced that control to a pack of pills. When I switched to Natural Cycles, I got it back. It made me more aware of when I was fertile, yes—but it also gave me permission to plan around my energy, my mood, even my sex drive.

I started to notice that I felt more social around ovulation, more introspective during PMS. I stopped forcing myself to do high-energy things when I was on my period. I didn’t punish myself for needing rest. It felt like… respect. For my body. For my cycle. For the signals I used to silence.

But here’s the part people don’t talk about much: it takes work.

Using a method like Natural Cycles isn’t just a switch—it’s a habit. You have to commit. You have to track your temperature daily, log your period, be honest about symptoms. And some days, that’s annoying. Especially when life gets chaotic.

But over time, it becomes second nature. It stops feeling like a chore and starts feeling like data you actually want to have. Not because you’re obsessed with numbers, but because it’s yours. It’s your body, your rhythm, your decisions.

It’s not for everyone—and that’s fine.

I’m not here to say ditch hormonal birth control. It works for a lot of people. For some, it’s necessary. But I think we need more honest conversations about the alternatives. About what it feels like to come off the pill. About the options that exist in the middle of “hormones” and “nothing.”

Natural Cycles isn’t the only way, but it was the right way for me. It helped me understand when I was fertile, yes—but more importantly, it helped me understand myself.

Now, every time I track a temp or log a symptom, I’m not just preventing pregnancy. I’m participating in my body’s story—one I spent years ignoring.

And no one warned me how powerful that would feel.

Last modified: June 9, 2025