PCOS: Four Years of Not Feeling Like Myself

It’s been about four years now of trying to figure out why my body started feeling unfamiliar. Like I was living in someone else’s skin.

I’ve always had irregular periods, so that part wasn’t new. The chaos of never knowing when my cycle would show up was just normal for me.
But around four years ago, other things started shifting in ways that felt wrong.

My weight started climbing and, I ended up at the heaviest I have ever been. It was a slow build that just kept going. My face looked puffier, like I was constantly holding on to water. The bloating became a daily thing, not just something that happened after meals. I felt tired all the time, like I was moving through mud. And the cravings for sugar and carbs were intense. Not just the usual kind, but a desperate need that felt completely out of my control.

I didn’t feel like myself anymore. Not physically, not mentally. It was like watching my body rebel against everything I thought I knew about it.

Year 1: The Stress Excuse

I went to the doctor, armed with a mental list of everything that felt wrong. They blamed stress, as they have always done. It’s funny how “stress” becomes the catch-all explanation for women’s health issues, isn’t it? Like our bodies are just naturally prone to falling apart under pressure.

They said it could be hormonal and the blood tests showed my hormones being out of balance, but that was the end of it. No curiosity about what might be causing the imbalance. No follow-up appointments. Just a smile and a suggestion to “try to relax more.”

I left feeling dismissed and a bit crazy, wondering if I was just imagining how different everything felt but this is when I started getting hair growth in undesirable places, so something was definitely off.

Year 2: Getting Warmer

Went back because things weren’t getting better. This time, the blood tests showed something clear evidence on something being wrong. My testosterone was abnormally high, not just slightly elevated, but properly high. My cholesterol was climbing too, which felt particularly unfair since I wasn’t eating any differently than before.

They sent me for an ultrasound which I thought was a relief as I thought they are taking me seriously now. They found cysts in my ovaries and said it does indicate that I have or am developing PCOS.

The symptoms lined up perfectly: fatigue that sleep couldn’t fix, cravings that felt like they were controlling me rather than the other way around, irregular cycles that made planning anything impossible, mood changes that left me feeling like I was on an emotional roller coaster I couldn’t get off.

But no diagnosis. They said I was too young at 23. As if PCOS waits until you’re 30 to show up. They didn’t want to “label” it, as if giving it a name would somehow make it worse rather than giving me something to work with. I was told to come back when I want to have children and if I struggle with that.

No treatment. No plan. Just vague advice to manage stress and “look after myself”, whatever that was supposed to mean when I was already trying everything I could think of.

Year 3: Hope in the Highlands

I moved to the Highlands, hoping for a fresh start with healthcare too. New GP, new perspective, maybe someone who would actually listen.

I brought it up again, this time with a folder full of previous test results. This doctor seemed more thorough and they ran blood tests regularly for about 8 months, tracking patterns and changes. I felt hopeful for the first time in a long while that someone was taking this seriously.

Eventually, I was sent for another ultrasound. Cysts, still there. The technician was chatty and mentioned how “textbook” everything looked for PCOS. Still, no official diagnosis. The reason this time was even more frustrating. Apparently because I had a coil, they couldn’t diagnose PCOS. Some bureaucratic nonsense about how the coil altering periods even though I have had irregular periods since I started having them at the age of 11-ish. But they did verbally confirm I had it, just didn’t write it down anywhere official. It felt like being told you’re sick but not sick enough to matter on paper.

No support, no follow-up beyond that conversation. Just a suggestion to go on a Mediterranean diet, handed to me like a consolation prize. As if olive oil and fish were going to fix years of hormonal chaos.

Year 4: Finally, Someone Who Gets It

Four months ago, I tried again with yet another doctor. I was honestly exhausted by this point, tired of explaining the same symptoms, tired of being dismissed, tired of feeling like I was begging for basic healthcare. But this time felt different from the moment I walked in. She actually looked through all my results properly, asked questions, and then just said it how it was: “Yes, it’s PCOS, without any doubts.”

She prescribed Metformin, 500mg twice a day, to manage insulin resistance. Finally, actual medication for an actual condition, not just lifestyle advice thrown at a wall. However, I was surprised to be given any meds at all. I had gone in expecting nothing just hoping for some kind of acknowledgment.

Four Months In: Small Changes

Cravings: Less constant, which is huge. I’m not spending entire afternoons thinking about chocolate, and I can actually just have a few bites and be satisfied instead of eating the whole bar.

Energy: Slightly more stable but I have always suffered from sleeping issues so any improvement is great.

Weight: Not changing yet, which is frustrating but not surprising. I’ve learned that PCOS weight is stubborn in ways that regular weight isn’t.

Face puffiness: Still there, still making me feel like I’m looking at a stranger in photos.

Mood: Lighter on some days, still flat on others. I am still the same restless me so cant be blamed on PCOS entirely.

It’s not a transformation. But it’s something. And after years of nothing, something feels like everything.

The Mental Load

Over these years, I started feeling really uncomfortable in my own body in ways that went beyond just physical symptoms. I avoided mirrors, turning away when I caught glimpses of myself unexpectedly. Taking photos became something I dreaded, every picture seemed to show this puffy, tired version of myself that I didn’t recognize.

I stopped skinny dipping, something I used to love. There’s something about PCOS that makes you hyper-aware of your body in all the wrong ways. The weight distribution changes, the way clothes fit differently, the way your face looks in certain lighting.

I haven’t felt like dating, partly because I don’t feel attractive, but mostly because I don’t feel like myself.

Getting the diagnosis hasn’t fixed all that, but it gave me something solid. A reason for why I felt so disconnected from myself. A place to start working from, rather than just flailing around trying random solutions.

There’s also this slight fear that creeps in; not being able to have babies as I’m getting older and am very single. PCOS and fertility issues often go hand in hand, and at 27, I feel I should meet my person soon so it wont be too late, but I dont want to date since I do not like myself these days.. It is a vicious cycle. I also hate online dating (a story for another time) and meeting someone organically feels impossible these days.

What Now

• Keep taking Metformin (and dealing with the lovely digestive side effects)
• Try to be more active in ways that work for my body rather than anger it by too high intensity workouts.
• Sleep more (easier said than done, but I’m working on it)
• Keep food and blood sugar more steady (bye bye snacks)

Apparently, I should aim to have as stress-free a life as possible to keep things balanced. Well, too bad life is not very zen. Between work pressures, financial worries, questions about what the hell I am doing, and just the general chaos of being alive in 2025, “stress-free” feels like a luxury I can’t afford.

I’m still figuring it out, still learning what works and what doesn’t. Some days are better than others. But for the first time in four years, I have a name for what I’m dealing with, medication that might help, and a sense that I’m not just imagining all of this.

If you have PCOS, helloo sister! And if not, helloo lucky bastard.