In conversation with Rochelle Armah

“Did you feel as though the onus was on you?”

It’s something I asked Rochelle Armah when we spoke about this piece. It’s something I have often felt each time a medical professional has encouraged me to be on contraception: a look of disproval in their eyes each time I shook my head. As if it did not take two to tango and the fault of pregnancy lay solely in the hands of women.

“Did you feel as though the onus was on you?”

Rochelle is 27-years-old, she lives with her partner, who she’s been with since she was 21, the age she first went on contraception. She’s tried two different kinds; the implant, which she hated and desogestrel, a progesterone only pill, which she loves.

This isn’t the first time we’ve spoken about her experience, but what I really wanted to get out of this conversation was whether she, like me and many others, ever felt like the burden was on her as woman to be on birth control: countlessly trial and erroring different forms regardless of how terrible her experience had been.

As aforementioned, Rochelle’s first contraceptive was the implant, also known as nexplanon. It’s a small and flexible rod that is fitted under the skin in the upper arm. It prevents pregnancy by releasing the hormone progesterone and is effective for up to three years. It’s not as widely used as the combined pill, though the implant is the most popular form of long acting reversible contraception (LARC), where LARCs, including the coil and injectable contraceptive, require no user action.

“In a strange sort of way, the thought of the pill worried me more than having the implant. To be completely honest, having always struggled with body image I had believed what others had said about the pill causing you to gain weight, so I think that had a big influence.”

As Rochelle recalls that time in her life, I’m troubled at how similar our experiences of mood shifts were. She tells me that it felt like she was either angry or crying the whole time and how the rush of hormones made her snappy and heightened her insecurities.

“I became quite unpleasant to be around”, she said.

A fun and yet, not so fun fact is that despite their differences, the combined pill and implant have a lot of side effects in common: irregular bleeding, mood swings, weight gain, headaches, acne, depressive moods, nausea and the AstraZeneca deterrent, blood clots – of which, your friendly government approved contraceptive is more likely to cause these than the vaccine, just saying.

Another fun and yet, for Rochelle, not so fun fact is that, sometimes sex talks from your father can be weirdly liberating. She finally had the implant removed after her dad expressed concern over how unhappy she was and noted her difficulty getting on with family members at home.

“He simply said that I should consider removing it and see how I feel. It was interesting as this actually felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders, just by making the decision.”

After removing the implant, Rochelle tried progesterone only pill desogestrel, which she has taken every day for the past 6 years and has experienced no side effects. It was a relief to hear, honestly, though it did make me wonder why she felt compelled to try another contraceptive despite the drastic impact it had on her mental health.

“It’s almost like it was the “done thing to do” and we never questioned it,” she told me. And I could relate, because I never questioned it either.

In a 2020 article written in The Oxford Student, Jackie Brown examines the way in which contraceptives are aimed at women and the inequality that arises as a result. She notes that there are many benefits and reasons why women would actively want to be on birth control; a popular one being the freedom and control it awards us over our sexuality without the risk of pregnancy. However, adds that there is something quite nefarious about the way in which women are expected and in many cases, encouraged to physically alter our bodies in order for us to exercise our own sexuality.

“It seems that the status of contraception today reveals the deeper, ingrained cultural sexism that is still prevalent.”

– Jacki Brown

As it stands, the burden of family planning, of safe sex, remains largely on the shoulders of women. Men are awarded a freedom when they know that a woman is on birth control. They are also awarded freedom by there not being any commonly advocated contraceptives for them to use. As it stands, the NHS only list two options for men: condoms or a vasectomy, which in comparison to a woman’s 13 options, is pathetic.

In this way, there is an uneven distribution of responsibility that society places on men and women. Meaning that regardless of how traumatic a woman’s experience on contraception may be, chances are, she’s going to try again whether she’s sure about that decision or not.

It warms me to hear that if there was any pressure that Rochelle did feel, it didn’t come from her relationship. While she maintains that to a degree she does feel as though the onus is on her, her partner Brad affirmed that it’s her body and that he was happy to take precautions where he can on his side.

Low key, I know that Brad’s gesture warming me shows that the bar truly is in hell, but it highlights a lot. Women are expected to be on contraception; it’s almost weird if we’re not. We are expected to withstand the physical and mental changes that come with it and we are primarily burdened with the guilt should we unexpectedly fall pregnant. Because in that situation, fault and responsibility are very rarely distributed evenly. As if it does not take two to tango and the fault of pregnancy lay solely in the hands of women. But high key, it doesn’t.

And on that note: it also takes two to rumba, but I don’t see anyone trying that in the bedroom 👀 *Sips Tea*

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