It’s no secret that Theo and I just celebrated our first anniversary. To commemorate our day, he took me out to dinner at this fancy hotel where we checked in for the night. He said he was saving a part of his allowance ever since we got together for this very moment, and I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

It was such a Theo thing to do, so I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s thoughtful (and very committed) like that!

That night was one of the best ones we’ve had, and I’m sure there’d be more of those in the future. There was, though, one event afterwards that drove me to the brink of anxiety.

I keep a period tracker on my phone. Thanks, technology! And it was always on point at predicting when my next period would come—up until last month. When I checked my phone for the first time after long, my heart dropped when it said I was a week late. I admit, we weren’t very careful and failed to prepare for the night of our anniversary. We promised to buy condoms in the convenience store just beside our hotel, but we got too caught up in the moment after we headed to our room after dinner. We both did consent and just did our best to make the experience as safe as possible. Yes I know, my false. Contraceptives are still key.

I did some digging online and found that pregnancy tests are most accurate a week after a missed period. Some sources say that period trackers aren’t always reliable, especially if your menstrual cycle is not regular, but I digress. I was overthinking so much that I had listened to every weird feeling in my body and suffixed it with “pregnancy symptom” on the search bar. I only gave up after I accepted the fact that the only way to end my worries is to actually buy a pregnancy test. Oh, how much I dreaded the thought of that. I swore to myself in the past that I’d never put myself in the position that I’d need one, and yet here I am!

I think it took me hours just plotting what to do at the drugstore. Should I just grab one, head to the cashier? Perhaps, pretend I’m shopping for some beauty products, shampoo, then hide the PT under the pile? I was certain I was about to go crazy(!!!)

It really wasn’t that I feared pharmacists or that I was shy. It was just scary to be judged. Very scary. It’s easy to say that we shouldn’t care about what strangers say about us, but it seems that they always have so much to say when you’re a girl. And I’m just a girl! I knew going in there meant I had to endure the silent (but judgy) looks everyone in the store would be giving me, and I could not bring myself to leave my condo for that very reason.

Then a notification from Theo, my darling, my savior, popped up on my phone. It was only then that I remembered that I could ask him for help. Of course, he happily obliged! He bought one for me before coming over—I immediately ran to the bathroom and skimmed through the instructions, thankful that Theo always reminds me to stay hydrated.

“That’s crazy,” I called out from the bathroom as I waited for the test’s 3-minute mark. “Weren’t you scared they were gonna judge you?”

“No,” Theo replied. “I don’t even know them!”

Before I could say anything back, the alarm I set on my phone rang, and relief washed over me as the line on the PT stayed singular. It was a negative. I know it might’ve been a more empowering story if I just bought the test myself and if I braved everybody’s judgment that day—but who said I couldn’t ask for help, right?!

Still though, I think I want to try other methods apart from just condoms. Maybe pills are the better choice for me, so I’m thinking of finding an OB-GYN soonest. Look, sometimes I still seek external validation (maybe a therapist is what I need? char!) so I’m not the toughest when it comes to going against the stigma. But I found that knowing my rights really helps, especially as someone whose friends are tired of giving advice to. (Hihi sorry!!!)