From Diagnosis to Empowerment: My Journey with a Chronic Illness

My Journey with Endometriosis: A Battle for Belief and Healing

From the outside, I looked fine. But that’s the cruel, deceptive nature of endometriosis—it’s an invisible disease, lurking beneath the surface, ready to strike without warning. One moment, I could be going about my day, appearing normal, living life as everyone else does. But then, without any notice, my body would betray me, turning against itself in a wave of pain so intense it would leave me completely incapacitated. Imagine trying to explain to the world that today you’re okay, but tomorrow you might not be able to get out of bed. Endometriosis is an inflammatory condition, one that can’t be willed into submission or ignored. It’s a relentless force, unpredictable and invisible, and living with it is like carrying a ticking time bomb inside your body. This is my story of fighting not only the disease but also the disbelief of those around me, and how I learned to navigate a world that couldn’t see the battle I was waging every single day.

When I first started experiencing symptoms, I had no idea what was happening to me. I’d always been told that period pain was normal, so I brushed it off, thinking it was all in my head, that maybe I was just being overdramatic. But deep down, I knew something was wrong. The pain was different, sharper, more relentless, but every time I sought help, I was met with dismissal. Doctor after doctor told me it was just constipation, anxiety, or worse, that I was simply seeking attention or drugs. I felt utterly defeated, exhausted from the constant invalidation. I remember breaking down in tears, telling my mom that seeing another doctor wasn’t worth it because they’d just dismiss me like all the others.

Then things escalated. The pain became more violent, with ruptured cysts that would turn into dangerous infections, filling my abdomen with fluid. The ER became a revolving door in my life, and yet, I still had no answers. I saw 19 different doctors, enduring countless ER visits, each time fighting for someone, anyone, to believe that my pain was real. I wasn’t making it up, and I wasn’t insane. But no one seemed to listen.

Finally, after over a year of relentless suffering, I found an OBGYN named Dr. Partida. She was a free-loving, hippie doctor with a warm, open-minded approach that felt like a breath of fresh air. She believed in me, something I hadn’t felt from a doctor in a long time. But before I met her, another doctor, who I later realized was incompetent, had convinced me to undergo a laparoscopy. (WTF is a laparoscopy?) I had no idea what this procedure even was—it was a deep learning curve, a crash course in medical jargon that felt overwhelming. Desperate for answers, I went ahead with it.

The surgery confirmed my worst fears: I had stage IV endometriosis. It wasn’t just in one area—it was everywhere. My bowels, intestines, lungs, my entire abdomen, ovaries, and fallopian tubes. The endometriosis was spreading fast, choking the life out of my organs. One of my ovaries was completely adhered to the sidewall of my pelvis, but the surgeon didn’t feel competent enough to remove it. Instead of relief, the surgery left me with a ticking time bomb in my body and a sense of dread that overshadowed everything.

The next six months were a living nightmare. The surgery, instead of providing relief, only exacerbated the problem. I began experiencing flares so severe that I couldn’t walk. My legs would give out, and I would collapse, writhing in pain. I started to pass out regularly, vomiting from the intensity of the pain. I couldn’t stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, and when I was awake, I was in such agony that my body would shake uncontrollably.

No one believed me. My coworkers thought I was exaggerating, my family said I was making it up, and strangers commented on my weight gain, my isolation, and my illness as if I could just will it all away. All the while, I was desperately trying to navigate this new, terrifying reality, managing my health, and keeping my budding career on track. I remember lying in my hospital bed after surgery, still groggy and in pain, when I took a phone call from an angry client. In that moment, I knew something had to change. I had to draw boundaries—I had to change—because my life was changing whether I liked it or not.

Eventually, my journey led me to the Mayo Clinic, where I met a surgeon who would change everything. He was a giant of a man, with hands the size of baseball mitts, and when he hugged me, it felt like being embraced by a fortress. He told me he believed me. He read my file, understood the severity of my condition, and wanted the surgery for me. He thought he could help me—and he did. For the first time, I felt seen, understood, and hopeful.

The Mayo Clinic was a godsend. After the nightmare of medical care I had experienced, their kindness, competence, and understanding were like a breath of fresh air. My amazing surgeon freed my ovary from my sidewall and excised the endometriosis that had been strangling my organs. The surgery changed my life, and with it, the lifestyle changes I made in conjunction with it, my life completely transformed. But so did my mindset.

Endometriosis is like a cancer that isn’t malignant. The cells don’t kill you, but they suffocate and strangle the surrounding tissues, slowly taking over your body, inch by painful inch. It’s not something you can just get rid of. It’s an ecosystem inside you, like a weed trying to choke out everything in its path.

But here’s the truth: Endometriosis has also taught me to stand up for myself, to honor my body in ways I never thought I needed to. It forced me to accept love and grace from others, to change my lifestyle, and to face my healing journey head-on. This disease, as devastating as it can be, led me to confront my truth, to redefine my life, and to live it with more intention, compassion, and resilience.

Yes, endometriosis is still an everyday battle. But through education, compassion, understanding, and a willingness to change with the circumstances, I’ve learned to honor myself, even when no one else would. If you’re living with endometriosis, know this: there’s hope. Maybe not for a completely pain-free life, but for a different life—one that you can still love, one where you can still thrive. This isn’t the life I envisioned, but it’s a life I’ve grown to cherish, and I’ve found strength in the resilience that comes from facing each day with courage. You can too.