Grad School & Chronic Illness/Pain

As I enter the final days before starting my last semester of graduate school, I can’t help but reflect on all the obstacles I’ve faced over the past two years. By the time I graduate in May, I will have undergone three heart surgeries, made multiple trips to the ER, survived a pulmonary embolism, received a sleep apnea diagnosis, and worked full time, all while completing this one program. That was never the path I imagined for myself back in the fall of 2024 when I started. When I applied earlier that spring, I felt relatively normal. My arrhythmias hadn’t yet returned with the intensity that would later upend my life.

Going to graduate school while working full time and living with chronic illness is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I honestly don’t know how I’ve made it to this point. There have been countless tears and more moments than I’d like to admit where I wanted to quit, which is very unlike me. Last summer, I almost took a break because I couldn’t fathom having zero downtime to let my body heal. Instead, I reached out to my university’s disability center, advocated for myself, and asked for accommodations. That process wasn’t easy. Years of medical trauma had conditioned me to believe I wouldn’t be believed or taken seriously. But the gentleman I spoke with was incredibly supportive and provided more than enough accommodations to help me through my final semesters. I’m so glad I kept going because now I’m four, hopefully short, months away from my degree and never having to go to school again.

I often find myself daydreaming about what life will look like once I graduate. I will have had, and hopefully recovered from, my third heart surgery. I’ll hopefully have my sleep figured out. I’ll be able to move my body again and have the time and energy to cook nourishing meals for myself. I try not to cling to false hope, but after everything the past two years have put me through, that vision feels incredibly exciting.

The people around me are often baffled that I’ve made it this far. They tell me they would’ve given up a long time ago. While these heart conditions are relatively new for me, chronic illness and pain are not. I’ve spent the last decade learning how to live in a body that makes everyday life significantly harder. In high school, my parents rarely let me miss school because of pain because they didn’t want it to become a habit. At the time, I was furious. Now, I’m deeply grateful. That expectation instilled a resilience in me that I still carry today. That same intrinsic drive and ambition led me to graduate high school with distinction, college summa cum laude and top of my major, and now graduate school with a 4.0 GPA. I don’t share that to brag, but because I’m proud of myself for the millions of moments I had to overcome to get here.

From the outside, it probably looks like school comes easily to me. People see someone who doesn’t procrastinate and seems to stay on top of everything. What they don’t see is how much effort it takes just to complete a single assignment. I don’t procrastinate because I can’t afford to. I don’t know if tomorrow I’ll be bedridden or unable to function, so when I feel well enough, I work ahead, sometimes weeks in advance. I live my life one day at a time. Living in pain is not something anyone should have to endure. It destroys relationships, ambitions, and self-confidence. It has made me doubt myself more times than I can count. It makes even the simplest tasks feel impossible, and that’s not an exaggeration. But I refuse to let it win.

I’m not here to say that pain is mind over matter, because it’s not, and that narrative is deeply invalidating to those of us who live with chronic pain. What I am here to say is that we can do hard things despite our pain, and we deserve recognition for that. School is already hard enough without carrying a body that actively works against you. I think those of us with chronic illness develop an extra layer of ambition because without it, it would be far too easy to stay in bed forever, even though that rest is oftentimes necessary. It isn’t fair, and that reality still makes me angry. But this is the only life I get, and I refuse to let pain I didn’t choose or cause be the thing that stops me from becoming who I know I’m capable of being.

Follow me on social media! 

Instagram: @endoisnottheendblog

Twitter: @endoisnothend

Facebook: Endo Is Not the End

Fear & The Psychological Symptoms Surrounding Chronic Illness

Have you ever gone to bed not knowing if you’d wake up in the morning? I have. Many times. That’s the reality of living with heart problems. It’s a terrifying existence that forces you to confront what actually matters in life.

There’s an interesting paradox to it all. Having these near-death experiences has pushed me to try to really live, to spend time with the people I love, and to try to live like a normal twenty-something. But doing exactly that is often what puts me into those terrifying episodes in the first place of my heart racing to 215+ beats per minute. So how do you live life to the fullest when a ticking time bomb follows you every step of the way?

We talk about heart conditions, and chronic illness more broadly, as if they are only about physical symptoms. And while those symptoms can be, and are, debilitating, what is discussed even less, which says a lot considering how under-discussed the physical side already is, are the psychological challenges that come with living in a body that feels unsafe.

With endometriosis, the psychological toll has mostly come from not being believed by medical professionals, feeling misunderstood by the people around me, and trying to come to terms with having a lifelong painful disease with no cure. These are things I’m still working through more than ten years after my diagnosis, and I don’t know if I’ll ever fully move past the medical trauma I experienced while trying to get answers. But the psychological challenges I face with my heart conditions are different, because I’ve never feared for my life due to my endometriosis.

Being in your early twenties and having to make every decision based on how your heart might react is exhausting. I can’t eat sugar or drink alcohol too close to bedtime or I’ll be up all night with a racing heart. I have to ask others to replace my water jug at work because I’m not supposed to lift heavy things. I walk slowly up hills and stairs to avoid triggering an arrhythmia. I can’t attend work events if I won’t have a seat. I do everything I can to get a seat on the train so I don’t pass out during my commute. The stress of that alone gets my heart racing in the mornings.

I wake up in the middle of the night thinking there’s an earthquake, only to realize it’s my own heart beating so fast that it’s shaking the entire bed. I go to sleep not knowing if I’ll wake up in the morning. That fear doesn’t get easier. If anything, it follows me into other parts of my body.

After two back-to-back heart surgeries and years of living in constant fear, I developed neurological chest pain called intercostal neuralgia. It is a condition involving the nerves between the ribs and causes excruciating chest pain. After my second heart surgery last February, I underwent every test imaginable and no cardiovascular cause was found. Instead, the conclusion was that this pain is a result of the ongoing trauma my body has endured. My neurologist believes it will subside once I recover from my upcoming third surgery, one that is meant to finally put my atrial fibrillation at bay and allow me to move forward from the trauma my heart conditions have caused over the past few years.

Medical conditions do not stop at textbook symptoms. They can leave lasting psychological scars. I wish I had advice to share on how to manage that part of it, but the truth is I’m still figuring it out myself and probably will be for some time, until I can start feeling safe in my own body again.

I know my loved ones are scared for me. I try to be strong for them, but I’m scared too. Not all the time, because this has become my reality, but often enough, especially when I’m alone with my thoughts. That’s why I try to keep my brain busy.

Still, with my third and hopefully final heart surgery scheduled for the coming months, I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I won’t let myself fully celebrate just yet. I thought this would all be over back in November 2024. But this time feels different. And for now, that hope is enough.

Follow me on social media! 

Instagram: @endoisnottheendblog

Twitter: @endoisnothend

Facebook: Endo Is Not the End

Feeling Invisible

Having an invisible illness, or multiple in my case, is a uniquely lonely experience. No matter how hard others try to understand, no matter how much time they spend with you, they’ll never truly get it unless they’ve lived it themselves. And that’s not their fault. I’m incredibly lucky to have some of the most supportive friends and family, even though they don’t fully understand what I go through every day. Honestly, I’m glad they don’t. I’m glad they don’t suffer the way I do. I wouldn’t wish any of this on my worst enemy. But that doesn’t make it any less lonely.

On top of feeling invisible, I often feel misunderstood. It’s so hard to explain what I experience in my body every single day. Feeling exhausted after doing nothing. Being in extreme pain but still having to show up and move forward. Carrying the guilt of not being able to participate in life the way I want to. Crying on vacation because my body hurts so badly, while seeming ungrateful even though I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Skipping breakfast with friends on weekend mornings because I need to sleep as long as possible to make up for another night of restlessness. Begging for accommodations at school while fearing judgment or denial because I look “fine” and put together on the outside. Going home early when all I want to do is stay. Spending hours driving across states for doctor’s appointments week after week. Living with the constant fear that my heart could give out at any second, or that my endometriosis is growing back with a vengeance.

Because others don’t understand my lived experience, it’s hard for them to grasp that this is simply my life. So sometimes, they forget. I almost never show it outwardly. They invite me to hike mountains or run 5Ks as if that’s something my body can do. I wish it was. But that’s not my reality right now.

The person I am today has been shaped by living with invisible illness for the last ten years. I don’t care what others think of me because I’m too focused on staying alive. I have a lot of confidence, because if I can survive ten years of feeling miserable in my own body, I can survive just about anything. Sometimes I can be blunt. Sometimes I forget others’ feelings. After being worn down by illness for so long, I’ve lost a lot of my sensitivity, and I’m still learning how to balance that.

My friends sometimes give me a hard time because I don’t love meeting new people or letting others get close to me, especially as I’ve gotten older. What they don’t see is how exhausting it is to explain my limitations over and over again. It’s awkward. It’s invasive. And yet, it’s often necessary just to justify why I do the things I do. My energy is extremely limited, and I want to spend what little I have loving on my inner circle, the people who have been through it with me. The ones who have tried, in their own ways, to understand.

Even if my loved ones don’t fully understand what I’m going through, they still find ways to show me they care, and I appreciate it more than they know. Seeking out the only chair in the bar and giving it to me. Checking in when I go quiet. Letting me cry and vent my frustrations (thanks, Mom). Suggesting something low-key instead of a night at the club. Making sure I’ve made it home safely. Validating my feelings around chronic illness. Sending flowers or my favorite food after surgery. Showing a genuine, consistent interest in my well-being. I am so deeply thankful.

All of this is why I created this community ten years ago and why I continue to lean on it for support. I know others living with invisible illness feel this same mix of loneliness, gratitude, exhaustion, and resilience. And while I hate that any of us have to experience this life, there is comfort in knowing I’m not alone. The worst club with the best members, as we like to say. In the end, this space exists to remind us that even when our pain goes unseen, our stories still matter, and we don’t have to carry them by ourselves.

Follow me on social media! 

Instagram: @endoisnottheendblog

Twitter: @endoisnothend

Facebook: Endo Is Not the End

I’m Excited for Heart Surgery (Here’s Why)

My biggest goal going into 2026 is to have my third heart surgery for my arrhythmias, this time for atrial fibrillation, and finally say goodbye to my cardiovascular issues for good. Of course, that’s easier said than done. This surgery doesn’t come with a 100% success rate. But when I picture my ideal life this year, that’s what I see.

Being excited for surgery sounds weird, right? It’s not something anyone should want to experience. It’s similar to being excited about a new diagnosis. People with chronic illness and chronic pain understand this instinctively, but it can be hard for the outside world to wrap their heads around. I’m not excited about heart surgery itself. I’m excited about the life it could give me afterward.

A life with more energy and less pain.
A life where I can walk up the stairs without feeling like I’m going to die.
A life where I can cook and clean without feeling like I might faint.
A life where my bedroom doesn’t look like a pharmacy just so I can stay alive.
A life where I can do normal twenty-something things, have fun with my friends, and not constantly question how every single decision will affect my heart.

That’s what I’m excited about.

So when I went to see my cardiologist earlier this week, I walked in with that life in mind and I wasn’t willing to accept anything less. Technically, my medications are “working,” and I could probably go without surgery for a while longer. I put working in quotes because while they lower my heart rate and keep my arrhythmias at bay, they also leave me exhausted, lethargic, and feeling nothing like myself.

I don’t want to live in constant fear that missing a dose could send me into heart failure. I don’t want half my bag to be filled with medication when I travel, leaving no room to bring home gifts for the people I love. This is not the life a twenty-something should be living.

Unlike my endometriosis, which I will carry with me for the rest of my life, atrial fibrillation can be curable. When you already live with a lifelong disease that has no cure, you understand just how much of a privilege it is to have a condition that might be fixable.

At the same time, it’s hard to fully let myself feel excited. I thought my heart issues were going to be cured back in November 2024 after my first surgery. So yes, I’m really hoping third time’s the charm.

I’ve had a diagnosed chronic illness for ten years, and chronic pain for years before that. That’s half my life. I don’t remember what it’s like to live without illness constantly looming in the background. Because of that, it’s easy to feel jaded and discouraged when new medical issues show up. And don’t get me wrong, I do feel discouraged. I get angry at my body all the time. That’s normal, and that’s okay.

But I don’t like to stay in that headspace for too long, because it’s not helpful. My body isn’t trying to hurt me. It’s fighting against itself because it’s trying to protect me. Trying to be positive doesn’t magically erase my symptoms or make them any easier to live with, but it’s something I’ve learned helps me survive the mental battle that comes with chronic illness.

Having a medical condition that might actually be curable allows me to see a light at the end of the tunnel that I’ve never been able to see with endometriosis. And that feeling? That hope? It’s really nice. I’m going to hold onto it for as long as I can.

I’m sure there will be a million obstacles between now and my heart surgery at the end of March, because that’s just how our lovely medical system works. But I’m doing my best to stay positive and keep picturing that dream life waiting for me on the other side.

Follow me on social media! 

Instagram: @endoisnottheendblog

Twitter: @endoisnothend

Facebook: Endo Is Not the End

Journaling & 2026 Health Goals

Journaling used to scare me. I never wanted to be left alone with my thoughts, because that’s when the pain would creep in and take over. I still don’t love being alone with my thoughts, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that journaling can be a healthy and productive way to get to know yourself and to start writing the future you want into existence.

Now that I’m entering my twenty-fifth year, and my brain is finally finishing up its development, I can actually picture a future for myself. That’s something I wasn’t able to do before. This shift, along with a new sense of optimism, has led me to create goals for myself for pretty much the first time ever.

Most of those goals are health-related, as I continue working to address my heart conditions, chest pain, and ultimately get my quality of life back. I’m sharing them here as a form of accountability, but also in the hope that they might offer some motivation to others in a similar place.

Living with chronic illness and pain for nearly half my life has taught me that my body has limits, and that things don’t always go the way I plan. That’s made goal-setting especially difficult for me. But this year, I want to use journaling as a way to manifest the future I want for myself, starting with setting attainable goals and giving myself grace as I work toward them.

You’ll notice there isn’t anything too extreme on this list, but these are all things I’ve wanted for myself for years. And for the first time, the puzzle pieces are finally coming together in a way that makes me believe they’re actually possible this year.

Without further ado, here are my 2026 health goals:

1. Have my night in the sleep lab, get my CPAP machine to treat my sleep apnea, and get my sleep issues figured out once and for all.
2. Have my third catheter ablation surgery for my atrial fibrillation heart arrhythmia, and take the time to fully heal from that surgery,
3. Once that is completed, I want to get off all the medications I'm on for my heart. They make me lethargic and have no energy, and that's a feeling I don't want to experience anymore.
4. Once my sleep is figured out and I'm recovered from my surgery, I want to get back to moving my body and working out to the best of my ability. Nothing too crazy, but certainly a step up from doing nothing. 
5. Meet with a clinical dietitian who specializes in an anti-inflammatory diet and start consistently cooking healthy meals for myself.
6. Be better about saying no when I don't want to do something.
7. Don't feel guilty for listening to my body.
8. Only put work into relationships that fulfill me. I only have so much energy to give.
9. Heel stretches daily for my plantar fasciitis.

Some non-health-related goals:

1. Finish grad school and get my master's degree! 
2. Read at least 70 books.
3. Start writing on my blog again regularly! 
4. Go to Ireland.
5. No buying clothes or shoes unless absolutely necessary. 
6. Pay off most of my student loans. 

I got a cute new journal to start the year and filled it with all my goals. Years ago, some friends and I attended a talk in college where the speaker, a successful businesswoman, talked about the power of writing things down if you want them to come true. That idea has stuck with me ever since.

I’ve seen it work for the smaller things in my life, but I’ve always wondered about the bigger ones. So this year, I’m really testing that theory. I’m writing down everything I want, without overthinking it. I even started a list of five-year goals that I plan to keep adding to as they grow and change.

Whether it all comes to fruition or not, I know I’m doing everything I can to make 2026 the year I get my quality of life back. And if you’re feeling stuck or hopeful or somewhere in between, I encourage you to join me in journaling and creating the best future we can for ourselves.

Me and my trusty journal!

Follow me on social media!
Instagram: @endoisnottheendblog
Twitter: @endoisnothend
Facebook: Endo Is Not the End

How to Support a Loved One with Chronic Illness

The holidays are supposed to be a joyful time of coming together and spending time with loved ones. But for people with chronic illness, there are often barriers to that wanted uninterrupted family time in the form of pain, exhaustion, and limited energy. 

When you live with chronic illness, your body doesn't just pause the pain because it's Christmastime. We never get time off from our symptoms even though that very wish is at the top of our Christmas lists every year. Fatigue doesn't disappear because we have family gatherings to attend. In fact, our symptoms often get worse because there is more pressure to be "on" and to push through the pain and exhaustion. 

This is made even harder by the invisibility of our symptoms. From the outside, we may look fine, but that's an act we've learned to perfect over the years to power through. We may even make it through the entire event which is a win. But what the people around us don't see is the extra rest it took prior to the event and the recovery time afterword, the symptoms we're managing quietly and the mental energy it takes to keep the mask plastered on. 

Support during the holidays doesn’t have to be big or dramatic. In fact, the most meaningful support is often small, thoughtful, and rooted in understanding. If someone in your life lives with chronic illness, here are ways you can show up for them; not just during the holidays, but year-round.

Ways to Support Someone With Chronic Illness

• Believe them: If someone tells you they’re tired, in pain, or not feeling well, take them at their word. They are the expert on their body. They don’t need to justify it.

• Release expectations: Let go of how you think the holidays should look. Your loved one may not be able to attend every event, stay as long, or participate the way they used to and that’s okay.

• Ask what support looks like for them: Support isn't the same for everyone. A simple “How can I best support you right now?” can mean everything.

• Be flexible with plans: Symptoms can change quickly. Last-minute cancellations are not personal; they’re often necessary. Respond with kindness, not guilt.

• Offer specific help: Instead of “Let me know if you need anything,” try “Can I bring food?” or “Would it help if I picked that up for you?” These responses are still very kind, but specific offers are easier to accept.

• Don’t minimize their experience: Avoid phrases like “At least it’s not worse” or “Have you tried just resting?” Chronic illness isn’t solved by positivity or simple fixes.

• Understand that energy is limited: Many people with chronic illness operate on a finite energy system. If they choose to spend energy with you, that often means they’re sacrificing something else.

• Check in after events, not just before: Recovery can be harder than the event itself. A message like “Thinking of you today” after a gathering can be incredibly validating.

• Respect boundaries without pushing back: If someone says no, accept it. No explanations required.

• Keep showing up: Chronic illness doesn’t have an end date. Continued support, even when it’s not “new” anymore, matters deeply.

Wishing you all a happy and healthy holiday season and I'm looking forward to posting on here regularly in 2026! 

Follow me on social media!
Instagram: @endoisnottheendblog
Twitter: @endoisnothend
Facebook: Endo Is Not the End

It's Been a Hard Month...

Well, Endometriosis Awareness Month hasn't been treating me very kindly. I feel like whenever I start to get better, something else happens. I want to give a health update, but I want to preface this by saying that I'm not looking for pity in any way. I just want to share the reality of living with a chronic illness and all the complications that come with it. 

My month began with my bladder beginning to leak, and experiencing urinary urgency which are two things I have never experienced before. It's a really crazy feeling when you have no control over what your body does. It's honestly kind of scary at the same time because you never know what to expect. It made me feel like I was a little kid who hasn't been potty trained yet. I am happy to report that those instances have gotten better recently which is a big relief. They still happen, just not as often. Along with this, I am experiencing bladder pain and some endometriosis pain as well. This is weird because I thought I solved the problem of bladder pain through pelvic floor physical therapy, but maybe I just need to try some different exercises. 

The second issue I've been dealing with this month has been happening on and off for a while and I've talked about it on my Instagram account a little bit. I keep experiencing intense nausea and some upper abdominal pain after everything I eat. It tends to be worse while I'm at school because let's be honest, this food is just not the best, to put it nicely. It got to the point earlier this week that I was afraid to leave my room in fear that I would get sick. I decided enough was enough and went to urgent care this past Tuesday to hopefully get the problem solved. From the moment I walked in, I felt dismissed by everyone working there. This is unfortunately a feeling that I, and many other young women, feel when trying to advocate for ourselves in a medical setting and I am so sick of it. I explained my symptoms and both the nurse and doctor made me feel bad for not coming in sooner. I tried to explain to them that I have a chronic illness, so these symptoms were not necessarily alarming to me as I have experienced much worse. The symptoms were more of an annoyance at this point. They didn't really understand this. I wanted to tell them if I went to the doctor every time I had an issue, I would spend my whole life there. 

The doctor said she thinks I have gastritis and began treating me for that. I also had blood work done and an x-ray taken. The blood work thankfully came back fine, but the x-ray showed that I was pretty constipated. I had a feeling that this would be the case as I've been struggling with bowel movements for a while. However, this could offer an explanation for my bladder leakage and urinary urgency as well. When one has a full bowel, it pushes up against their bladder which can cause more frequent urination, urgency, and leaking. I'm hoping that this is the case for me and I that don't have any other issues with my bladder. The doctor prescribed me a medication to help with gastritis that's hopefully supposed to calm down the acid in my stomach. Although, last night, I noticed I was developing a rash on my legs and feet. I looked up the side effects of the new medication and of course, a rash was one of them. I'm hoping it goes away on its own soon, but if not I'll have to call the doctor and let her know. 

Along with that medication, she had me buy magnesium citrate at the store which is a drink that clears you all out when you're constipated. I drank it the next day and immediately started to feel so nauseous. I tried to focus on my work for my internship, but I couldn't. Then, before I knew it, I was getting sick into my trashcan. I guess the medicine worked for the wrong end... I felt much better afterward though! The magnesium citrate did mostly help to do what it was supposed to, but I think I'm still constipated because I threw most of it up. I take MiraLax and fiber gummies every day, but it is rare I find relief from that, so all suggestions are welcome. 

The third part of my week from hell has to do with some heart problems I've been having. Starting on Monday, my heart started beating pretty irregularly. I have never experienced this before, so it freaked me out a little bit, but I wasn't too concerned yet. However, on Tuesday, my heart started racing up to 200+ beats per minute. This would last about 30 to 60 seconds at a time, then stop for a minute before starting up again. When it happens, it completely knocks the air out of me so it is difficult to breathe. It also makes my chest and face tighten, turn red, and start to sweat. Now I was/am really scared. Many people might chalk it up to stress, but I don't feel mentally/emotionally stressed or anxious at all. However, maybe my body is under physical stress when having all these medical issues on top of each other so my heart is working overtime. I'm really hoping it's something simple like that and nothing worse. This is still happening, so I have a doctor's appointment with my primary care doctor on Tuesday, so hopefully, nothing bad happens before then. I had mentioned this happening to the urgent care nurse earlier this week, and she very rudely told me that is something they can't help with and I need to be seeing a cardiologist. 

Needless to say, it has been a hard week and month in general. My body is falling apart all over the place and I feel so out of control because I can't do much to help it. Please send any prayers and good thoughts my way so that I can get these issues figured out soon and I can enjoy the rest of my semester. I hope you are all doing well. It's a scary world out there, so please stay safe and know that I am sending prayers/good thoughts your way as well! 

Looking a lot better here than I feel on the inside...😂

Follow me on social media!

Instagram: @endoisnottheendblog

Twitter: @endoisnothend

Facebook: Endo Is Not the End