Ten Years Later

This week, I celebrated the ten year anniversary of my endometriosis surgery and subsequent diagnosis. The day I was officially labeled as “not crazy” and entered into a completely new chapter of my life. It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years. I genuinely have no idea where the time has gone.

For so long before that surgery, I was fighting to be believed. Fighting doctors. Fighting my own body. Fighting the quiet voice in the back of my head that wondered if maybe everyone else was right and I was exaggerating. That operating room gave me more than a diagnosis. It gave me validation. It gave me proof. It gave me permission to trust myself again.

Endometriosis has taken a lot from me. It has taken days, weeks, entire seasons of my life. It has taken energy I will never get back. It has taken a version of girlhood that felt carefree and simple. But it has also made me into the person I am today.

Someone who knows how to advocate for herself and for others. Someone who has quite literally made a career out of it. Someone who does not care what others think because she has already survived being doubted at her most vulnerable. Someone who is confident. Someone who knows what really matters in life because she learned early on how fast your life can change. Someone who surrounds herself with good people because she understands how precious time is. Someone with unwavering determination and ambition because she has had to fight for everything. Someone who is kind because she knows better than anyone that people can be fighting battles silently. Someone who others can look to when they have just been diagnosed and feel like their world is ending. The list really does go on and on.

I am so proud of the person I am today. And I hate to say it, but I truly do not think I would be this version of myself without all the adversity I have faced. Ten years ago, I remember thinking that if I was going to have to live with this, it had to mean something. I wanted to turn my pain into purpose. I didn't know how yet. I didn't know what that would look like. But I knew I could not let it be for nothing. I am proud to say I have done just that.

I worked with my doctors and my boss to write and file legislation that eliminates the primary care referral requirement for specialty gynecological care so others do not have to fight as hard as I did to be heard. I took the worst moments of my life and turned them into policy. Into change. Into something tangible that could make the path a little smoother for the next person sitting in an exam room begging someone to listen.

Every single day in my job, I use the skills that were sharpened by my pain. I advocate for people in their most vulnerable and hardest moments. People navigating housing crises. People dealing with healthcare systems that feel impossible. People who are exhausted and scared and just want someone to pick up the phone and fight for them. I know how that feels. I know what it is like to feel small in a system that is supposed to help you. And I refuse to let people feel alone if I can help it. And I am just getting started.

In the last ten years, I have graduated high school. I graduated college. I am now just months away from graduating with my master’s degree. Somehow, I have thrived academically every step of the way. I think part of it has been distraction. School gave me structure. It gave me something to focus on when my body felt out of control. It reminded me that my brain still worked even when my body felt like it was failing me.

I completed internships. I nannied. I worked in offices on my college campus. I led many clubs. I said yes to opportunities even when I was tired. All of it led me to the full time job I have today. A job that is challenging and exhausting and demanding. A job that I love. A job that constantly reminds me that everyone is carrying something.

Sometimes I look back at fourteen year old me, sitting in therapy for depression because it felt like no one believed her pain, and I wish I could hug her. She could not imagine a future. She could not imagine feeling strong. She definitely could not imagine a future this bright. She thought her life was over before it had even begun. If only she could see me now.

I still struggle every single day. Every single day is a battle to get out of bed. Chronic illness does not disappear just because you have grown around it. The pain still shows up. The fatigue still lingers. The frustration still creeps in. But I have tools now. I have coping skills. I have perspective. I know what my body is capable of surviving. I know that I can do hard things.

The last ten years have not been easy. They have been messy and painful and complicated. But they have also been filled with growth, purpose, and resilience I never knew I had.

I cannot wait to see what the next ten years will bring. I hope for less pain and fewer medical battles. I hope for more advocacy, more impact, more moments where someone feels heard because I spoke up. Most of all, I hope I continue to honor that girl who just wanted to be believed.

Ten years ago, I was fighting for a diagnosis. Today, I am living proof that you can fight, survive, and still build a life you are proud of.

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How I Decompress After a Long Week

It seems like everyone I’ve talked to agrees that this has felt like a very long week. I know it has for me. There were some really exciting work things happening this week, the kind of opportunities you’re grateful for but that also demand a lot of you. That meant late nights editing, rewriting, rereading, and making sure everything was exactly how it needed to be. I don’t regret any of it for a second, but as we head into the weekend, I’m absolutely drained. I’m feeling especially grateful for my Friday work-from-home day this week because I don’t think I would’ve made it otherwise.

Living with chronic illness means I’m usually tired by the end of the week, no matter how “easy” or “hard” the week looks from the outside. But this week was a different level of draining. On top of work, I also started school again, and the homework is already piling up. Perfect timing, right? Between work responsibilities, academic deadlines, and the constant baseline of managing my health, it felt like the week just kept going and going. So, in honor of finally reaching the end of this seemingly never-ending stretch of days, I thought I’d share how I decompress after a long week and what helps me reset, even just a little bit.

My weekly decompression usually begins on Thursdays after work when I get together with my coworkers to talk through the week and lean on each other for support. I know to other people it probably looks like just after-work drinks or casual hanging out, but for me, it’s an essential part of my routine. I have a very unique job, and you can only truly understand it if you’ve lived it. In that way, it reminds me a lot of chronic illness. There are certain experiences you just can’t fully explain unless someone has been there too. Being able to hash out frustrations, celebrate wins, and vent without having to over-explain myself makes a huge difference. I always feel lighter walking into the weekend after that time together.

Fridays are a gift in their own way because I work from home. That means I get to sleep in two hours later than usual, which honestly feels luxurious at this point in my life. By the end of the week, that extra sleep isn’t just nice, it’s necessary. When my alarm goes off, I try to ease into the morning, something I don’t have the luxury of doing Monday through Thursday when I sleep until the last possible second. On Fridays, I’ll check my work emails, make breakfast, and usually stay in bed working for as long as I can. Now that school has started again, I try to squeeze in some homework between work tasks so it doesn’t all spill over into the weekend. It’s not always easy, but future me is always thankful when I do.

Once I’ve wrapped up everything I need to get done for the day, it’s time to read. Reading is, without question, my favorite way to decompress. I read every night before bed and as much as I can during the day. Having a stressful job and living in a body that constantly feels like it’s in survival mode makes escape feel necessary. Reading gives me that escape. It lets my mind rest somewhere else for a while. It’s also one of my favorite pain management strategies because it gives my brain something to focus on besides how my body feels. Even a short reading session can make a tough day feel more manageable.

I will say that Fridays are usually my appointment days. It’s rare that I don’t have some sort of medical appointment scheduled at the end of the week, so having a Friday with nothing on the calendar feels like a small miracle. Today, I don’t have one, and the relief that comes with that is bigger than I can explain. It means I can actually focus on resting instead of bracing myself for yet another doctor’s office.

After work is done, I usually spend some time just laying in bed until I have to get ready for whatever I have planned. Tonight, for example, I’m going to a birthday party, and I’m really hoping to squeeze in a nap beforehand to recharge a bit. Laying down never fails to help, even if I don’t fully fall asleep. Sometimes just giving my body permission to stop is enough.

For the rest of the weekend, I try to strike a balance between taking it easy and spending time with people I love. I truly cherish weekends with no obligations at all, though. Because I’m so go-go-go during the week, my body needs at least some dedicated recovery time. Sleeping in is always the goal since I don’t get nearly enough sleep during the week, and if I can sneak in a daytime nap, I absolutely will. At this point, I take sleep wherever I can get it.

While many people use the weekend to let loose and go all out, those of us living with chronic illness don’t really have that option. We’ve had to learn how to rest with intention and how to balance social time with recovery in a way that’s sustainable. It’s not about missing out; it’s about surviving and showing up for the next week as best we can. Decompression isn’t a luxury for me, it’s a necessity, and honoring that is one of the ways I take care of myself and keep moving forward.

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