My survival is mistaken as strength. Strength is defined by power, resilience, and the capacity to withstand. Typically telling someone they are strong is a compliment, it’s a character trait that we strive for. I use to have pride in my strength and believed that I could get through anything. I realized that I was stronger than I could imagine, but it wasn’t long until strength began to feel like exhaustion. I didn’t strive for it anymore, I didn’t understand why I needed to be this strong. I craved softness, not strength. 

It felt as though strength began to make me feel unseen. My fear, exhaustion, brokenness, and sadness went unnoticed. It felt as though everything I was going through was minimized because it was assumed that I could handle it. Part of that was my fault. I appear strong, and I’m not always vulnerable. I always say that I’m okay, that I’m pushing through, but that isn’t the truth. The truth is I don’t feel okay, I feel broken and I’m hanging on by a thread. 

Time was not in my favor when it came to processing my illness. From the moment I was diagnosed it was surgery after surgery. Six surgeries in four years. My body had no time to heal before I was preparing for the next one, and I had no time to process the mental and emotional toll of everything that was happening. In a way, surgery became normalized to those around me and my mental and emotional struggles felt invisible. The one thing that was constantly mentioned throughout the years was my strength, but at that point did I have the choice to be anything else? 

Hearing the word strong started to become unbearable. There is nothing I crave more than softness, comfort, gentleness, and rest. I want to be cared for physically, mentally, and emotionally. I no longer want to hold it all together. I no longer desire strength.

Endometriosis is more than physical pain, it’s loss. It’s grieving the life you had while trying to survive the one you’re left with. It breaks parts of you. I wish I could say that I’m on the other side, that I’m healing and feel whole again, but I’m not there yet. I still feel broken, I feel more sadness than joy, I feel alone, and I’m still learning how to exist in a body that has carried so much. I know this isn’t forever and there is hope on the other side.

The next time you tell someone they’re strong, let me be a reminder that they might not need their strength in the moment, they might need yours. Be gentle, be understanding, and help them carry the load 💛