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To The Girl I Was

/ Symone đź’› / Leave a comment

Grieving something that was taken away in an instant with no warning, no preparation, and no guidebook on how to handle it holds a specific kind of ache. That’s what grieving yourself feels like. One day you realize that you don’t recognize yourself anymore. You’re not only adjusting to an illness that impacts your day to day life, but you’re also adjusting to a person you never knew you had to meet. 

Your reflection becomes a stranger. We’re always told to not take our health for granted, but you truly don’t understand the magnitude of that statement until something is impacting your health. As the years pass, it seems as the person I once was feels further and further away. Not only does your health change, you change. Your relationships become different, day to day life changes, your career is at risk, you lose interest in things you once loved, and your mental and emotional well-being takes a hit. This diagnosis not only came with pain, but with changes I could have never prepared for. 

I look in the mirror and do not recognize the person looking back. I look at old pictures and grieve the girl that was once so full of life and light, who was so happy. The girl that didn’t have to constantly cancel plans or choose between fun or a pain flare. The girl who could get up and go without second thought. The girl who didn’t wake up every morning praying for a tolerable pain day. The girl whose confidence wasn’t shattered. 

This grief is smothering. It feels impossible to get out of. As the years pass, the grief grows. The girl I miss continues to drift further away and my grip feels to be slipping.

As I approach a new year, I can’t help but to think of that 27 year old girl who had no idea her life would change so drastically just one month after her birthday. She didn’t know that was the last birthday where she would truly feel like herself. Even though I am grateful for another year of life, grateful that God has kept me through every battle, I would be lying if I said the grief isn’t impacting me this year. I’m afraid of things getting worse instead of better because that’s all the last four years have shown me. 

This year my wish is simple, I wish to find that girl again. I know I’ll never be who I once was, the battles I’ve faced changed me in more ways than I can say, but I need my spark back. I crave the happiness I once had, I crave the version of me that didn’t feel broken. 

So to the girl who has endured more than she could ever imagine; who had to be strong through every doctors appointment that left her in tears, through surgeries that took more and more away, through hearing “it’s cancerous”, through dismissals, minimizations, and debilitating pain that no one seems to understand. Your spark will return, you will find yourself again, and you will rise from this. Happiest of birthdays to me. 

When Strength Becomes Survival

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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 💛

More Than a Diagnosis

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Years of medical gaslighting. Years of being called a hypochondriac. Years of not being believed. Years of knowing something was wrong, but always hearing, “all your test came back negative.” Years of dealing with symptoms that no one could see, but I constantly felt. Years of advocating that finally led me to a diagnosis. Stage 4 endometriosis and adenomyosis. 

I thought the diagnosis would bring peace, answers, treatment, and relief, but that was not the case. Instead, the diagnosis brought more unanswered questions, hard truths, and a journey that I was unprepared for. A change I was unprepared for.

I became obsessed with understanding this illness. I became my own doctor. I researched like never before, I needed to know everything about endometriosis. I connected with other endo warriors and learned from their stories. Everything I now know about endometriosis came from my research, not from doctors. Prior to my diagnosis, I had no idea what endometriosis was. I remember hearing the term years ago and Googling what it was. The first thing that showed was, “painful periods and heavy bleeding.” I immediately wrote it off because those weren’t my symptoms. After my diagnosis, I realized how misunderstood this illness is, how myths are more common than facts. I knew there needed to be change and I wanted to be apart of that. My years of suffering will not be in vain. This is more than a diagnosis for me, it’s a calling. 

Wisdom Created by Wounds is for every woman who has been told, “it’s all in your head”, women who are not believed and continue to suffer. It’s about vulnerability, the tears I’ve cried, the loneliness, the anger, the way this illness changed relationships, how it changed me. But it’s also about resilience, strength, love, and softness. This is a space for us to be seen and heard. It’s to find wisdom in the wounds we never asked for.Â