Living With Endometriosis: My Journey to Finding Answers
I’ll be honest, I hadn’t even heard of endometriosis until 2023. It wasn’t some enlightening moment or a passing mention from a friend; it was the result of a desperate, anxiety-fueled Google deep dive. For years, since I was 13, I’d been living with pain that defied explanation.
My body felt like it was betraying me. At 13, I felt closer to 50. Chronic pain was my constant companion. Horrific periods would leave me bedridden, stealing weeks of education and making life feel impossible. Things only got worse as I got older, but being a teenager comes with its own pressures. So, I pushed through.
School, college, and eventually work all felt harder for me than they seemed to for everyone else. I remember asking other girls endless questions about their periods. What are they like? How much do they hurt? Why did I feel like we weren’t having the same experience? The answers left me feeling more isolated.
By 2015, my health hit rock bottom. The physical pain became unbearable, and my mental health crumbled alongside it. What I now recognise as a breakdown left me housebound for years. I became agoraphobic, hiding from a world that felt too overwhelming to face. I gained weight, reaching my heaviest at 21 stone, and the shame of that kept me trapped in a vicious cycle.
In 2018, I decided I had to try. For myself. I started losing weight, but it wasn’t easy. Endometriosis made exercise excruciating. Even short walks felt like torture. Each step came with the sharp, searing sensation that my ovaries might just fall out.
By 2019, I’d managed to lose seven stone. I felt ready to tackle the root of my medical issues, but the medical system didn’t make it easy. Doctors, particularly male ones, seemed dismissive of my pain. My weight overshadowed everything. One doctor told me nothing could be done until I lost more weight, after he inappropriately put his hand on my thigh. Another chalked up my pain to anxiety, brushing it off as “psychological.”
Their doubt seeped into me. I started to believe them. Maybe I was making it up. Maybe the pain was just in my head. For the next few years, I learned to live with it - or at least, I tried. The pain would bring me to tears, sometimes forcing me to curl up on the forest floor while walking my dog. It was ruining my life, but I didn’t know how to advocate for myself.
In 2022, everything began to change. Therapy taught me about confidence and self-worth, things I hadn’t really allowed myself to feel. I’d been raised to keep my struggles quiet, but now I was learning to speak up. Slowly, I started listening to the tiny voice inside me that insisted my pain was real.
I went to appointment after appointment, chasing answers. I kept trying, calling, showing up, and refusing to give up. Finally, in 2023, I met Dr. Sophie Hughes. She listened. She cared. She heard me. That appointment marked a turning point. From there, everything began to snowball - scans, consultations, tests, and the first whispers of a diagnosis: endometriosis.
When I discovered the word “endometriosis” online, it felt like a lightbulb moment. Reading about it on Reddit, I saw my own experiences reflected in the stories of others. I cried as I realised I wasn’t alone. After 15 years, I finally had a name for what I’d been going through.
Now, in 2025, I’m no longer weighed down by shame. I know my pain is real. I advocate for myself, and I don’t let anyone tell me otherwise. Next month, I’ll have surgery to remove the tissue that’s been causing this pain since my school days. It’s not a cure - there isn’t one - but it’s proof that what I’ve felt all along was valid.
If you’re struggling and feel like something’s wrong, don’t stop speaking up. Your pain is real, and you deserve to be heard.
