Navigating
Endometriosis.
How my story shaped my strength and inspired my mission to support others.
Learn About The Endometriosis Foundation
My story starts
before I was
even born.
In the early 1980s, my mom was diagnosed with endometriosis and underwent surgery to repair scarring caused by this disease — scarring that was preventing her from getting pregnant. Fortunately, just a short time after her recovery, she got pregnant. With me.
As an only child, I grew up with the awareness that endometriosis could be an issue for me. Once I reached my own reproductive age, it became clear that this part of my life was not going to be easy. For most of my teens and early 20s I was on birth control due to the overwhelming amount of pain and bleeding that occurred each month.
From ages 13–32, I dealt with the effects of miserable monthly cycles that impacted my quality of life and took an emotional toll. Even knowing my family history and staying on top of gynecologist checkups, this slippery disease still crept its way into my body — and showed up with a ferocity I was not prepared to handle.
Chapter by chapter.
Everything changed.
It wasn't until December 2017 that I found myself in a life-threatening situation. I was going about my day with a little pelvic pain on my left side — I thought it was just from sitting too long during a work trip. Six hours later, I was doubled over in pain so great, a pain I had never experienced in my life.
My husband pleaded with me to go to the ER. After a couple more hours of misery, I conceded. Turns out a cyst — an ovarian endometrioma — had ruptured into my abdomen and was leaking large amounts of menstrual blood into my chest cavity.
My mother-in-law, a nurse, arrived at the hospital and immediately called an OB-GYN surgeon. In no time I was in an ambulance to another hospital for emergency surgery. When you wake up to find out that a cyst the size of a plum was pulled from your body — along with laparoscopic ablation and fibroid removal — you have this out-of-body experience where you can't quite grasp that they're talking about you.
Learning to live with it.
Post-surgery and diagnosis, it felt like a hidden enemy had been living inside me — wreaking havoc, a time bomb that could go off at any moment. It was sobering to realize that this disease, this thing that finally had a name for all the pain it caused me, would significantly impact the rest of my life.
For the next six months, I experienced the physical and emotional recovery from the surgery and spent time with my new doctor, learning how to live with this condition. She confirmed my severity was Stage 3 of 4. I felt isolated, and ashamed — because as a woman, my body didn't work "correctly." I had questions about whether I would ever be able to have children, and how this would affect my work, my relationships, my life.
When I found out endometriosis affects 200 million women worldwide — often shrouded in silence and shame — I realized how many of us were struggling with this too.
Something had to change.
Fast forward to 2020 — at the height of the COVID pandemic — another more extensive emergency surgery reconfirmed the seriousness of my condition. Another cyst had ruptured, this time the size of a grapefruit. An additional cyst was partially removed but due to its location (adhered to my bladder), the surgeon couldn't remove it all. Part of my left ovary was removed. I had officially progressed to Stage 4.
Something had to change. After healing again, and coming to grips with the fact that motherhood might no longer be a choice I get to make for myself, my husband and I decided to focus primarily on my overall health. We spent months considering IVF, visiting fertility doctors, researching everything.
Even after all of that, my endometriosis was still causing significant pain. It was around this time I started considering starting a business — but didn't feel I could physically make it happen. I called my fertility doctor in tears one day, and they referred me to an endometriosis specialist at UVA. This doctor has been a Godsend.
Living a life of purpose.
It's been almost four years now, and I can honestly say I feel tremendously better than I have felt since my 2017 diagnosis. With an amazing specialist and medication that allows me to have significantly reduced pain and discomfort, I am living a life that is full of purpose and happiness.
And most especially one that has given me the strength and courage to make Anam Cara Clay Goods a reality. Though this disease is something I think about every day, I no longer let it control me. Instead, I feel strength in my resolve to conquer obstacles with grace and resilience.
"How liberating it is to pursue wholeness over perfection." — Morgan Harper Nichols
My body is by no means perfect — a few parts are missing here and there — but each day I remember that my wholeness is not defined by this disease. Better yet, it is because of this disease that I am more fully becoming who I am meant to be.
Becoming a
voice for change.
I don't know how much you know about endometriosis, but I encourage you to educate yourself about the disease and the effects it has on an estimated 1 in 10 women. It is an invisible disease — and with it can be a hidden pain and terrible shame. It is imperative that more research and advocacy be done to find more effective ways to help women cope, and live fuller lives.
In 2021, I found the Endometriosis Foundation of America — an organization that strives to increase disease recognition, provide advocacy, facilitate expert surgical training, and fund landmark endometriosis research. It was then that I realized I too could make a difference. I could be a voice that shared my story to help spread the word and advocate for other women.
"Endometriosis affects millions of women worldwide, including myself, with its chronic pain and challenging symptoms. By raising awareness and supporting research, we can work towards better treatments and a brighter future for all those impacted by this condition."
These Endo Warriors face each day with bravery and a fighting spirit. And I am proud to stand alongside them.
