It’s only been a little over a month since my last Endometriosis surgery, and I’m already in pain again.
Maybe I had too many expectations.
Maybe my head was up-in-the-clouds when my feet should have been planted firmly on the ground.
I should have been thinking more clearly, more cautiously.
Every footstep I take feels heavier. The lights seem dimmer.
Every clickety-clack of my slippers slapping back against the floor sounds louder, more distinct.
And I’m left feeling broken.
Beyond Endometriosis Awareness Month
Endometriosis stretches beyond March (Endometriosis Awareness Month), it stretches so far beyond what my future was supposed to look like. And it’s consumed me.
I had a moment last week while I was in the tub. I had been crying because my body was in so much pain, and because in that moment I felt truly helpless. I was sitting there in the tub, running the water as hot as I could stand it – hoping that it would penetrate deep inside my body and relieve my pain. Hoping that just for a few minutes I’d feel something other than throbbing, knife-stabbing, pain.
And in that moment, I knew I wasn’t done sharing my Endo story. In that moment, I knew I had to snap a photo – because I wanted to show people what my bad days look like, because maybe that would help them understand why I fight so hard for the good ones.
It’s been a long road so far on my Endometriosis journey, and along that road I’ve felt a lot of different things – but I’ve never been this low. And I’ve never felt this hopeless about my future. But I’m realizing that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to feel broken.
My eyes peel open every morning only to wince in pain seconds later.
I roll onto my side and scrunch up my body somehow hoping that it will help, it doesn’t.
I try and close my eyes again praying that I’ll fall back asleep just for another hour or two. But I never do.
On Speaking the Truth
I was afraid to write this post. I was afraid that everyone who had their fingers crossed that this would be the surgery that would relieve my pain would be let down. That I’d let them down. I’m mad at my body, I’m mad at it for failing me. My nausea is back, as a response from my body being in so much pain – I’m only able to sit in front of the computer for a limited amount of time because it makes me sick. My days have to be carefully planned, and each day I have to give myself plenty of grace.
Grace because this isn’t my fault, this isn’t my husband’s fault, or my kid’s fault, or the cashier at Walmarts fault. This is me living with a chronic illness. This is me struggling but continuing to seek the light. This is me frustrated, overwhelmed, and just flat-out disappointed.
I had a conversation with my good friend Carly the other day about all of this. I told her that people would be disappointed if I shared the truth, that I wanted to wait just a little bit longer. She told me I needed to do the complete opposite, that I needed to share this part, because there are so many others LIVING this exact same story, and they need to know they’re not alone. I have the remarkable gift of sharing my story with a community that gets it, that gets me, and that supports and showers me with love – and I need to stay focused on continuing to open up and share – because I know it’s making waves, I can feel it. And at the end of the day, my friend was right, just don’t tell her that. š
I don’t want to let this illness beat me, I don’t want to stop fighting back.
On Not Giving Up
Sometimes it feels as if I’m in this giant ocean all by myself just kicking, punching, and fighting against the waves that are trying to slam me right back down. Some days it feels like I’ll never ride the waves, and will always be trapped beneath them gasping for air. But you know what can beat those waves? ME.
Because writing feels therapeutic, I’m mentally building and crafting a life boat that will surely save me. I’ll just continue to focus on the positive, I’ll just continue to seek the light, and to fill my life with things that make me happy, dreams that make me excited, and with people that truly support and love me for exactly who I am – brokeness and all.
A Lesson from Emmerson
I’d like to take a lesson from Emmerson and let my dreams be the guide. I’m going to lay in bed each night and prepare a pep talk about the following morning. So that maybe when I wake up, when my eyes slowly creak open, it won’t be so hard to get up. And I’m going to keep writing, and keep sharing, and keep connecting with all of you. I’m going to keep searching for answers, but I’ve given up on the idea that someday I’ll be fixed. I have to, just for now.
I think it’s completely appropriate for me to grieve the loss of the life I wanted. But I can’t get lost in that grief, and neither should you. If you’re fighting something alongside me, know that you’re not alone – that somewhere right now there is a person feeling the exact same emotions you are. And believe it or not, recognizing that and feeling even for a split second that you’re not alone is comforting.
Sending a virtual hug out to you all, and as always, thank you for allowing me to openly share my life and journey with you. It’s meant more and will continue to mean more than you’ll ever know.
xo,
K
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I’ve just found your blog and a lot of what you are saying feels like I’m reading my own diary. I had surgery in April and the pain returned only weeks later. I cry almost daily in the office and it’s really difficult because you feel so alone – like you’re the only one. And while I wish that nobody experienced pain like this at all, I am glad there are strong, amazing women like you who are sharing their story to give the rest of us hope and strength. xx