My Endometriosis Story: From Misdiagnosis to Advocacy

I was fourteen the first time I passed out from period pain. They said it was normal. Seventeen when I missed a week of school because of pelvic pain. They said I was exaggerating. Twenty-three when I was offered antidepressants for what turned out to be inflammation in my pelvis. And twenty-eight when someone finally put a name to the thing that had been unraveling my body and spirit for over a decade: endometriosis.

By then, I had already mastered the art of smiling through discomfort, downplaying my symptoms, and pretending my pain was manageable. But endo is not manageable. It’s consuming.

This blog post isn’t just my story. It’s the reason I show up now—not as a victim, but as a voice. For the girl who’s still being told it’s in her head. For the woman who’s been through five doctors and still doesn’t have answers. For the version of me who thought she was crazy.

The Early Years: When No One Believed Me

My symptoms started like they do for most girls: bad periods. But mine weren’t just bad—they were debilitating. Curl-up-on-the-bathroom-floor bad. Miss-school-and-hide-it bad. The kind of pain that left me in tears, nauseous, exhausted.

But I was taught that this was womanhood. That pain was normal. That if I just took Midol or birth control or tried a heating pad, I’d be fine. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t fine.

The first time I brought it up to a doctor, I was told I probably just had a low pain tolerance. The second time, I was told I needed to manage my stress better. The third time, a different doctor asked if I was sure I wasn’t just seeking attention.

I started to wonder if maybe they were right.

The Slow Path to Diagnosis

The thing about endo is it hides well. It doesn’t always show up on scans. It mimics other conditions. And because we’ve normalized female pain, it takes an average of 7–10 years to get diagnosed.

For me, it took closer to fifteen.

By the time someone finally said the word “endometriosis,” I had been gaslit by the medical system so many times, I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or devastated. On one hand, I had a name. On the other, I had no cure. Just a chronic, progressive disease and a handful of treatment options that felt more like guesswork than science.

I had surgery. I changed my diet. I tried pelvic floor therapy, anti-inflammatories, acupuncture, hormonal treatments, you name it. Some things helped. Some made it worse. Most were temporary. None were total.

From Pain to Purpose

Something shifted after my second surgery. Not just physically, but emotionally. I stopped trying to go back to who I was before the diagnosis. I stopped chasing the dream of a symptom-free life and started building a meaningful one inside the reality I had.

I began to speak up. To share my story. And every time I did, another woman whispered, "Me too."

That’s when I realized how common it was to suffer in silence. To be misdiagnosed, dismissed, or written off. That’s when I knew I couldn’t just survive this—I had to advocate.

What I Want You to Know

Endometriosis doesn’t define me, but it has shaped me. It’s taught me how to listen to my body. How to advocate for myself in exam rooms. How to grieve and hope at the same time.

It’s taught me that healing isn’t just physical. It’s emotional. Spiritual. Communal.

That’s why I started this blog. To create a place where women with endo don’t have to shrink. Where our pain is valid. Where our stories are central. Where we’re not just told to be strong—but actually supported.

If you’re reading this and you’re still in the fog of not-knowing, I want you to hear this loud and clear:

You are not imagining it. You are not dramatic. You are not alone.

Where I Am Now

I still have bad days. I still navigate flare-ups and fatigue and fear. But I’ve found a rhythm that works for me. And more importantly, I’ve found a purpose bigger than pain.

I don’t want you to have to wait as long as I did. I want this platform to shorten your journey. To give you words when you don’t have them. To hand you truth when no one else will.

I’m not a doctor. But I am a woman who’s lived it. And sometimes, that’s exactly who you need.

Let’s Stay Connected

If my story resonates with yours, I’d love to stay in touch. Sign up for my email list and I’ll send you honest reflections, tips that have helped me manage my symptoms, and encouragement that actually understands what you’re going through.

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