I sat in front of my computer last night and tried to come up with something to share with you this week. I ended up sitting with my laptop open for a couple of hours, but nothing seemed right.
I’ve been uninspired, partially broken by that which we call endo.
It has been a rough cycle and a busy month where I’ve overextended my energy with multiple social gatherings, ending with a magnificent wedding last weekend, where I got to stand as a bridesmaid beside one of my long time friends.
Once I stepped out of my bubble back out into the world, I was quickly reminded how hard it is to be an endo warrior, and how lonely it can be.
So… I don’t have new research to share or a yummy recipe, instead, a recollection from my heart that I hope you understand.
No one really sees me.
I’m standing in a crowded room, yet no one sees me. Really sees me. I plaster on a smile, even though my insides are burning.
I have daydreams of a warm bath and crawling under the covers. But I can’t, just yet.
I sit and listen quietly as they talk about their kids, mixed between coos of little babies and talk of pregnancy. I nod, even though I don’t relate.
There is this silent energy about me, unspoken infertility.
I swallow back emotions and manage to keep it together, even after touching a baby bump. She worries about having another, worried it will be too much.
Quietly, I’m wishing for just one.
Through my life I’ve struggled to fit in. I always wanted to blend. But now I feel like I stick out. I am different. I don’t understand the life with children and she doesn’t understand this life of pain.
The silent fatigue, the ache.
We gather to get ready at a very early hour. I didn’t want to complain so I pull myself up, even though my body craves sleep.
My body is sore from the rehearsal and dinner out the night before filled with beef, pork and french fries.
I arrive and try to fake it, but the fatigue is like a fog. Insomnia struck the night before – the bed, it killed my back. I work through the ache that runs from my back, hips, to my toes… and the pounding at my neck.
I take a look at the breakfast choices and am struck with realization – there is nothing endo friendly. And I didn’t come prepared. With the exception of the chocolate Kind bar in my bag. That will have to do.
I sip on some coffee, even though I know that this will do no good.
I brush off thoughts of poison and sit to have my hair and makeup done. I sit under the spray of toxins, and crafted smoky eyes. I used to do this all the time. I can handle a little.
Or so I think.
Signs of flow? Signs of stress.
I slip on my silver heels and move up the mountain. Soon my feet are screaming, then my back. I stand there strong in the sunshine and witness a beautiful ceremony of souls joining together on the edge of a spectacular view of the Rocky Mountains.
The party to follow is fabulous – the views, the air: divine. Once I slip into some flip flops I start to feel better.
Till a routine trip to the ladies room brings with it bright red blood. Oh no. A little early for this? I haven’t been tracking closely this month.
I go back to my seat, a little slower. The back of my mind toys with the doom… is this flow? If it is, I have nothing to protect my panties under this little purple dress.
Is the pain going to knock me over soon?
My lower back is aching and my signature right ache is present, crying loudly.
We stay till the end of the night and I step onward, ignoring the screams from my body, as my husband searches for food – difficult to find in our mountain spot – where things close down early.
This ends with a trip to the vending machine and a grumpy, hungry companion.
Then… I lost it.
We make it back to the hotel room. I find slight relief on the uncomfortable bed before getting up to step outside onto the balcony.
And I lost it. Tears pour out that make me shake.
I am exhausted. No one understands. Alone in the crowded room all night.
I cry for the ache in my body. That familiar ache. I can stand no more. The wells break.
I thought of you in that moment where the pain came flooding out. The frustration and animosity for this life with endo. For feeling so different from the rest.
I know that you understand. And for that I send gratitude to this world wide web that allows us to connect.
I am writing this today to you, my endo sister, as a reminder that you are not alone.
On the Positive Side?
I was able to come to a calm after the rain stopped pouring from my eyes and pulled in the magnificent sky, filled with bright stars.
At a higher elevation, I felt so much closer to the sky. I leaned out over the balcony and looked up at it all. I whispered a prayer for relief and peace enough to find sleep.
I found gratitude in that beautiful tug of nature, covered, surrounded by something more.
We are definitely not alone.