This lived-experience story is published in the writer’s own words. For current general health information, visit EWA’s What is endometriosis? page.
Being an author is hard.
Being an indie author—where I am the entire team, from writer to marketer, scheduler to social media manager—is even harder.
But doing all of that while battling stage 4 endometriosis?
That’s something else entirely. That’s a war.
Most people don’t see what’s behind the books I write. They see the polished covers, the Instagram posts, the book events—but not the days I’m curled up in pain that feels like it’s tearing me apart. They don’t see the hours I sit in front of a screen, trying to string together words while brain fog turns every sentence into a struggle. They don’t see the crushing fatigue, the waves of depression, or the moments I want to give up because my body and mind are begging me to stop.
And then there’s the well-meaning advice.
“Have you tried yoga?”
“Cut out dairy.”
“Just stay positive.”
"Why don't you just do a Hysterectomy?" ((an option I have considered but know won't "cure" me))
As if I haven’t already tried everything humanly possible just to survive.
I’m not just exhausted. I’m tired of explaining myself. Tired of having to prove that this disease is real. That it’s crippling. That it affects every single part of my life—including my career, my creativity, my very sense of self.
But here’s the thing: I know I’m not alone.
There are more than 200 million people fighting this same battle, quietly, painfully, in the shadows. People who have been dismissed, misdiagnosed, gaslit, and told they’re overreacting. People whose dreams have been put on hold because their bodies won’t cooperate. People whose voices have been stolen by a disease that no one takes seriously enough.
I may be one person, but I’ve got a loud voice—and I plan to use it.
I will not be silent.
I will be the big, bad dragon that roars so the voiceless can finally be heard.
I will speak about the pain, the struggle, the grief, and the resilience it takes just to keep going.
And through my books—through every word I bleed onto the page—I will fight.
That’s why a portion of every book I sell will go toward a charity of my choice, dedicated to helping others with endometriosis. Because this fight is bigger than me. It’s about giving others the chance to be heard. To be believed. To get the help they so desperately need.
This disease may have tried to write my ending.
But I’m the author of my own story. And I’m not done yet.