When Painful Periods Became More Than an Inconvenience
For most of my life, my periods were uncomfortable but manageable. Like many women, I experienced cramps, fatigue, and the usual monthly inconveniences, but nothing that significantly disrupted my daily life. I never imagined that these seemingly ordinary symptoms would one day become the first signs of endometriosis.
That began to change in my mid-thirties.
Around the age of 35, my menstrual pain slowly intensified. What had once been a few days of discomfort evolved into debilitating cramps that left me struggling to sit through meetings and focus on my work. On some days, the pain was so severe that it felt difficult to breathe normally while sitting at my desk. I often described it as feeling like an alien was slowly scraping its nails across my lower back and deep inside my abdomen.
At the time, I had significant responsibilities at work and deadlines that couldn’t wait. Rather than stopping to investigate what was happening, I reached for painkillers, pushed through the discomfort, and carried on. Month after month, I convinced myself that painful periods were simply something I had to endure.
Looking back, I can see that my body was sending warning signs. Like many women, I normalized the pain and kept moving forward.
An Unexpected Conversation About Reproductive Health
In 2019, one of my coworkers and dear friends was preparing to move to another country. Before she left, we decided to treat ourselves to a multi-day Ayurvedic wellness retreat—a chance to relax, reconnect, and spend time together before beginning new chapters in our lives.
The retreat focused on holistic healing and self-care. Our days were spent enjoying nourishing meals, practicing yoga and meditation, and receiving restorative massages. We also experienced shirodhara, a traditional Ayurvedic therapy in which a continuous stream of warm herbal oil is gently poured onto the forehead. The treatment is believed to calm the nervous system, reduce stress, and promote deep relaxation.
As part of the retreat, we participated in a cupping and energy-healing session. During that session, the practitioner paused and commented on what she perceived as tension and imbalance in my lower abdomen. She encouraged me to pay closer attention to my reproductive health.
At the time, her observation barely registered.
The pain I experienced each month was still more of an annoyance than a major concern. I managed it with over-the-counter medication and a busy schedule. Reproductive health was the last thing on my mind.
Life Was Focused on Survival, Not Fertility
I was navigating a major transition in my personal life. I had recently gone through a divorce after years of marriage to someone struggling with alcoholism. The relationship had been complicated and emotionally draining, and its ending brought a mixture of grief, relief, and uncertainty about the future.
Not long afterward, my former husband suffered a traumatic brain injury in a bicycle accident. Whether he fell asleep while riding or intentionally jumped remains unclear. It was a difficult chapter that left little room to think about my own health, much less the possibility of having children someday.
With so much happening around me, the comments from the Ayurvedic practitioner faded into the background. I listened politely and moved on, unaware that my reproductive health would eventually become one of the most important journeys of my life.
Searching for Answers
As the years passed, my symptoms continued to worsen.
Around this time, I began seeing a gynecologist regularly for annual exams. Each visit followed a familiar routine: pap smears, routine screenings, and conversations about my overall health. As the pain became more intense, I started mentioning it during my appointments. I explained that my periods were becoming increasingly painful and disruptive to my daily life.
Yet because the symptoms had developed gradually and my exams appeared normal, there was little indication that something more serious might be happening beneath the surface.
At the same time, I carried an irrational sense of guilt. Somewhere deep inside, I wondered whether this suffering was a form of punishment for leaving a husband who had struggled to care for himself. Looking back, I recognize how unfair that belief was. But pain has a way of making people search for explanations, even when none exist.
When I brought up the increasing pelvic pain, my gynecologist ordered an ultrasound to investigate further. The results showed a small uterine fibroid measuring less than one centimeter. She reassured me that fibroids were common and that mine was far too small to explain the severity of my symptoms.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” she told me.
In many ways, the appointment was reassuring. There was no alarming diagnosis, no urgent treatment plan, and no obvious explanation for why my periods were becoming so difficult.
Yet I left feeling unsettled.
The pain was real. Every month, my body reminded me of that fact. Even though the imaging results suggested everything was normal, I knew something had changed.
So I did what I had always done. I accepted the explanation, stocked up on painkillers, and carried on. Work remained demanding, life moved forward, and I convinced myself that perhaps this was simply part of getting older.
Still, with each passing month, the pain grew louder while the answers remained frustratingly out of reach.
I didn’t know it then, but I was years away from learning that these painful periods and chronic pelvic pain were symptoms of endometriosis—a diagnosis that would ultimately reshape my understanding of my body, my fertility, and my future.