March is Endometriosis Awareness Month.

And this is personal to me.

In 2024, I was diagnosed with Stage IV endometriosis.

If you are unfamiliar, endometriosis is a disease where tissue similar to the lining of the uterus grows outside of it. It is often marked by intense pain, inflammation, and in many cases infertility. But what you do not always hear about is the emotional toll. The mental toll. The spiritual wrestling that can come with it.

The Years Before the Diagnosis

For years I struggled with my cycles. Painful. Heavy. Disruptive.

In 2024, everything hit the ceiling.

My cycles became so heavy I could not keep my iron levels up. I became severely anemic. I was exhausted. Bedridden at times. Functioning normally felt impossible. The stress of dealing with this would manifest as other physical symptoms.

And the emotional weight of it all is something I am still processing.

There is also the quiet question in the back of my mind.
Will I be able to have children?

I have never been someone who dreamed of a huge family. But I always assumed I would at least have the option. Grieving the possibility of that option being altered is something I am still learning to navigate.

The Dismissal

For years, I went to doctors.

“It is normal to have pain during your cycle.
“We can put you on birth control.”
“It is just part of being a woman.”

In 2024 alone I had seen four to five different OBGYNs. Countless follow ups. Four ER visits because the pain was unmanageable at home.

Five MRIs.
Two CT scans.
Four ultrasounds.
Iron infusions.
Prescriptions.
More blood draws than I thought possible.

I remember joking with a nurse, my hemoglobin is low, but you all keep taking my blood.

I even had to undergo a colonoscopy in preparation for what was expected to be a three and a half hour surgery.

It turned into seven hours.

What They Found

During surgery, doctors discovered:

• A large 7 cm fibroid inside my uterus and signs of adenomyosis, where the uterine lining grows into the muscle.

• My uterus was bent backward and folded on itself, pulled out of position by scar tissue.

• Both ovaries were stuck to the back of my uterus, to each other, and to my rectum.

• Endometriomas inside both ovaries, trapped old blood embedded into ovarian tissue.

• A blocked left fallopian tube filled with fluid.

• Extensive endometriosis throughout my pelvis, including on ligaments, ovaries, appendix, and behind the uterus.

• Thick scar tissue closing off the entire space behind my uterus.

• My rectum adhered tightly to surrounding structures.

• A small umbilical hernia.

• Inflammation around my left ureter severe enough that placing a stent was difficult.

When I read that report, I felt two things at once.

Relief.
And anger.

Relief because there was finally proof. Explanation. Validation.

Anger because I had been speaking up for years.

What if someone had taken me seriously the first time?
Or the second?
Or the third, fourth, or fifth?

Would it have gotten this severe?

Those thoughts still go through my mind sometimes.

Why I Am Sharing This

I am sharing this for two reasons.

First, if one woman reads this and feels less alone, it is worth it.
Second, because this is why The Whole Temple exists.

Wholeness matters.

Body.
Mind.
Spirit.

I do want to make this distinction. Wholeness is not what heals us.

Healing is a gift from God. It is promised to us in covenant with Him. It flows from His goodness, His power, His mercy. Not from our perfection. Not from our discipline. Not from how well we balance our lives.

Wholeness does not earn healing.

Wholeness positions us.
It allows us to wait well.
To endure with faith.
To guard our hearts and minds.
To be anchored when the storm does not immediately pass.

Wholeness helps us steward our bodies wisely. It keeps us from spiraling into despair. It keeps bitterness from taking root. It keeps our identity grounded in Christ and not in diagnosis.

And even in the waiting, it allows us to be a demonstration of the light of Jesus to the world.

That is the difference.

I pursue wholeness not to force God’s hand, but to stay aligned with His heart while I trust Him with the outcome.

If You Are In This Fight

Advocate for yourself.

Do not let anyone minimize your pain.
Ask questions.
Take notes.
Push for imaging if something feels wrong.
Seek second opinions.
Pray for discernment and direction.

You deserve to be heard.

And guess what?

Wholeness is still possible.

Even after the diagnosis.
Even after surgery.
Even after grief.

I believe that for myself.
And I believe it for you.

This journey has not been easy. But it has refined me. It has deepened my dependence on God. It has made me more compassionate. More aware. More intentional about stewarding this body He entrusted to me.

The Whole Temple was born in the middle of my breaking.

And I am still becoming whole.

If this is your story too, you are not weak. You are not dramatic. You are not crazy.

Your body is not lying.

And neither is your pain.