The War Inside My Womb

It’s been seven weeks since my surgery, and I’m still fighting a stubborn infection that just won’t seem to clear. A month of antibiotics and still no real change. It’s frustrating, draining, and honestly, disheartening at times.

But even through it all, I’m still showing up. Still pushing through the pain to work full time. Still trying to squeeze in moments of fun and normality outside of work, even when my body feels like it’s running on empty.

The truth is, it’s a balancing act between wanting to live fully and needing to rest deeply. Every day feels like a tug-of-war between the two. The exhaustion is heavy, but the small joys…  a laugh, a coffee, a quiet moment of peace remind me why I keep pushing forward.

Healing takes time. Sometimes it feels like one step forward and two steps back, but I’m learning that persistence is its own kind of progress.

I’m still here, still fighting, still finding little bits of light through the fog.

It’s been just over three weeks since surgery, and I had been feeling a little better each day, until yesterday. Around lunchtime at work, the pain hit hard. My first period since surgery started, and it honestly hurts more than the operation itself.

I couldn’t sleep. I could barely move. Every breath felt heavy. The kind of pain that makes you feel trapped inside your own body, like nothing can bring comfort. The pain cuts deeper than a knife, sharp, relentless, and impossible to escape.

I’m at work now after a night of no sleep and relentless pain, trying to stand straight, trying to put on a smile and fight back tears. I had a little cry at the start of the shift with the chiropractor this morning which, if you know me, is unusual as I hate crying in general, let alone in front of anyone.

Yet somehow, I’m still finding the strength to hold back the tears and go to work today. To hold on to some sort of routine, some sense of normality, even though my body feels like it’s on fire. I’m not sure how, but I am.

I keep reminding myself that this pain doesn’t mean I’m going backwards. My body is still healing, still swollen, still bruised, still inflamed. It’s fighting to find balance again. But mentally, it’s draining to feel like you’ve made progress only to be knocked down again.

Healing isn’t linear. It’s messy. It’s painful. But it’s also proof of resilience, proof that even when it hurts like hell, we still find a way to keep going.

Today, I’m sore, exhausted, and holding on by a thread, but I’m still here. And somehow, I know brighter days are coming.

After my first shift back at work last Friday, I ended up in hospital. The pain had become unbearable, and the infection in my incision made everything worse. It was one of those moments where my body reminded me, loud and clear, that recovery does not always go as planned. But despite that setback, I have bounced back surprisingly well this week, and I am honestly proud of myself for it.

I have worked four days this week, and while it has been hard, it has also been good to get out of the house and start finding a bit of normal again. Getting back into a routine has felt grounding in a way I did not realise I needed. The first day was the toughest. Driving for the first time since surgery was nerve-wracking. Every bump, every turn, every stretch of road reminded me how raw everything still is. But I did it. Slowly, carefully, I found my way back behind the wheel, and that small act felt like a huge step.

The infection has been a hurdle too, and of course, it had to be in the worst spot possible: the incision inside my belly button. It has been sore, uncomfortable, and definitely tested my patience, but the antibiotics are finally starting to help. It is just another reminder that healing is rarely linear. It is messy, unpredictable, and takes more strength than people realise.

Next week, I have my first appointment with an endometriosis specialised GP, and I will also be working with Jo Lincolne the Endometriosis Wellness Coach, which I am genuinely excited about. I am hopeful to learn more about how to slow down the regrowth and give myself more time between surgeries.

This week has tested me, but it has also shown me how resilient I can be. Healing does not happen overnight, but step by step, day by day, I am finding my way back.

Today was my first day back at work. Only a few hours, since we weren’t open all day because of the long weekend. I thought a short shift would be fine, my dumbass brain figured, “It’s only a few hours, how bad could it be?”

Turns out… rough. Really rough.
Wearing jeans again feels like punishment. Sitting, moving, even just existing in them had me wincing more times than I’d like to admit. Every stretch of fabric pressed against healing wounds, every step was a reminder that my body isn’t ready to bounce back just yet.

But here’s the thing: even with the pain, it still felt good to be back. To be out of the house. To feel a little bit like myself again, even if only in pieces.

I’ll be honest… it’s harder than I anticipated. Recovery has this way of humbling you, reminding you that healing takes time whether you like it or not. Today was proof of that. But it was also proof that I’m slowly, stubbornly making my way back.

One step, one painful pair of jeans at a time.

One week since surgery, and I still feel every bit of it. My body is sore, swollen, and stitched together. The pain is sharp and constant, the exhaustion bone-deep. Even the simplest things: standing up, walking to the bathroom or even taking a breath too deep remind me how much my body has been through.

This hasn’t been easy. There have been tears, moments of frustration, moments where I wondered if I’ll ever feel normal again. Recovery is not clean or graceful. It’s messy. It’s painful. It’s nights of broken sleep and days where progress feels invisible.

But it’s also been proof of how strong I am, and how strong everyone out there living with endometriosis can be. Each time I get up when it hurts. Each time I push through the dizziness. Each time I push through the constant nausea. Each time I let myself rest instead of fight against my limits. These moments are survival. They are healing. Slowly, but surely.

The truth is, yes I am still in pain. Yes I am still exhausted. But I am also proud. Proud that I made it through this week. Proud that I’m learning to give myself grace. Proud that even when endometriosis tried to break me again, I chose to fight back.

One week on, I don’t feel “better” yet. But I feel hopeful. And for now, that is enough.

To everyone who has checked in, sent love, or simply read my words: thank you. In a battle that so often makes us feel invisible, being seen means everything.

Today, I begin the long journey back… 8.5 hours between me and my own bed.

Every bump in the road feels magnified, every turn sharp and jarring. My body is tender, stitched together and swollen, and the motion sickness has already set in. Even with pillows tucked around me and breaks to breathe through the waves of nausea, the car ride is its own kind of battle.

It’s strange how something as simple as sitting still in the passenger seat can feel like a marathon. Each kilometre closer to home is a reminder of just how raw my body still is. But each kilometre is also progress. Each one takes me closer to the comfort of my own space, to rest that feels more like rest, to the quiet I need to begin healing properly.

This recovery is not easy. It’s messy, uncomfortable, and relentless at times. But just like the road I’m on now, there is a destination waiting at the end of it, one that makes every difficult kilometre worth it.

Home is waiting. Healing is waiting. And step by step, bump by bump, I’ll get there.

When I woke up from surgery yesterday, I knew it had been bad. The pain was unlike anything I had felt before. I was shaking and crying, and it took two hours and so much pain relief before things finally settled. Last night, I still couldn’t sleep. The pain was so heavy that I woke every five to ten minutes, trying to find even a sliver of comfort.

This morning, my doctor came to see me. He began by saying, almost casually, that “I’ll be honest with you, I hadn’t expected to find much”. But then his tone shifted. “Far out though,” he said, “there was a quicker regrowth than I anticipated.” What he found shocked him. There was quite a large amount of endometriosis regrowth. Both of my ovaries had been stuck down by endometriosis. The disease had grown deep and aggressively, especially around the bowel area. On top of that, there was a lot of free fluid and blood that had to be suctioned out.

The surgery took longer than expected because there was simply so much to clear. Out of all my operations, this has been the biggest endometriosis surgery I’ve had. The scale of it explained the agony I had been in, and why the recovery already feels so brutal.

Hearing all of that was both validating and devastating. Validating, because it proved what I already knew that my pain was never in my head, never exaggerated, never “just period pain.” But devastating, because it showed how relentless this disease really is, how quickly it takes over, how little time it gives you before it returns.

Still, I feel relief. Relief that it was found. Relief that it was removed. Relief that the battle I’ve been fighting inside my body was finally seen for what it truly is.

Endometriosis is a lifelong illness. I know this won’t be the last challenge, and maybe not even the last surgery. But for today, I am holding on to the fact that I made it through. I am sore, I am exhausted, I am broken open in more ways than one, but I am also still here. And with that comes hope… hope for more days without this level of pain, hope for moments where I can just be myself again, hope for more life to live beyond this disease.