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My Painful Periods Were Not Normal

Jun 1
3 min read

A reflection on endometriosis, body-listening, and the pain I was taught to normalize.


An African American woman on a bed clutching her stomach, wincing in pain in a dim bedroom with white pillows.

Today, I found myself in tears of pride and joy. They caught me off guard, but they came from a deep place of reflection and gratitude for how far I’ve come, both in body and spirit.


I’m sharing this part of my endometriosis journey because too much of it was once treated as normal, including by me. This is for anyone who has been told their pain, symptoms, or reproductive health concerns are “just part of being a woman.”



The Pain I Silenced

For most of my menstrual life, I’ve endured painful, heavy periods and I believed it was normal. I learned to accept the unbearable:


  • heavy bleeding and clotting

  • searing pain that wrapped around my back and thighs

  • nausea, vomiting, and frequent diarrhea I thought pointed to irritable bowel syndrome.

  • exhaustion so intense it was hard to get out of bed each morning

  • heat flashes in my early 30s

  • involuntary vaginal spasms and vaginal pain

  • pain and spotting between periods during exercise


For decades, I treated these symptoms like inconveniences to manage rather than messages my body was trying to send.


A Truth Revealed

In January 2023, a specialist shattered my understanding of “normal.” A vaginal ultrasound revealed adenomyosis, a condition that can occur alongside untreated chronic endometriosis. The surgery in February confirmed stage 4 endometriosis, with years of endometrial implants across my uterus and other organs.


With each medical discovery, I was stunned again and again. Painful periods are NOT normal.


The surgery was life-changing, but it also brought emotions I wasn’t prepared for: grief, anger, and deep self-reflection. I questioned how I had normalized what I was experiencing for so long. Why had I accepted years of pain as inevitable? As my duty?


Unpacking the Weight

After my diagnosis, I discovered a family history of reproductive dis-ease I hadn’t known about. Fibroids, hysterectomies, endometriosis, and emergency surgeries. That discovery stirred grief, anger, and a deep sense of isolation. I found myself asking why I had to uncover this alone, and why so much of this pain is still left unspoken between the women in my family.


I also had to confront my own learned pattern: pushing through symptoms, dismissing warning signs, and silencing my body out of fear of being seen as weak or “dramatic.”


Reclaiming My Strength

Healing has been layered and nonlinear. After surgery, I began rebuilding my physical strength, starting with Pilates and pelvic floor rehabilitation therapy to retrain my abdominal muscles after years of tension. Slowly, I added dance workouts, then strength training.


This morning, I returned to a dance workout I hadn’t touched in over a year. I added ankle weights to challenge myself, and as I moved, memories of my past selves came flooding in: The version of me who doubled over in pain during workouts. The version of me who was terrified of spotting or unexpected diarrhea and didn’t know why. The version of me who modified every move, determined just to finish.


Today, I felt strong. I felt joy. And I felt pride for who I am now, and for every version of me who survived her torment before she had answers.


An Invitation to Listen

This journey continues to teach me the sacred importance of listening to my body and my intuition.


I’m not sharing this as medical advice. I’m sharing it because I wish I had known sooner that pain this disruptive deserved to be taken seriously.


If you recognize yourself anywhere in this, I hope you listen to your body, even if others have dismissed it. Too many of us are taught to minimize what our bodies are trying to say. You deserve care that listens, language that does not dismiss, and the chance to understand what your pain may be asking you to see.


My body had been telling the truth long before I knew how to hear it. The healing began, in part, when I stopped asking it to be quieter.



Some parts of this journey can be named in public. Others ask for a quieter room.


This is part of why I’ve created The Oasis: a private digital retreat for women learning to listen to the body, return to themselves, and rest without apology.

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