The Background.

For me, the simple reality of womanhood arrived at the impossible age of eight, a confusing, isolated event that marked the beginning of my life defined by pain. By the time I was eleven, the normal aches had escalated into something heavier—a constant, draining weakness, a tiredness that no amount of sleep could cure, and periods that felt like a biological betrayal.

By thirteen, the battle was constant. Chronic pain turned my room into a prison cell. Every month, the world outside—the roar of the crowd at sports events, the laughter at social gatherings, the simple rhythm of school life—shrank and disappeared beyond my bedroom door. I was bed-bound, struggling to move, and the constant absences ruined my school years, replacing curiosity with isolation.

The search for answers was a frustrating loop of dismissals. The doctor, seeing my young face, ordered ultrasounds, but the invisible enemy left no trace on the screens. "Everything looks perfectly normal, Kristina," they said, planting a quiet seed of doubt in my mind—was I exaggerating?

The silence lasted eleven years. It wasn't until I was nineteen that I found a voice willing to listen. The gynaecologist listened to the full history—the missed days, the crushing fatigue, the monthly obliteration."It could be endometriosis," the specialist stated, naming the unnameable. "We will book you in for a laparoscopy." Hope, brief and fragile, returned.

At twenty-two, I went under the knife. The surgeon found and lasered superficial patches of the disease scattered across my internal landscape, fitting a coil in the hopes of managing the relentless pain. For six months, I breathed. Then, the cycle started again, worse than ever.

The return of the pain was worse than a relapse; it felt like a deliberate punishment. The constant, grinding agony became a permanent resident in my life, a hostile roommate that stole my sleep and my sanity. Every doctor’s visit, every inconclusive scan, chipped away at my reality. I was in undeniable agony, yet every report read: 'Unremarkable.' This discrepancy created a deep, terrifying rift between what I knew to be true—that my body was failing me—and what the medical professionals insisted.

The quiet suspicion that I was being dramatic or hypersensitive was the cruelest side effect of the disease. It wasn't just physical pain I endured; it was the psychological war of constantly fighting to prove my suffering was real. The dreams I held - school and university trips, career ambitions, simple dates - were crushed under the weight of appointments and agonising flares. I felt like I was always being brought down to the lowest level, told to just 'get on with it.'

By the time the second surgery was scheduled, I felt less like a patient seeking treatment and more like an unwanted solicitor begging for entry.

A few years later, a second laparoscopy was scheduled. The findings were devastating: severe adhesions—scar tissue—like webs tightening around my organs. To understand the true extent of the invasion, they ordered an MRI.

I was twenty-four, and the three-month wait for the results felt like an eternity suspended in fear. When the results finally came, my life crumbled around me. The endometriosis hadn’t just clung; it had stuck fast to the underside of my womb and wrapped around the outside of my rectum, pulling it out of alignment. The mystery of the excruciating bowel pain was solved, replaced by a cold, structural dread.

January 2018 became the month of the great dismantling and rebuilding. Major surgery required a bowel specialist alongside Gynaecology. They cut, removed, and excised every trace of superficial endometriosis they could find. The recovery lasted eight weeks—the same length of time as for a hysterectomy. I had another coil fitted. But even this drastic intervention did not change my life.

The relief that was supposed to follow the 2018 major surgery never came. In fact, by 2019, my periods took a devastating turn. The pain became unimaginable, indescribable - words simply failed to convey the sheer physical torment I endured. Forced back into the diagnostic process, I had another MRI, and this time, the true nightmare began, cementing the reality of the rest of my life. I was diagnosed with Adenomyosis, described vaguely as "the next level of endometriosis." When I heard those crushing words, all I could register was white noise; no one took the time to sit me down, fully explain the diagnosis, detail how far it had progressed, or discuss what it meant for my future. All they offered was hormone replacement or continuous pain management. For somebody that so desperately wants a family, to carry my own children, to give birth, to experience real motherhood, I felt like it had been completely taken away from me. I now carried the double burden: not only did I have endometriosis, but now I also had Adenomyosis.

My twenties were a blur of emergency room visits and flashing blue lights - A&E trips and paramedics became depressingly routine. I was prescribed strong painkillers until they offered diminishing returns. At twenty-five, there was nothing more embarrassing than being a 25-year-old in nappies because I could not control the flow.

I knew my body was fighting a losing war and begged for a hysterectomy. "You do not need to go to the extreme," I was told, the quote a cold dismissal that crystallised years of medical gaslighting. Even after yet another exploratory operation in November 2020, the surgeon made unnecessary comments about my trips to A&E, implying the fault was mine.

Through my twenties and into my thirties, I was left to navigate a world that asked me to be a functional adult while my body was systematically breaking down.It was only recently, connecting with Endometriosis UK, that I understood the necessity of my fight. The awareness, I know, must be broader. Women cannot, should not, sit and suffer in silence. The emotional toll crushes dreams, dismantles mental health, and brings you down to the lowest level. No one should ever be made to feel they have to get on with it and survive when there is support available.

Take it from me, a woman who has been to hell and back since the age of eight, who hasn't had the chance to fully live the life I deserved, my message is clear and urgent: Support is not a luxury, it is a necessity.

This January, I'm taking part in the Winter Walk for Endo to ensure that everyone with endometriosis gets on the right pathway to care.

Endometriosis is a chronic pain condition that affects 1 in 10 women and those assigned female at birth. Those suffering with condition are often faced with making challenging and difficult decisions during diagnosis, treatment and management of endometriosis.

Endometriosis UK exists to offer support and reliable information as well as fight and campaign for change and better treatment options.