“It is me and my body fighting the disease, not me vs my body.”

Jun 6

At 15, I thought everything I was going through was just part of being a woman.

Bleeding through super tampons every hour. Vomiting. Fainting. Crying from pain.
I didn’t know that wasn’t normal—because no one ever told me.

When I finally went to the doctor, I was given the classic band-aid: the pill.
For four years, I dealt with wild mood swings, weight gain, and pain that never really stopped. Even with the pill, my periods were unbearable. And as a gay woman, the whole “contraceptive” angle felt pointless. I wasn’t getting better—I was just getting silenced.

I only realized how bad things were when my iron levels dropped so low I needed an infusion. Still, I was told this was "normal" for girls. It wasn't. I was exhausted, confused, and completely in the dark about what was actually happening inside my body.

The turning point came in 2022, when I met my partner Sophie—and, through her, her sister Mads. That introduction changed everything.

Mads had endometriosis. She was the first person to really talk to me about it, to explain the symptoms, and to share what living with the condition looked like. At first, I didn’t think I fit the mold. But the more I learned, the more I started to question things.

In May 2023, I had a 12-day period. Mads urged me to see a doctor—and she didn’t just urge, she offered to come with me and advocate for me. That support made all the difference.

By June, I was booked for an internal ultrasound. I was terrified. But the sonographer was kind and talked me through everything. The results were clear: I had deep infiltrating endometriosis. My ovaries were immobile and fixed. Finally, something made sense. But that came with fear too. What would surgery mean? Would it help?

On April 2nd, 2025, I went in for my laparoscopy. After years of being gaslit, dismissed, and told it was just a “bad period,” I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Endometriosis. It was everywhere. Six biopsies confirmed what I already knew in my gut.

And I cried—not just from the pain, but from relief.

I had answers. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t exaggerating.

But I was angry.
Because no one told me.

Since then, I’ve been sharing my journey online through @ellieandendo on TikTok and Instagram. I want to be that person for someone else—the way Mads was for me.

If I had known about endo five years earlier, how different would my life have been?
How many girls are still out there thinking this is just part of womanhood?

I’m here to break that cycle.

Through education, advocacy, and honest, relatable content, I want to help people feel heard, seen, and empowered. Because no one should have to live in pain just because we’ve been taught to keep quiet about it.

Endometriosis is chronic. It’s complicated.

But I’m finding the light in the darkness.

And I’m determined to help others do the same.