The MUA Diaries: chronic illness edition

TW: I will be discussing some of my health journey here, including mental health struggles, weight mentions, general medical trauma, etc. So if that makes you uncomfortable or you simply do not care, please keep scrolling. No judgement here. But if you want to hear more about my chronic illness journey and my latest life update {or if you’re just straight up nosy like me}, keep reading. And please please be kind, this journey is different for everyone, and I am no exception. Any hateful or ableist comments, as well as unsolicited medical advice/sales, will not be tolerated.

Being an artist and creative my whole life, I’ve learned how important community is over the years. Knowing this, I still get incredibly nervous sharing certain aspects of my life online and in person, but I’ve learned that waiting for me on the other side of that fear is the exact community that I have been craving. So here we fucking go.

As a 1995 baby, growing up in the heroin-chic era really did a number on me. I watched the thinnest stars being told to lose weight, I binged ANTM with the best of them. Hell, I started counting my own calories in middle school. It’s safe to say, like many of us from that time, I learned some disordered eating, bad dieting habits, and a generally warped view of exercise. And thanks to my brain’s vibes since birth and my overall family’s medical history, I had grown up into a very anxious individual, which led to some depression, too. I marched into my twenties with a lingering, deep rooted fear of not being able to manage my own mental health, ever. I was tired. Tired of feeling sick in some way every day and feeling like my own health and body were out of my control. Like I was one bad day from my life falling apart.

I got consistent with therapy, got on medication for the first time, and focused on my mental well being. It helped so much. I was excited to live again. But the mental battle was just one part of what I was dealing with. I had more physical symptoms awaiting me once the fog in my mind lifted.

Unending fatigue. Consistent stomach and gut health issues since childhood, but now unavoidable. Frequent and extremely painful UTI’s. Headaches. Chronic shoulder, neck, and sciatic pain. Severe period pain. And I was sick. All. The. Time. Once a month for a few years, I would come down with a new cold or flu or infection. I could not stay healthy. I quickly got used to pushing through pain or sickness to keep up with plans. And when pushing through wasn’t an option, I would miss work and social gatherings, cancelling plans and vacations because of my unpredictable body. It was affecting my quality of life beyond what I had experienced in the past and was starting to weigh on me constantly.

Desperately, I wanted to feel better. I had plans to make and futures to dream about, and I couldn’t see past the day-to-day. The fight or flight. Never knowing if I am safe in my own body. If tomorrow I would wake up with something else wrong, a new curveball, a new diagnosis. And as much as I wanted to get healthy for myself, I also knew I wanted to be a mom someday, and I can’t grow a human and keep them alive if I’m not well myself. My priorities were quickly changing as I approached 30 years old, and I was determined.

So I started simple: get a primary care physician.

I know many-a-millennial who moved to a different city and never saw a doctor again. I was no exception. I avoided it for so long because nothing seemed urgent, and it can be exhausting to find a doctor that actually listens to you and takes you seriously. I finally buckled down and just picked someone, even if they weren’t the perfect fit {surprise! They definitely weren’t}. But it got me started. We dove into my bloodwork and ordered labs and she sent me off to specialist after specialist.

And say it with me folks! “Everything came back normal!”

Or we ruled another thing out. Or my doctors would blame it on anxiety. And then I would be dismissed or pushed to another specialist.

And along the way I made so many changes. Diet, exercise, supplements, medications, sleep, work, you name it. I stopped drinking. I {reluctantly} cut out gluten. I looked deeper within my habits, good and bad.

I got a few diagnoses. TMJ. IBS. Maybe even Interstitial Cystitis (IC).

And sure some changes helped, but I could tell there was still something wrong. How could I be doing everything right and still be sick? Am I making all of this up? What if it IS in my head?

Last fall I finally felt like I had peeled back enough layers. Like I was at a baseline where I could listen to my body even better than ever before. And boyyyyy did she start talking.

As I had begun to track my symptoms and see some patterns emerge, I was hit with a string of very painful UTI’s that just wouldn’t go away, which eventually turned into a minor health scare. I was experiencing side stomach pains so bad I would be bargaining with myself, “okay, if it doesn’t get better in the next 15 minutes, I’ll go to urgent care or maybe the ER. This can’t be right”. The pain continued on and off with no clear reason according to my doctors. What was first suspected as UTI’s, then kidney stones, required months of antibiotics that ultimately destroyed my gut health…which led to a yeast infection, which led to a very scary reaction to the medication prescribed for that. I ended up being so sick the entire month of January 2026 that I barely worked.

I trudged through the holiday season cancelling plans and hoping that each new appointment would come with more answers instead of more questions. And through all of this I started communicating more. Being even more direct with doctors and what I was looking for. Asking for more tests. Refusing to take “it’s just your anxiety” as an answer anymore. Finally getting the courage to do what I have seen so many other folks have to fight through with the current medical system.

Talking to friends IRL and online who have been going through similar things helped me the most. I am lucky enough to be surrounded by other makeup artists and creatives and general bad-asses who had knowledge to share with me. My friend, Krystle, in particular, made the biggest difference. She had been sharing a lot of similar experiences to me, and let me know she finally got a diagnosis: Endometriosis.

I remember almost scoffing to myself when she referred her doctor to me. I thought there was no way I wouldn’t have been diagnosed with something like that sooner. I knew what Endometriosis was, but I couldn’t believe it would be behind ALL of my symptoms beyond my painful periods. It didn’t seem possible.

Until I did some more digging. And it fit.

Every. Single. Symptom.

Every one could be traced back to endometriosis either with credible medical sources or straight from the mouths of those suffering from the disease daily.

Lots of people even had the same path as me. Years of struggling with the same types of symptoms to be diagnosed with IBS or IC and then further dismissed, waiting on average 10 years for a proper diagnosis. I didn’t want to get my hopes up for a chronic illness, but I was so excited by the prospect of finding an answer that I didn’t even care.

I took my friend’s recommendation {thank you so much Krystle I owe you everything for real!!} and gathered all of my medical data, paperwork, and symptom logs.

After consulting with the specialist, the doctor agreed with my suspicions and recommended laparoscopic surgery to search for and remove any endometriosis tissue via excision. A diagnosis for endometriosis cannot be made any other way, but she assured me she would not suggest surgery if she didn’t deem it necessary.

I was still so nervous.

What if they didn’t find anything?

I could worry all day about the procedure, post op recovery, financial strain from the surgery, the possibility of finding every worst case scenario. But every time I would come back to: What if they didn’t find anything?

That was the scariest outcome of all.

So I spent weeks preparing while simultaneously trying not to fall off the deep end. The chronic pain was debilitating almost every day, but I kept planning. Preparing my life and work to function so I could be out for up to 4 weeks recovering. Researching the essentials for post op recovery. Preparing crafts and books to keep me busy. Saving shows and movies to binge while on bedrest. I even prepped a little rolling cart with all the essential medications and comfort items so I could easily move from my bed to my couch. Anything to keep my mind busy and not thinking “well actually they won’t find anything and you’ve been making all this up and you’re about to spend thousands of dollars for nothing!”.

And then surgery day finally came.

I remember waking up post-op and not even asking any of the nurses questions about how it went. I could tell I was okay, at least I wasn’t in any real pain, but I was too afraid to hear the outcome from someone I didn’t know.

I needed this to come from my family. I couldn’t handle hearing they found nothing while I was by myself in a hospital bed.

When my husband, Brady, and my mom came into the room, I could finally breathe.

They found it. Stage II Endometriosis. And it was all fucking gone.

Relief.

I couldn’t feel anything else. I couldn’t believe that I was right. I kept searching because something was fucking wrong. It wasn’t in my head.

I couldn’t comprehend it.

Thankfully recovery went insanely well after that.

The post-op pain was nothing compared to the months of chronic pain I had been in. And while that chronic pain wasn’t guaranteed to go away forever with the surgery, I at least had a little window of reprieve and essentially forced bedrest to actually give my body time to heal for once.

I was able to move on my own by day 3. I was standing up straight by day 7. Originally I had given myself 4 full weeks to recover before going back to work in person with clients. I didn’t know what to expect and was gauging for the worst case scenario so I didn’t rush myself back into it. I couldn’t believe I felt so good. I was back on my laptop in week 2 {only fun stuff, I still gave myself a break from dealing with real life for a bit}. My scars looked minor, and are currently healing up nicely. Compared to daily life with Endo, surgery was a walk in the park.

But now comes the scary part. Reality.

I have a chronic illness.

And while I will not let a diagnosis define me, it will still inevitably change how I live my life.

For one, the chronic pain is back already. It could take a couple months to see any improvement there, if any at all, so I’m trying not to get discouraged. Currently, doing the best I can to build a care plan for myself moving forward and hope to find some therapies that offer me relief in the future. I also have the exciting {nay, terrifying??} opportunity and privilege to build a life that works better for me and my body. Instead of feeling guilty for missing work because I’m sick again, I can create a system that gives me the down time when I need it. Support where I need it. Medicine where I need it. At least that’s what I’m trying to do.

But I’m going to be so real…

I’ve never been more exhausted. And angry. And full of grief for the life I thought I would have. And generally just so overwhelmed with the entire process of having to do all of the research and investigation myself because our medical system doesn’t care enough about women’s health. Through this whole process, it’s been impossible to ignore the patriarchal, racist, misogynistic, and ableist systems we live in. And while ignorance was bliss, I can’t put the knowledge down. Instead, I’m using it to fuel my fire. To wield my white girl privilege any way I can. To never shut up about how we can make our world more inclusive and kind to everyone. It’s personal work I was doing before I went down the diagnosis rabbit hole, but it’s more important than ever.

That being said, I’m still taking some time to adjust and feel all of my big BIG feelings about this. Some days are more challenging than others, but I actually am really hopeful. I have seen so many of my fellow chronically ill babes and baddies continue to follow their dreams, despite any flare ups trying to get them down, so I plan on doing just that. It’s thanks to their kindness, support, and friendship that I’m here with any answers today, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

Moral of the story

Advocating for yourself and others is cool as hell.

And you might just find more community along the way. 🫶🏻