Six Years Later: What My Hysterectomy Taught Me About Listening to My Body
🌸 Six Years Later: What My Hysterectomy Taught Me About Listening to My Body
By Angel, Founder of AMC Rise and Thrive
Hello, beautiful souls. 🤍
Before we begin today's reflection, I want to offer a little
disclaimer.
To all the men reading this: today's
post is about women's health, menstrual cycles, fibroids, and my hysterectomy.
If those topics make you uncomfortable, this may be a good one to skip. No hard
feelings.
But if you're willing to stay, listen, and perhaps understand
a little more about what many women quietly carry throughout much of their
lives, then I sincerely welcome you. Maybe this post will give you a deeper
appreciation for the women in your life—the mothers, wives, daughters, sisters,
friends, and coworkers who often smile while carrying burdens no one else can
see.
And to my ladies...
Grab your favorite drink, get comfortable, and let's have one
of those conversations we probably should have more often.
Because if my story helps even one woman realize she isn't
alone or encourages her to advocate for her own health, then sharing it is
worth every word.
🌷
Sometimes Our Bodies Whisper Before They Scream
Today marks six years since my hysterectomy.
Even writing those words feels strange.
It doesn't seem like it's been that long, yet in many ways it
feels like another lifetime.
When people hear the word hysterectomy, they often
assume it's something that happens much later in life. Many women have one
after menopause or in their fifties and sixties.
I was still in my thirties.
That wasn't part of the plan.
But then again...
Life rarely follows the plans we make for ourselves.
Looking back now, I realize my body had been trying to tell me
something for years.
The problem was that I had become so accustomed to living with
difficult periods that I honestly thought they were normal.
I started my menstrual cycle when I was eleven years old, and
from the very beginning, it was challenging.
Heavy bleeding.
Irregular timing.
Seven to ten days of bleeding nearly every month.
Pain.
Exhaustion.
Mood swings that made me feel like a completely different
person.
Looking back, I can laugh a little and admit that during that
week each month, I wasn't always the nicest version of myself. Hormones have a
way of humbling us.
But at the time, I assumed this was simply what being a woman
meant.
Nobody handed me a manual that said, "Actually... this
isn't normal."
When you're young, you often compare your experiences to the
few people around you. If everyone jokes about miserable periods, you begin
believing that's simply the price of womanhood.
So, I pushed through.
Month after month.
Year after year.
Like so many women do.
🌼
Searching for Answers
Over the years, I tried just about every option available to
get things under control.
When I was a teenager, I decided to try the Depo-Provera
shot because I'd heard so many girls talk about how they stopped having
periods altogether.
That sounded incredible.
I remember thinking, Sign me up.
Well...
Apparently, my body likes to keep things interesting.
Instead of stopping my periods, I bled for four out of the six
months I was receiving the injections. I only had two shots before my doctor
and I decided enough was enough.
Not only did it fail to solve the problem, but it also made me
anemic.
Lesson learned.
Sometimes our bodies don't read the same instruction manual as
everyone else's.
After that came birth control pills.
Then eventually the NuvaRing, which, honestly, was
probably the best option for me at the time. It helped regulate things better
than anything else I'd tried.
The only downside?
Even with insurance, it wasn't exactly affordable.
Still, it gave me enough relief that I stayed on it until my
husband and I decided we wanted to have a baby.
Then came one of the few unexpected "vacations" my
uterus ever gave me.
Pregnancy.
For nine wonderful months, there were no periods.
No monthly countdown.
No wondering whether I'd need to carry extra clothes.
No planning my life around a calendar.
Just peace.
Ironically, that may have been the longest break my body had
ever experienced since I was eleven years old.
But even before pregnancy, there was something else I had
begun noticing.
Whenever I became extremely stressed, my body seemed to
respond with bleeding.
Not just spotting.
Bleeding.
It reached the point where I went to the emergency room
because I knew something wasn't right.
Surely this couldn't be normal.
After being evaluated, I was told everything looked fine and
sent home.
Looking back now, I understand that emergency rooms are
designed to treat emergencies. Their job isn't always to solve chronic
gynecological conditions.
But as a patient, that wasn't how it felt.
It felt like my concerns had been minimized.
And unfortunately, many women know exactly what that feels
like.
🌺 Learning
to Advocate for Myself
After my son was born, I faced another decision.
Because I was breastfeeding, I didn't feel comfortable
returning to hormonal birth control. Right or wrong, I worried about hormones
affecting my breast milk, and I wanted to be as cautious as possible.
So, I chose a non-hormonal copper IUD instead.
For a while, it seemed like a good solution.
Life settled into a rhythm.
Motherhood was busy.
Work was busy.
Life was... life.
Then 2018 arrived.
At first, the changes were subtle.
The bleeding became heavier.
Longer.
More exhausting.
Now, for someone else, that might not have sounded alarming.
But for me?
It caught my attention because my "normal" was
already heavy.
If I thought it was excessive...
Something was wrong.
So, I finally scheduled an appointment with an OB-GYN.
An ultrasound revealed the answer.
A uterine fibroid.
Or, as I jokingly like to call it...
"It's a tumor!" (Please
read that in Arnold Schwarzenegger's voice from Kindergarten Cop. I
can't help myself every single time.)
Humor has always been one of the ways I cope with difficult
situations.
If I can laugh—even just a little—it reminds me that whatever
I'm facing doesn't get to define me.
But jokes aside, discovering the fibroid finally explained why
my body had been struggling.
🌸 What
Exactly Is a Uterine Fibroid?
If you've never heard of fibroids before, you're certainly not
alone.
They're actually one of the most common conditions affecting
women during their reproductive years.
Despite how frightening the word tumor sounds, uterine
fibroids are almost always benign, meaning they are not cancer.
They are growths made of muscle and connective tissue that develop within or
around the uterus. Some are no bigger than a seed, while others can grow large
enough to resemble the size of a grapefruit or even larger.
Doctors generally classify fibroids based on where they grow:
- Intramural
fibroids develop within the muscular wall of the
uterus and are the most common type.
- Submucosal
fibroids grow just beneath the uterine lining and can
protrude into the uterine cavity, often contributing to particularly heavy
menstrual bleeding.
- Subserosal
fibroids grow on the outside surface of the uterus
and may press against nearby organs, causing pressure or discomfort.
Many women never even know they have fibroids because they
experience few or no symptoms. Others, however, deal with challenges that can
significantly impact daily life, including:
• Heavy or long menstrual bleeding
• Pain or pressure in the pelvis
• Discomfort in the Lower back
• Frequent trips to the bathroom if the fibroid presses
against the bladder
• Bloating or Constipation
• Pain during sex
• Extreme tiredness caused by blood loss and anemia
Researchers don't know the exact cause of fibroids, but they believe
hormones—particularly estrogen and progesterone—play a significant role in
their growth. Genetics also appear to be an important factor, which made sense
in my case because fibroids run in the women on my mom's side of the family.
At least four women in my family eventually required
hysterectomies because of fibroids.
So, while I didn't necessarily expect this diagnosis...
Looking back, perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised.
The good news is that treatment has come a long way. Depending
on the size of the fibroids, symptoms, and whether a woman hopes to have
children in the future, treatment may include careful monitoring, medications
to help manage bleeding, hormone therapy, minimally invasive procedures such as
uterine fibroid embolization or radiofrequency ablation to shrink the fibroids,
a myomectomy to remove only the fibroids while preserving the uterus, or, in
more severe cases, a hysterectomy.
There isn't a one-size-fits-all answer.
Every woman's body is different.
Every woman's goals are different.
Every woman's journey deserves to be respected.
💗 Choosing
the Next Step
At the time of my diagnosis, the fibroid wasn't considered
especially large.
Because of that, my doctor recommended starting with more
conservative treatment options before considering surgery.
One possibility was radiofrequency ablation, a
minimally invasive procedure that uses carefully targeted heat to shrink
fibroids while leaving the uterus in place. For many women, it's an excellent
option because it can reduce heavy bleeding and relieve pressure without
requiring a hysterectomy.
But there was one important question.
Was I completely finished having children?
At that point, my answer wasn't a confident yes.
I was about eighty-five percent sure our family was
complete.
But eighty-five percent wasn't enough.
There was still a small part of my heart that wasn't ready to
permanently close that chapter.
So, I chose another path.
My doctor recommended trying a hormonal IUD in hopes that it
would reduce the bleeding and give my body some relief.
It seemed like the most reasonable next step, and I genuinely
hoped it would work.
I wanted to believe this would be the answer.
I wanted to believe life would finally become easier.
Unfortunately...
My body had other plans.
🌸 The Day
I Finally Chose Me
After the additional imaging confirmed what we already
suspected, my doctor and I sat down to discuss my options one more time.
This conversation felt very different from the one we had the
year before.
There was no hesitation this time.
No "maybe."
No "I'm still thinking about it."
By then I knew in my heart that our family was complete.
My son was the greatest blessing I could have ever asked for,
and I didn't feel God calling me to have another child.
Instead, I felt Him calling me to heal.
For so long I had been surviving instead of living.
Every month I planned my life around my cycle.
Every outing required preparation.
Every vacation required extra supplies.
Every workday came with anxiety over whether I would bleed
through my clothes.
Every shopping trip meant knowing exactly where the nearest
restroom was.
I had become so accustomed to accommodating my pain that I
forgot life wasn't supposed to revolve around it.
Pain had become my normal.
Looking back now, I think that's one of the saddest things
chronic illness can do.
It slowly convinces you that suffering is simply who you are.
Eventually, you stop asking what life could feel like without
it.
You simply learn to survive.
But surviving isn't the same as living.
God never promised us lives without hardship, but I also don't
believe He intended for us to ignore every cry for help our bodies make.
Sometimes healing requires faith.
Sometimes healing requires medicine.
Sometimes healing requires surgery.
And sometimes it requires all three.
So, with peace in my heart, I made the decision.
It was time to let go of my uterus.
Or as I lovingly call it...
"The baby house."
That little house had done exactly what it was created to do.
It carried my son.
It gave him a safe place to grow.
It helped bring one of God's greatest gifts into my life.
For that, I'll always be grateful.
But it had also become the source of years of pain.
Sometimes letting go isn't an act of defeat.
Sometimes it's an act of gratitude.
You thank something for the purpose it served, then release it
so healing can begin.
🌎 When the
World Stopped... My Pain Didn't
Once the decision had finally been made, I thought the hardest
part was over.
I was ready.
I had made peace with my decision.
I was prepared to move forward and begin healing.
Then the world changed.
COVID-19 arrived.
Like so many others waiting for medical procedures, my surgery
was postponed as hospitals shifted their focus to emergency care and the
growing pandemic. I completely understood why. Healthcare workers were carrying
an unimaginable burden, and everyone was trying to navigate circumstances none
of us had ever experienced before.
But understanding why it happened didn't make the
waiting any easier.
My fibroid didn't know there was a pandemic.
My body didn't pause because the world had.
The bleeding continued.
The pain continued.
The exhaustion continued.
Every month that passed felt like another month of surviving
instead of living.
There were days I wondered how much longer I could keep doing
this. I had already spent years pushing through discomfort, but now I knew
there was an answer waiting for me—I just couldn't reach it yet.
Waiting is hard.
Waiting while you're hurting is even harder.
There were moments of frustration. Moments when I questioned
the timing. Moments when I simply wanted relief.
Looking back now, I can see God sustaining me through that
season, even when nothing seemed to be moving forward. He gave me the strength
to endure one more day, and then another, until the day finally arrived.
Sometimes God's faithfulness isn't found in removing our
suffering immediately.
Sometimes it's found in giving us enough strength to make it
through until healing comes.
Eventually, the call came.
My surgery had been scheduled.
By the time I was ready for surgery I had to have an iron
transfusion because my iron levels were too low to safely proceed with the surgery.
Had multiple ultrasounds that showed the fibroid was now the
size of an orange. Think about that for a moment. An orange sitting instead causing
all kinds of problems.
After months of waiting, hoping, praying, and enduring, I
finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
I wasn't walking into that hospital feeling defeated.
I was walking in believing that a new chapter of my life was
about to begin.
🌿 Recovery Was More Than Physical
When surgery day finally
arrived, I was nervous, but I was also ready.
After months of waiting
through the uncertainty of COVID, I walked into the hospital with something I
hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
My surgeon performed the
hysterectomy laparoscopically, which meant instead of one large incision, I had
three small ones across my abdomen. Today, six years later, they're so faint
that I have to look for them to even remember where they are.
It's funny how scars
work.
Some fade until they're
almost invisible.
Others remain on our
hearts a little longer.
The doctors told me to
expect about two weeks of recovery. They also made one thing very clear: get up
and walk.
I remember thinking, All
I want to do is stay in bed and rest?
Every movement hurt.
Every time I tried to
sit up, coughed, or went to the bathroom my body reminded me that I had just
undergone major surgery.
So, for those first few
days, I did exactly what my body needed.
I rested.
I stayed in bed.
I took my pain
medication exactly as prescribed.
But by the fourth day,
my stomach had enough.
The medication that was
supposed to help was making me feel sick, so with my doctor's guidance, I
stopped taking it and relied on my body to tell me what it needed.
Healing isn't always
about pushing harder.
Sometimes it's about
listening more carefully.
One of my favorite
memories from that recovery period is surprisingly simple.
My husband stayed home
with me, and together we watched Christmas movies...
In July.
There's something
wonderfully comforting about Christmas movies no matter what month it is. Maybe
it's the hope, the family, the kindness, or the reminder that brighter days
always come. Whatever it was, those movies became part of my healing.
Sometimes recovery isn't
just about medicine.
Sometimes it's laughter.
Sometimes it's quiet
company.
Sometimes it's someone
simply sitting beside you while your body does the work of healing.
While I was recovering,
my son stayed with my mom so I could rest without trying to keep up with an
energetic little boy. The original plan was for my cousin to help rotate caring
for him, but then COVID entered the picture again.
She and her family
became sick.
Plans changed.
Just like they had so
many times already.
Technology became my
lifeline.
I would check in through
a camera just to see my little guy.
Every time I looked, I
saw him stuck inside the house because everyone was trying to stay safe.
And every mother's heart
probably knows what happened next.
I looked at my husband
and said,
"We're bringing him
home."
Was I completely ready?
Probably not.
Was my body still
healing?
Absolutely.
But sometimes love gives
us just enough motivation to take the next step.
Having my son back home
encouraged me to get moving sooner than I probably would have otherwise. Every
day became a little easier. Every walk became a little longer. Every movement
reminded me that healing wasn't happening all at once—it was happening one step
at a time.
Looking back, something
still surprises me.
Compared to everything I
had endured during the months leading up to surgery—the constant bleeding, the
pain, the exhaustion, the anxiety, and the uncertainty—recovery was actually
easier than I expected.
That's not because
surgery was easy.
It wasn't.
But it finally felt like
I was healing instead of simply surviving.
There is a profound
difference between pain that has no end in sight and pain that is leading you
toward restoration.
One drains your hope.
The other gives it back.
As difficult as those
first weeks were, every sore muscle and every careful step carried me closer to
a life where I no longer had to organize my world around suffering.
For the first time in
years, I wasn't just enduring.
I was finally becoming
well.
If you're reading this
while wearing a heating pad, counting the days until your next appointment,
wondering if anyone believes how much you're hurting, I want you to know this:
I believe you. Your pain is real. Keep asking questions. Keep advocating for
yourself. Don't let anyone convince you that suffering is simply the price of
being a woman.
💗 Six Years Later: Looking Back with
Gratitude
Today marks six years
since my hysterectomy.
Six years.
Sometimes I forget I
even had the surgery.
Not because it wasn't
one of the biggest moments of my life, but because I'm no longer reminded of it
every single month.
The pain that once
dictated my schedule has become part of my testimony instead of my daily
reality.
If you had told the
version of me who was bleeding for weeks at a time, exhausted beyond words, and
wondering if she would ever feel normal again that one day she would rarely
think about her uterus, I probably wouldn't have believed you.
Back then, every
decision revolved around what my body was doing.
I planned vacations
around my cycle.
I packed extra clothes
"just in case."
I memorized where every
restroom was.
I worried about bleeding
through my clothes at work or in public.
I carried anxiety with
me everywhere because I never knew what my body would decide to do next.
Now...
Most days, I simply
live.
There are no more
emergency trips to the store because I've run out of feminine products.
No more checking the
calendar before making plans.
No more wondering if
pain or heavy bleeding will interrupt a family gathering or a day with friends.
There is freedom in the
ordinary things I once took for granted.
And sometimes, ordinary
is one of God's greatest blessings.
This journey taught me
something that reaches far beyond women's health.
It taught me to listen.
To my body.
To my intuition.
And most importantly, to
God.
Our bodies are
incredible gifts. They often whisper long before they scream. Sometimes those
whispers come as persistent fatigue. Sometimes they come through pain, unusual
symptoms, or that quiet feeling that something just isn't right.
Too often, especially as
women, we ignore those whispers.
We're busy taking care
of everyone else.
We're mothers.
We're daughters.
We're wives.
We're caregivers.
We're employees.
We're the ones making
appointments for everyone else while quietly putting off our own.
We convince ourselves
we'll schedule that doctor's appointment after things settle down.
Next week.
Next month.
After the holidays.
After vacation.
After life gets less
busy.
But life rarely slows
down on its own.
If this experience
taught me anything, it's that your health deserves your attention.
Not because you're
selfish.
Because you're valuable.
God entrusted each of us
with a body unlike anyone else's. Caring for it isn't vanity—it is an act of
stewardship and gratitude for the life He has given us.
Sometimes caring for
ourselves looks like getting more rest.
Sometimes it means
changing our habits.
Sometimes it means
asking difficult questions.
Sometimes it means
seeking a second opinion.
And sometimes, it means
trusting that healing may come through medicine, surgery, or the wisdom God has
placed in the hands of healthcare professionals.
For me, healing came
through all of those things.
Prayer gave me strength.
Medicine offered
temporary relief.
Surgery gave me back my
quality of life.
God worked through every
step of the journey.
Looking back now, I
don't celebrate losing my uterus.
I celebrate gaining my
life back.
I celebrate having the
energy to be present with my family.
I celebrate not living
in constant fear of the next cycle.
I celebrate being able
to enjoy ordinary days without pain controlling every decision.
Most of all, I celebrate
the woman I became through this journey.
A woman who learned to
advocate for herself.
A woman who learned that
healing sometimes requires letting go.
A woman who discovered
that strength isn't pretending everything is fine—it's having the courage to
seek help when it isn't.
And six years later, I
can honestly say that while I would never choose to relive that chapter, I am
grateful for what it taught me.
Because healing didn't
just restore my body.
It transformed the way I
care for myself, trust God, and embrace the beautiful, ordinary gift of simply
living.
🌸 To Every
Woman Who Finds This Post
If you've made it this far, I want to speak directly to you.
Maybe you're reading this because you've just been told you
have fibroids.
Maybe you're living with endometriosis.
Maybe PCOS has left you feeling frustrated and exhausted.
Maybe adenomyosis has turned your life upside down.
Maybe you're navigating perimenopause or menopause and
wondering who this new version of yourself even is.
Maybe you've experienced infertility, pregnancy loss, or a
hysterectomy.
Or maybe...
You don't have a diagnosis yet.
You simply know something doesn't feel right.
If that's you, I want you to hear these words.
I believe you.
I believe your pain.
I believe your exhaustion.
I believe the frustration that comes from wondering if anyone
truly understands what you're experiencing.
I believe the tears you've cried when no one else could see
them.
If you're reading this with a heating pad across your lap...
If you're counting the days until your next doctor's
appointment...
If you've ever questioned yourself because someone dismissed
your symptoms...
Please don't stop listening to your body.
You know it better than anyone else.
Keep asking questions.
Keep seeking answers.
If you don't feel heard, find another doctor.
Advocating for yourself isn't being difficult.
It's being courageous.
No one should have to earn the right to compassionate
healthcare.
And no woman should be made to believe that suffering is
simply the price of being a woman.
But beyond all of that, I hope you remember something even
more important.
Your worth has never been tied to your body.
It isn't determined by your menstrual cycle.
It isn't defined by your hormones.
It isn't measured by your ability to conceive, carry a child,
or fit someone else's expectations of what a woman should be.
Whether your body is flourishing, healing, changing, or
carrying scars, your value remains exactly the same.
God loved you before your first heartbeat.
He knew every chapter of your story before you lived a single
day of it.
He formed you with intention, walks beside you through every
season, and never measures your worth by a diagnosis or a medical chart.
Your identity is found in Him.
You are wonderfully made.
Beautifully resilient.
Deeply loved.
Infinitely valuable.
No surgery can remove your purpose.
No diagnosis can erase your calling.
No scar can diminish the beauty God placed within you.
Today, six years after my hysterectomy, I don't celebrate
losing a uterus.
I celebrate gaining my life back.
And if my story encourages even one woman to trust herself,
seek the care she deserves, or realize she isn't alone, then every word has
been worth sharing.
From one woman to another...
I'm cheering you on.
Keep listening to your body.
Keep trusting God.
Keep choosing hope.
Your healing journey matters.
And so do you. 🤍
🌿 Becoming
Your Own Advocate
One of the greatest lessons this journey taught me wasn't just
to pay attention to my body—it was to trust my voice.
For a long time, I questioned myself.
Was I overreacting?
Maybe everyone experienced periods like this.
Maybe I just needed to deal with it.
Maybe I was making a bigger issue out of something that was
"normal."
I think many women have had those same thoughts.
We're often taught to push through discomfort, to put everyone
else's needs before our own, and to keep going even when our bodies are asking
us to slow down. We become so accustomed to carrying pain that we begin to
believe it's simply part of life.
But here's what I've learned:
You are the expert on your own body.
Doctors bring education, experience, and knowledge that are
invaluable. But you bring something equally important—you live in your body
every single day.
You know when something has changed.
You know when something feels different.
You know when your intuition keeps telling you that something
isn't right.
Don't ignore that voice.
Ask questions.
Take notes before appointments.
Bring someone with you if it helps you feel more confident.
If a treatment isn't working, speak up.
If your concerns are dismissed, seek another opinion.
Advocating for yourself isn't being difficult.
It isn't being dramatic.
It isn't being demanding.
It's recognizing that your health matters and that you deserve
compassionate, respectful care.
Looking back, I wish I had trusted myself sooner. I wish I
hadn't spent so much time wondering if what I was experiencing was "bad
enough" to ask for help.
But I also know that every step of this journey taught me
something I carry with me today.
My voice matters.
My health matters.
And yours does too.
Sometimes the bravest thing we can do isn't enduring pain in
silence.
Sometimes it's finding the courage to say, "Something
isn't right, and I'm not giving up until I find answers."
That isn't weakness.
That's wisdom.
And sometimes, it's the first step toward healing.
✨ More
Than a Diagnosis
As I close this chapter of my story, I realize that this was
never really about my uterus.
It was about learning to trust myself.
It was about learning to speak up.
It was about learning that healing sometimes requires letting
go.
Most of all, it reminded me that my identity has never been
found in any one part of my body.
Not my uterus.
Not my hormones.
Not my ability to have children.
Not my diagnosis.
My identity is found in Christ.
I am still the woman God created me to be.
I am still creative.
I am still compassionate.
I am still worthy.
I am still enough.
And so are you.
No surgery can remove your purpose.
No diagnosis can erase your value.
No scar can diminish the beauty God placed inside of you.
The scars on my abdomen have almost disappeared now.
But they remind me of something every time I catch a glimpse
of them.
Healing leaves evidence too.
Sometimes the world only notices the wounds.
God sees the restoration.
And six years later...
I do too.
🌸
Affirmations
✨ I honor
my body, my journey, and everything I have overcome.
✨ My worth
is not defined by my diagnosis, my health challenges, or any part of my
physical body.
✨ I trust
myself to listen to my body, speak up for my needs, and advocate for my
healing.
✨ I
release shame and embrace compassion for every season of my life.
✨ I am
fearfully and wonderfully made, deeply loved, and guided by God through every
chapter of my journey.
✨ My scars
are not reminders of what I lost; they are reminders of my strength,
resilience, and healing.
✨ I give
myself permission to rest, receive support, and care for myself with the same
love I give to others.
📖 Bible
Verse
Psalm 139:13–14
"God created you intentionally, formed you
with care, and sees you as wonderfully made."
Then expand on the spiritual meaning.
That often avoids automated issues while keeping the heart of
the message intact.
And just to clarify: nothing about your request was
inappropriate. It looks like the system was being overly cautious, not that you
did anything wrong.
🎵 Song of
the Day
"I Am Woman" — Emmy Meli
Today's Song of the Day feels like the perfect closing
reflection for this journey.
When I think about everything that led me to my
hysterectomy—the years of painful cycles, the exhaustion, the uncertainty, the
waiting, the frustration of not always feeling heard, and finally the healing—I
realize this story was never just about a medical procedure.
It was about remembering who I am.
And that is exactly what this song represents.
"I Am Woman" is an
anthem of confidence, strength, individuality, and self-acceptance. It
celebrates the many layers of womanhood—the softness and the strength, the
compassion and the courage, the ability to nurture others while also learning
how to care for ourselves.
For so many women, our lives are filled with seasons where we
have to be strong.
We carry families.
We carry responsibilities.
We carry emotions.
We carry expectations.
Sometimes we carry pain quietly because we don't want to
burden anyone else.
But one of the greatest lessons I learned through my health
journey is that strength does not mean pretending everything is okay.
Strength means being honest.
Strength means asking for help.
Strength means listening when your body tells you something is
wrong.
Strength means having the courage to say, "This is not
normal for me, and I deserve answers."
This song reminds me that being a woman is not defined by one
role, one experience, or one part of our bodies.
A woman is not defined by whether she becomes a mother.
A woman is not defined by whether she experiences pregnancy.
A woman is not defined by whether she has a uterus, has a
hysterectomy, or walks a different path than someone else.
Womanhood is so much deeper than biology.
It is found in our resilience.
Our creativity.
Our compassion.
Our wisdom.
Our ability to love.
Our ability to begin again.
Six years ago, I had to let go of a part of my body that had
caused me years of suffering. But I did not lose my identity.
I did not lose my femininity.
I did not lose my purpose.
If anything, I found a deeper appreciation for the woman I had
always been.
The woman who endured.
The woman who advocated.
The woman who healed.
The woman who kept showing up.
As you listen to this song, I invite you to reflect on your
own journey.
What parts of yourself have you had to rediscover?
What battles have shaped you?
What moments have reminded you just how strong you truly are?
Because no matter what you have walked through...
You are still here.
You are still growing.
You are still becoming.
And that is something worth celebrating. 🤍
🤍 Final
Thoughts
Six years later, I can look back at this chapter of my life
with gratitude.
Not because it was easy.
It wasn't.
There were moments of pain, frustration, fear, and exhaustion.
There were moments when I wondered if anyone truly understood
what I was experiencing.
But there were also moments of strength.
Moments of clarity.
Moments where God reminded me that I was never walking through
this alone.
My hysterectomy was not the end of my story.
It was a turning point. A new chapter if you will.
It was the moment I stopped simply surviving and started
allowing myself to heal.
If there is one thing, I hope you take away from my story, it
is this:
Listen to yourself.
Listen to your body.
Listen to that quiet voice inside that tells you when
something isn't right.
You know yourself better than anyone else.
Do not be afraid to ask questions.
Do not be afraid to seek another opinion.
Do not be afraid to advocate for the care you deserve.
And if you are currently walking through a difficult health
journey, please remember this:
Your struggle does not make you weak.
Your diagnosis does not define you.
Your scars do not take away your beauty.
Your body is not something to be ashamed of.
Your story is still being written.
God is still working.
Healing may not always happen the way we imagine, but He meets
us in every chapter—the painful ones, the waiting ones, and the beautiful ones
that come afterward.
Today, I celebrate six years of healing.
Six years of freedom.
Six years of learning that I am more than what my body has
endured.
And so are you.
With love and gratitude,
🌿 Angel
AMC Rise and Thrive
🤍 Support
This Space
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reminded you that you are not alone in your own healing journey, you are
welcome to support AMC Rise and Thrive.
This space was created to share honest stories, faith-filled
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Thank you for being here. Truly.
If this message spoke to you, consider sharing it with someone
who may need these words. Sometimes the right message finds us exactly when we
need it most.
And if you are looking for more encouragement, visit the
archive. There may be another reflection waiting for you.
Trust the timing of your journey.
We cannot always rush what God is preparing, but we can remain
open, faithful, and willing to receive what He is unfolding.
#AMCRiseAndThrive #WomensHealthJourney #HealingAndFaith #SelfWorthAndEmpowerment
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