Dear Teenage Tracy,

You are not crazy. You are sick.

I know. It really, really sucks. I'm sorry you're sick, and I'm sorry you'll never be cured. 

But please take comfort in knowing that there's a name for what you have. For the sinking feeling you get when you realize your period has started, completely unscheduled. For the creeping sensation that happens right before the world gets hazy and pain begins to crush your abdomen. For the searing, crippling agony that radiates through your entire body, until you fall asleep from exhaustion. For what's kept you from countless classes, social events, obligations and a feeling of security.

There's a name. And there are people who have what you have.

Your life with endometriosis isn't going to be easy, but I promise that a diagnosis will make it easier. You'll have a surgery and probably more than one, and your scars will just become another casualty of finding solutions to your symptoms. 

You'll take a myriad of pills and have an equal number of doctors, poking and prodding you for the rest of your life. You'll know more about your illness than some of those doctors will, and you'll get frustrated and weed some out before you find one you can trust. You'll argue with insurance companies and become everyone's go-to person for medical advice. You hate doctors now, but you'll get used to them.

I know you're probably scared now and wondering how you're going to do all of this on your own. But don't worry! You're not going to be on your own.

You're going to have an amazing husband who will make you food or take care of chores when you're too sick and tired. Who will hold you and watch your favorite TV shows, even if you fall asleep in the middle of them. Who will sit in all of your major doctor appointments and listen to you rant about feeling like crap, despite the fact there's no distinct point to the ranting. Who will still think you're beautiful when you spend days in pajamas with no makeup.

You'll have a great family to be there for you, even though they live in another state. They'll pick up the phone and listen to you recite the doctor's orders. They'll adjust meal plans to accommodate your vegetarian diet. (Yeah, get this. You'll really love veggies some day. Right?!) They will be ceaselessly optimistic about your health, even when you're certain that there's nothing to look forward to. They'll love you despite that.

You'll also have the sweetest little dog to curl up next to on the couch. Who will snuggle under your electric blanket and lick away your tears. Who will be a bigger support to you than most humans, even though she has no idea what's wrong.

Even your job will be great! You'll work for a cause you care a lot about. You'll have coworkers and managers who will understand that working from home is easier on your body. And when you need to take a day off for surgeries and doctor appointments, you'll have a great team you can count on. You'll even have work friends who read that uterus blog I mentioned and say nice things about it! Again, don't be embarrassed. This is all great!

There will be people out there who don't understand. A lot of people will say cold and callous things. And I know you'll take it to heart. You'll wonder how people can be so ignorant, how they can't sympathize with something they can't experience. You'll become a feminist and a women's health advocate, so you better strap yourself in for a lot of Twitter rants. (You'll understand this later.)

But please try to disregard the criticism. Please know these people can't see. And please know you're doing everything right, even if it doesn't always feel like it.

Endometriosis is going to be one of the most incredible and most terrible things that's ever happened to you. It's going to take away a lot that you thought was certain, but it's going to teach you so much about yourself. 

You'll find out who really cares, what really deserves your attention and how you should take care of yourself. It's going to be a constant learning experience, years and years of trial-and-error. You're going to feel like you'll never get it right, never reach a point of serenity and understanding. But you know, I think those are myths anyway, and you're going to be okay without them.

Teenage Tracy, you can do all of this. It'll absolutely seem overwhelming at first, and sometimes, even years into your diagnosis, it won't make sense. You'll get mad and cry and want to give up, but you won't ever give up. You'll keep going - not just because you have no other choice, but because it's who you are.

I'm proud of you already. And the best is yet to come.

Love,