(TW: lots of talk about infertility, miscarriages, IVF, etc.)

Dear friends, family, colleagues and other persons of interest,

I am never having kids.

No, I probably won't "change my mind." No, I'm not the least bit sad about this. And yes, I've thought this over for a long time.

So let me repeat myself. I am never having kids.

My husband, Andrew and I reached this conclusion a few weeks ago, and I decided to use National Infertility Awareness Week as a time to talk about it. Because while most of our decision centered on a general aversion to raising a baby, it also involved 1) my questionable fertility, 2) our poor alternative options and 3) my overall health.

Before I get into my story, please note that I am absolutely not trying to talk you out of having kids or going through fertility treatments. I am all for women making their own decisions and choosing what is best for them. This is just a play-by-play of how I came to my own personal choice, and my tone will probably come off as sarcastic and vitriolic because that's how I do. But please, please, please don't take medical or financial advice from me, and please do your own research before coming to a conclusion.

Okay. Glad we settled that.

So once upon a time, I was figuring out finances for our household. I am a big saver, and I like to plan ahead for things. Having come to the realization at a young age that literally anything can happen at any given moment, I secured a solid "emergency fund" for us and then moved on to our next big future expense - a house.

As I started to map out how much we needed to save to afford a down payment on a house, a little voice in the back of my head said, "Yeah, okay, but what about your uterus?"

"What About My Uterus?" should honestly just be the title of my autobiography. It comes up in every. major. decision.

You may know by now that endometriosis is a leading cause of infertility among women. Typically, this is because scarring and adhesions block the Fallopian tubes, making it difficult to impossible for a woman to conceive. But other times, the general quality of a woman's eggs are depleted because of endometriosis, so an egg may never develop into a fetus.

On top of that, tube blockage can cause ectopic pregnancies (in which the egg implants outside of the uterus), miscarriages, stillbirths and other pregnancy complications. 

Looking at my likely infertility, I knew that Andrew and I would have to start saving money. The lovely thing about infertility is that it adds insult to injury. 

"Oh, you can't have a baby on your own? That's fine. How about you try in vitro fertilization?"

Full disclosure: I've never tried IVF. I have friends and Twitter buddies who have, with mixed results. But from talking to my friends, reading a lot and delving into other resources, I've learned four things about IVF: 

According to this Forbes article, IVF costs approximately $12,000 per cycle before medication, which runs between $3,000 - $5,000. Other parts of the process can costs thousands of dollars more, and choosing to "freeze" your eggs or embryos can add to that.

I've heard through various article, blogs, website, resources, etc. that three is the magic number when it comes to IVF cycles. Women are often 66 percent more likely to conceive after three IVF cycles. 

So. Three. That's three times you have to pay the aforementioned thousands of dollars.

Let's say it cost you $20k a pop. So $20k times three = $60,000. That's more than my student loans from my private liberal arts college. (Which are, you know, also in the tens of thousands.)

And if/when IVF does finally take, please keep in mind that you're adding the cost of actually giving birth to that child to your approximately $60,000. Luckily, health insurance will cover part of that... but probably not all of that.

There are many states out there that require varying levels of health insurance to cover fertility treatments. My state, however, is not one of them, leaving women to figure out the fun part of "how am I actually going to ever afford this?"

You do have some financing options, albeit complicated ones. If you'd like to learn more about them, check out Resolve's resources.

So at 25 (me) and 30 (Andrew) years old and less than two years into marriage, Andrew and I can't really afford three rounds of IVF. I mean, I honestly don't really know anyone our age who can. 

But let's pretend I could handle the financial burden and physical pain of IVF on top of my already chronic physical pain and other health-care costs.

The emotional pain of IVF... that's something I'm definitely not ready to handle.

Unfortunately, just because an embryo comes out of IVF does not always mean it's going to be viable. It doesn't always mean the baby will survive to term. And while three cycles may be the magic number for IVF, it's frequently more for many, many women.

I like to think of myself as an emotionally strong person. But that doesn't mean I don't crumble into a ball and cry because a major organ in my body isn't functioning in any way, shape or form that can be described as "normal." I hate it. I really, really do. And I really don't think I can deal with more frustration and feelings of failure.

That's the insult to injury. Young women are robbed of so much with conditions like endometriosis - things they never expected to lose. And after navigating the agony and frustration that come with these diseases, women who want to have a baby then also have to face the pain and disappointment that usually accompanies IVF and other fertility treatments.

In their prime fertility years, these women are force to navigate their health, and their developing career, and now additional financial burdens, and now their ability to have a kid. To me, it's injustice.

It just... it just sucks, guys. There's nothing else to say. It just make me so. angry. for these people.

Anyway, where was I?

"Alright, Tracy. So maybe all of that isn't going to work out right now. Have you ever thought of, you know, just trying to see if you can have kids naturally?"

Well, that was part two of my inner turmoil over babies.

I recently visited my ob/gyn, who tossed around the idea of sending me through another surgery to remove any endometriosis growth. Again, this is a progressive and incurable disease, so it's likely that a second surgery wouldn't be my last surgery. At this point, I'm not going in for one any time soon, and I'd like to put it off as long as possible. Since, you know, I'll likely be doing these for the rest of my life, unless an excision specialist suddenly moves to my state and is in my network.

The thing about surgery is that it is helpful when dealing with general endometriosis symptoms... but it can cause more fertility problems. Scarring = more blockage = fewer babies

It's why my first ob/gyn wanted me to get on Lupron as soon as possible - to temporarily shut down my uterus, stop the endo growth and preserve my fertility for a little bit. I won't get into it in this post, but Lupron is a total mess of a medication that I am not anxious to be put on. But DO Google it, if you'd like to learn about its heinous side effects.

So now, my overall treatment was a question mark. Was I willing to sacrifice my future kids in order to have surgeries and ensure that I could lead a healthier, happier, less painful life? So that I could keep working, traveling and doing the things that I love? So that I could live the way I want to?

I mean, am I even in good enough health to be a mother? Do I have the strength and energy to do this every single day? Can I even go through with giving birth? My mom had pregnancy complications. What's going to happen to me, when I'm already at a high risk for more complications?

After considering all of this, I realized something. "If these are major, life-altering concerns for me, I am absolutely not ready to have children."

I pretty much knew that I didn't want kids ever, even when I was young. I'm honestly terrified of being pregnant and giving birth. And I've had an aversion to small children ever since I was a small child.

For a little bit, I decided I would just wait until I'm 30 and then decide. But as my first ob/gyn reminded me, I don't have that luxury anymore. I needed to decide, like, right now.

And this long conversation with myself confirmed my suspicions. I didn't want this for my life.

If I were wringing my hands over money and chance and statistics, then I wasn't ready to go through with any of this. At all.

At this point, I did what I usually do when life becomes too overwhelming. "Annnnndreeeeeewwww!"

And you'll be shocked to know how much you'll talk about your uterus some day. You're going to blog about your uterus, and people are going to read it. I'm sorry. Please don't be embarrassed. It'll be great. I promise. You need this to hang onto your sanity.

I should probably tell you that you might not have kids. You might not be able to conceive on your own, and if you do, you might have trouble carrying that baby to a full term. But I want you to know that you're still going to fall in love and get married. And your husband is never going to hold your likely infertility against you. "Family" might not look the same to others as it does to you, but it's going to mean the same.

You'll have to give up some of the busyness that you thrive on, so that you have energy to do the things you truly love. You'll have to prioritize reasons to leave the house, so that you can travel that weekend or attend a party without being exhausted or suffering a flare-up. Oh, and please start letting go now because you're too young to be so stressed.

Life motto.

I really didn't want to write a blog post, but it's been a while. And I think I needed to be honest with myself and all of you lovely readers. I often try to hide frustration behind an irritating optimism that's constantly at war with my unrelenting realism. But I can't do it right now.

Because I'm tired.

I'm just really, really tired.

I've been knowingly fighting endometriosis for about a year and a half, but it's truly a battle that I've blindly navigated for 14 years now. Even though there's a name for what I have, not a whole hell of a lot has changed in the long-run.

Yes, I have medications to haphazardly treat my pain and other inexplicable symptoms. Yes, I can find support groups of women who get me. And yes, I feel that I can speak more openly about my illness.

Okay, I guess a lot has changed. But in the end, regardless of what I know or what I do, I can't win this war. I really can't. There isn't a cure. There isn't a solution. I just keep going until I run out of options, I guess.

I've heard people say "Everyone has something" when it comes to sickness. Really? Every single 25-year-old has a chronic illness like this? Mmmm I don't think so. If that were true, I would think we'd be chatting about a global health crisis, not a "woman's" health issue.

I think everyone has a battle. But I'm about ready to throw in the towel with mine.

I recently became beyond overwhelmed with endo when my symptoms changed a month or so ago. My ob-gyn began suggesting surgery again, and I wondered if this was all I would ever have to look forward to - just surgery after surgery for the rest of my life. 

And she started throwing around the term "interstitial cystitis," (IC) which is a common sister condition to my endometriosis and vulvodynia that causes bladder pain. So great. Now I have another incurable disease to add to my ever-growing list?

I was pretty convinced I didn't have IC, based on the symptoms list. It really seemed unlikely, and I was definitely not into the idea of getting a scope done without anesthesia. But I allowed my doctor to schedule me for an ultrasound to determine if I had a cyst or mass near my uterus that required immediate surgery.

To make a long story short, I don't. My husband, Andrew and I took a day off of work to sit in a hospital and be told that everything looked fine. Yeah, that is great news. But now, I have no resolution. No surgery. No other treatment.

Sometimes, you just want answers, even if they're bad.

I do have a painkiller though! One that numbs my brain whenever I take it and piles more sleepiness onto my chronic fatigue. The first time I took Tramadol, it took me two hours to get through a really, really basic work assignment. It's been better lately, and I only take it as needed, so I really shouldn't complain too hard, I guess.

Oh, but did I mention that IC doesn't look so unlikely after all? In the last few days, my body has been like "OH! You think you know best, huh?" and given me a few other symptoms to keep the wheels in my brain spinning and lead me to wonder if absolutely all of my organs are rebelling against me.

Dude, I'm complaining hard, and I'm not even sorry right now. I'm so, so tired. (That's my excuse for these poorly strung-together paragraphs.)

I'm tired of going in circles and thinking too hard. I'm tired of waking up tired, going through my day tired and going to bed tired. I'm tired of being in pain while I sleep and while I'm awake. I'm tired of arguing with insurance companies, explaining myself to everyone and fighting to be heard.

I'm tired of being brushed aside and being told I don't have it that bad. Because yes, you're right; there are countless people out there who suffer worse than I do. But my body has rioted against me and robbed me of any control since I was a child. I have a right to be angry, and I have a right to be tired.

Hah. Sometimes, when it's a weekend, and Andrew asks where I want to go out to eat, I explode with "I don't even care! I've made non-stop decisions all week! YOU pick!" Poor guy.

It's Endometriosis Awareness Month, and I've hardly participated because I'm just tired of fighting. Writing out my internal screed is hardly "fighting," but it's what I can do at the moment. I can be a voice, if I can't currently be a decision-maker or action-taker. I can use my tiny corner of the internet to tell people why they should give a crap about my uterus and other women's uteri or just chronic illness in general because we shouldn't have to constantly knock down walls to get the care we need.

(I'm going to be honest. I've never heard of this nonsense happening to a man. But I know a ton of women personally who have similar stories to mine.)

So all of these feelings - and there are a lot more I haven't found the words to describe - just piled up and made me not want to write. I've actually spent a ton of time playing Pokemon and not thinking at all when I'm done with work. (Not to brag or anything, but I have a Charizard now.) I've cut down my gym time a little to make sure I'm giving myself space to be idle - something I'm not very good at doing. I've started spending a lot more time with Andrew and my dog and just being still.

When I'm feeling better, I'll return to my old routine. But I have to let myself have downtime. Even self-care has started turning into a chore and something I "have to do," rather than something I enjoy doing. So clearly, I'm doing this whole "care" thing wrong...

Anyway, I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. I'm incredibly frustrated, but it'll pass. I'll find resolutions, and I'll be less tired. If I'm anything, I'm resilient. I am what Daryl Dixon would call a "little ass-kicker," even though I'm not a baby in the zombie apocalypse.

But for now, I want to own these feelings and recognize them. And understand that they're okay.

(I didn't know what picture to use for this, so I used one of me in my new reading glasses. After 25 years of perfect vision, I think my eyes are finally going. Either that, or chronic fatigue has officially dulled my senses.)

First of all, happy Endometriosis Awareness Month, everyone! If you're doing anything really cool to promote awareness in March, let me know in the comments. I just submitted a letter to the editor to my local paper that I hope gets picked up.

I kicked off this month right by visiting my ob-gyn this week. Fun times all around! If you've been following my recent posts, you'll know that I haven't been feeling well lately. 

I described my pain ever-so-eloquently to my husband, Andrew the other day as "It feels like someone took a needle and just stabbed my uterus all over. And then, they went to my right ovary and punched it a bunch of times. And then, they grabbed everything and squeezed it in their giant hands. And then, they probably poured rubbing alcohol over it or something, and now, I'm upset."

It's obvious that I'm a writer.

So it was clear I needed to see my doctor. I actually tried to get in earlier than this week, to no avail. As I sat in the waiting room, I ran through all of my symptoms in my head, trying to rehearse what I was going to say. It's hard to remember everything when endometriosis has such a variety of side effects that, in my case, like to change from week-to-week.

"Okay, so I have to mention the stinging because that's new. And if she asks how much pain I'm in, on a scale of one to 10 (ugh such a great question...), I'll say an eight. Oh, and I can't forget to say what happened two weeks ago because that was important. And..."

My ob-gyn walked in as her normal, chipper self. I appreciate her optimism in the face of my frustration, especially when the advice I got from my previous ob-gyn was "Just go have a baby, and that'll fix it."

My current doctor always seems to have some sort of idea or another thing we can try when my medication finally fails me. But when I began to describe my new symptoms to her, she frowned for the first time ever.

The first thing she did, unsurprisingly, was offer Lupron. I immediately shook my head and said, "No. I don't want to do that." 

If you're unfamiliar with Lupron, it shuts down your uterus and sends you into a brief menopause to help manage endometriosis. Unfortunately, it comes with a slew of just awful and horrifying side effects. I know that's a bit of editorializing on my part, but I haven't heard a single good thing about this medication from anyone who has taken it. Most experience things like like bone pain, weight gain, additional pelvic pain (lolwut) and your traditional menopause symptoms. And yet, it's often offered as a cure-all for endo. (READ: It's not. Endo can still grow while you take it...)

Thankfully, my doctor respected my decision to not take Lupron. But she then said, "Well, I've been treating you for about a year now. And usually after a year, if medication isn't working anymore, I'd like to do a surgery."

Surgery.

I had a feeling this was going to happen soon. But I had really, really hoped I could push off a surgery for a little while longer. My first (and most recent) one was when I was diagnosed in December 2014. So now, just slightly over a year later, my endometriosis has likely grown back and, judging by how I feel, spread.

My doctor noticed my discomfort and said, "Well, excision is the only real cure for endometriosis." ...wait, what? Yes! YES! I have a doctor who actually recognizes that! 

If you don't know a lot about endometriosis care and treatment, it's often hard to find a doctor who actually recognizes the importance of excision surgery. (This involves removing growths and scar tissue while preserving as much of the surrounding organs as possible.) Many doctors recommend hysterectomies to women even younger than I am, which, believe it or not, does not cure endometriosis.

Now, if my doctor is an excision specialist, I'm not aware because I'm dumb and didn't even think to ask. (But trust me; I will.) But just knowing she understood the value of doing this procedure made me feel a little better.

But still, is it really time for surgery again? Right now? I really thought I had another year or two to go.

I left my doctor's office with a prescription for the painkiller, Tramadol (FINALLY!) and an appointment for an ultrasound to see if I did need surgery right away. This would detect any major nodules, cysts, tumors, etc. that would need immediate removal and, if there are none, would help determine if I wanted to have surgery now. Also, she tossed around the idea of testing me for interstitial cystitis, which is a bladder condition that often accompanies endometriosis. I'm pretty sure I don't have it, but HEY! Let's check for ALL THE THINGS.

To be honest, I felt a little defeated after all of this. I mean, I got answers and a prescription for a painkiller, which I've never, ever been given. (I've been fighting pain up until this point with Aleve and heating pads. It's super, sometimes, rarely effective.) So that's good!

But it's so, so frustrating to know that virtually the one and only treatment for my disease is surgery.

So, what now? I have one surgery a year for the rest of my life? That's expensive. And diminishes my already decreasing chances at having kids, if Andrew and I so choose.

And on top of that, what will that mean for my quality of life, long-term? It's a minor surgery, yes, but if I end up having five, six, seven surgeries some day, will I be able to do things the way I want to? Will I be able to keep up with my fitness and enjoy going to the gym like I can currently? I can live with a scarred-up abdomen, but will I eventually regret the internal scars these surgeries leave?

I never thought this is what I'd end up doing with my health and my life. But as my mom said, we do what we have to do for our health. And I really, really shouldn't feel sorry for myself, but ugh, seriously? I'm 25, and I have a lifetime of this ahead of me?

It just sucks that this is all we have to offer young women. "Sorry about your uterus. Here's something that will help for a little bit and then not help anymore." Sure, if I see an excision specialist, it would be more effective than having just any ob-gyn perform my surgery. But will my insurance even cover a specialist in another state if my state doesn't have one? And I mean, I'll eventually have to do this again, right? Is it worth the money?

And of course, I don't have good answers to these questions at the moment.

Right now, I'm desperately trying not to get too far ahead of myself. I have great health-care, a decent health savings account and an ob-gyn who believes in me. That's a lot better than many women out there have because yay, endometriosis is poorly researched. 

So I'm taking it a day at a time. I'll face this ultrasound, and then I'll go from there. And if it involves getting frustrated or angry or crying, then I'll let myself have my moment, pick myself up and do what I have to do.

At the end of the day, I just want to feel well. I know I'll never be "normal." But I'll settle for "normal enough."

I've heard before that chronic illness is a full-time job, except without pay or any sort of benefits whatsoever. I'd buy that. In fact, you get a nice assortment of careers with endometriosis: detective, researcher, advocate, dietitian, wellness expert and, of course, your own personal life coach.

But I'm here to talk about a specific job that endometriosis has gifted me: illusionist.

It's not even just tricking everyone around me into thinking I feel well when I absolutely don't but absolutely have to. It's also tricking myself into believing everything is fine when everything isn't.

Do not try this at home.

Lately, my role as an illusionist has been a 24-7 commitment. As I mentioned a blog post or two ago, my symptoms seem to have changed, and since I won't see my doctor until next week, I've been doing my best to cope. Or, you know, straight-up ignore said symptoms.

I've recently started experiencing pain before I even wake up, which is just downright cruel. Shouldn't that be the one place endometriosis leaves me alone? I mean, I didn't even know this was a thing.

But sure enough, around 3 a.m. every single night, I start to hurt. And then I wake up in the morning and realize it's actual, real-life, happening-right-now pain, not just some terrible dream pain. But I crawl out of bed - with some help from a dog who really wants to go outside - and tell myself that everything is just peachy.

I won't walk you through each and every one of my new symptoms, but I'll say they've been really unpredictable. The hardest to deal with, as I often say, is the fatigue. I've faced that for a long while, but it's been exceptionally irritating lately, especially when I just don't have the mental energy to even talk some days. (AND I LOVE TO TALK.)

Despite this uncontrollable fatigue, I often try to trick my body into thinking we have all the energy in the world! And that even on days when every flashing red light is going off inside of me, hey, everything is fine. Because we have things to do, and I don't have time for this.

Lately, that's shown up at the gym. I've been working really hard to stay in shape, endometriosis be damned, with varying results. Part of this is an effort to stave off some of the pain, manage my other symptoms and also keep my scoliosis from getting worse. It's also because I'm delusional and believe that even with endometriosis, I can have INSTAGRAM-ABLE ABS.

Oh hey, Thor... <3

I'm pretty happy with where I am right now, but it's taken a WHOLE LOT of work to get there. Pain and fatigue have disrupted my gym routine countless times, and when that happens, I'm pretty hard on myself. Even though I can't control my disease, part of me still likes to think I should be able to do so.

At my worst, as I've mentioned in previous posts, I drag myself to the gym when I don't feel well. I try to work out whenever I feel okay (like above a 6 or a 7 on a scale of 1 to "I'm definitely dying"), so that I can balance out those bad days. But sometimes, my illusionist self thinks it can do more than it actually can.

This happened a week or so ago. I was frustrated with a few different aspects of life to begin with that day, but I insisted that my husband, Andrew and I go to the gym anyway. I wanted to blow off steam, I hadn't done a great job of exercising the weekend prior, and I needed something I could control to regain my sanity.

Joke's on me. I don't "control" anything!

About ten minutes into being on the elliptical and watching my beloved Property Brothers, my brain went into "screw it" mode. 

[Why can't I find a gif of Jonathan taking a hammer to a wall or something?!]

"What am I doing here?" I thought. "Why am I doing any of this? It's pointless. As soon as I feel sicker, I'll have to stop working out, and my body will go right back to where it was. None of this is worth my time. I can't manage my symptoms, my disease is progressive, and it doesn't even have a cure, so why am I bothering?"

I realized I didn't want to be anywhere except curled up in a ball at home. I got off the elliptical and went to find Andrew.

When we got home, I broke down into tears. I'd had a stressful week to begin with that was further complicated by just how awful I was feeling. I ranted to Andrew how I didn't want this to be my life, how I was so scared this was as good as I was ever going to feel, how I knew there were only a few treatment options even available to me, and how eventually I'd run out. How I'd need to go into surgery again at some point, how that wouldn't even matter because the endometriosis would grow back again, and how oh my gosh if we want kids some day how will we ever afford fertility treatments or adoption or anything.

This quickly led into my next spiral, which went something like this: "I don't want people to think I'm sick. I don't want to look sick or be sick or anything. I don't want it to get in the way of me doing things that I want to do. I don't want to disappoint people or let them down or miss out on things or-"

Andrew interrupted with "Why won't you just accept that you have a chronic illness?"

He wasn't accusatory or mean or exasperated at all. He said it in the most loving and kind way imaginable. By saying this, Andrew told me that it was time for me to give myself permission to be sick.

You would think that I'd done that already, given this blog and how vocal I am about endometriosis. And when I'm mentally at my best, I do a good job of accepting my illness. But when things get bad, I start to resent my body, as if being angry will change my circumstances. When, really, it probably just puts more stress on my body and makes me feel worse.

The truth is that my inner illusionist tries its hardest with myself. I try to outsmart my own disease, forcing my brain to ignore what it needs some days so that I can travel, run errands, exercise or sometimes do really dumb, pointless things just so that I feel personally accomplished that day.

I've never been good at allowing myself to rest or take any sort of break. Just look at how many days off of work I don't take, and you'll see that I do not make time to just relax and exist and, you know, be a person. I see it as idleness or laziness, rather than an essential part of managing my illness and my sanity.

If you've been following my blog for a bit, this isn't news. It's a constant struggle of mine, and I'll probably come back in four months (or less) and write a similar blog post to this one. But hopefully by typing it all out, I'll force the illusionist to take a vacation and let my body take its own mini holiday.

In chatting with one of my college friends the other day, I reminisced about an old redheaded heartbreak. (There are actually two from my college years. This one is the latter of the two. Hah.) I said, "It's good we never worked out. I really don't think he'd ever accept my illness." But how can I expect other people to accept and understand endometriosis when I don't even let myself do it, most days?

This isn't a message to me and other people with chronic illness to just give up on ever feeling well, forget about going outside and stop trying to take care of yourself. Not at all. This is permission to feel like complete crap. Permission to spend days in a row on the couch. Permission to cry and be frustrated and then watch HGTV re-runs all day because endometriosis is terrible. Permission to let yourself be sick. And permission to do all of that without guilt.

You spend so much of your time managing your chronic illness to begin with. Let's cut out the magic tricks.

And here's another gif of attractive men to send you off.

As you may know, the day before Valentine's Day is commonly referred to as Galentine's Day - a day for women to celebrate the female friends in their lives. If you're unfamiliar with it, you need to watch more Parks and Recreation, but here, I've got you covered:

So anyway, I'm technically a day late in posting this, but it was something I wanted to talk about in my last blog post regarding Lena Dunham's personal endometriosis announcement. But to avoid packing too much into one post, I decided to recognize Galentine's Day by delivering the following message:

ENDO SISTERS, SUPPORT EACH OTHER.

Now, if you don't know why I'm emphasizing that in bold font, that's actually great. It means the infighting that's sprung up in support groups, Twitter feeds and comment sections hasn't been very noticeable, unless you're really involved in those realms.

But this is a message for all women, regardless of whether or not you have something like endometriosis. This is a message to ask women to stop tearing each other down, cease the petty arguments and build each other up.

When a bunch of articles came out about Lena Dunham, I read a shocking number of comments like:

"Must be nice to be able to take time off. She should just get over it like the rest of us have to."

"I have endometriosis, and I've NEVER had to take time off for it! She needs to suck it up."

"Wish I had that luxury. But I have to work ## hours and take care of a family and also feed a goldfish and make time to write mean comments like this one."

Okay so, like, why are we saying to each other all of the things we're tired of hearing?

I would never tell another endo sister to "suck it up" because I went years being told the same thing before my pain was given a name. I would never compare my symptoms to another woman's and say that mine were worse than hers. I'd also never give a long list of my responsibilities, as if that invalidates her pain because now mine is more legitimate.

Doesn't this sound familiar to The Sick Games?

Women, when we fight among ourselves about anything - not just endometriosis - we weaken our message. We make it harder for other women to find a place in our community and get behind our movement. When so many women are being alienated in their professions, organizations, social groups and - not to mention - doctor's offices, why are we perpetuating this isolation by picking each other apart?

I get it. I really do. Sometimes it's frustrating when you've fought for something for so long, and it looks like it's just so easy for another person. It's why we got mad at those kids in school who didn't have to study but aced every test.

Or maybe you've been fighting to be heard for years and years, and it's frustrating to see a celebrity or another woman so embraced and given a platform to say what she wants. Especially if you still feel like you're being ignored.

Okay, sure. It's a little irritating for some. But doesn't that voice amplify your voice? Doesn't another story, another face and another experience add to the collective female and endometriosis communities?

We're all here to promote awareness for our illness, so that other women don't have to wait 10+ years for diagnoses. If we push a woman away from the endo community, that's one less voice making heard our mission. From an organizational standpoint, we can't afford to eliminate a voice when endometriosis is so little-known. But from a feminist and humanistic standpoint, we shouldn't be silencing or belittling other women.

So I'm asking not only endo sisters, but all women to lay down the gauntlet. If you see a woman in need, support her. Build her up. Show her that we're a family, and we're here for each other.

Stop competing for airtime because all women deserve a voice. Quit the nitpicking and take your sisters at their word. Please don't invalidate experiences that might not be like yours, and please don't belittle women who might have opportunities you currently don't have. Celebrate those opportunities and differences.

This Galentine's Day, let's all - myself included - do a little better at loving each other and supporting other women. Let's share stories that might be different than ours and celebrate what makes us all unique and diverse. Let's bring to the table more women who might not look like us, talk like us or live like us.

Because, as I've said before, we're all in this together. You poetic, noble land-mermaids.

Even if you're not a part of the World of Endo,™ you probably heard about Lena Dunham's uterus yesterday. In short, she's taking some time off of promoting her show, Girls to manage her endometriosis.

This isn't the first time she's talked about her experience with this disease. A few months ago, I had the privilege of being mentioned alongside her in an article by Prevention Magazine, following a blog post she made after her diagnosis.

She's also not the first famous woman to have endometriosis. But judging by reactions to her very personal and very vulnerable announcement, she's apparently the most polarizing. (Yes, it seems as though not even Hillary Clinton could be as polarizing as Lena Dunham...)

Before I launch on a rant about my feelings, let me be clear that I wholeheartedly love and appreciate what Lena is doing. I've really never taken much interest in her work, so I'm not going to pretend I'm some big fan of hers. But I am a big fan of talking openly about endometriosis and women's health in general. So my emotional venting has nothing to do with Lena.

It completely and 100 percent has to do with how we treat women and their illnesses.

So anyway, I'm going about my life this week and see that the disease I've been fighting for about 14 years is trending. You know, the one where I had to google my symptoms because I'd never, ever heard of it. YAY!

"What an excellent opportunity to raise awareness and share stories about women with endometriosis!" I thought. "It's so exciting that more people will know about it, and maybe more women won't be afraid to talk about it, and maybe we can encourage more research, and maybe there will be better treatment for people with debilitating symptoms, and maybe we'll find a cure, and maybe - ummm why aren't these Internet commenters as excited about this as I am?"

I should really take one of my own pieces of advice to heart. Never read the comment section. But I did because I'm a masochist, I guess.

Here's a nice preview of said comments that The Endo Challenge put together: