One Year Post-Laparoscopy: An Honest Reflection

The surgery that finally gave the years of dismissal and unexplained pain a name.

I remember waking up and not being entirely sure where I was. Everything was blurry. And then I looked up, saw the nurse standing over me, and just started crying.

I don't think I even had the full details yet — they'd found it, removed what they could, but the specifics were still a blur through the anaesthetic. It didn't matter. All that came out in those tears was relief. Years of being told it was "just bad periods." and being sent home without answers. And finally… my body had been seen.

One year ago today, I had my laparoscopy. They confirmed endometriosis.

And now I'm sitting here twelve months later, trying to figure out what it actually changed.

The honest answer is: some things, and but not much at the same time.

I spent this year trying to actually help my body. Not in a dramatic, overhaul-everything way, in a slow, learning-as-I-go way. Walking. Stretching. Breathwork and meditation. Eating in a way that reduces inflammation, without taking all the joy out of food. Sleeping better. None of these are cures. They're just things that felt like they were helping me actually listen to my body for the first time.

The most concrete thing I can measure: my cycles. Before surgery, some were 55 days long. Now my average sits around 35. I don't know exactly what to credit — the surgery, the lifestyle shifts, time. Probably all three. But that shift is real, and I'll take it.

What hasn't changed: the pain. Endometriosis, adenomyosis, PMOS, PMDD… it's all still there. Pelvic pain, lower back pain. Some days it's background noise. Some days it controls everything. When I'm honest with myself, I think I went into surgery quietly hoping this might be the thing that fixed it. It wasn't. And there are still moments, a year on, where I feel genuinely confused about what the surgery actually did - what the point was, when I'm still hurting.

But I've landed somewhere that feels more true than either of those feelings: there are things happening inside my body that I will never be able to see or measure. Things that might have been quietly addressed in that theatre that I'll simply never have proof of. I've had to make peace with not having all the data.

If you're reading this wondering whether a laparoscopy is the right call for you - I genuinely can't answer that. This experience is so different for everyone, and mine doesn't map neatly onto a recommendation. What I can tell you is what mine was: validating, imperfect, and the beginning of a completely new kind of learning. Not a fix. A starting point.

I'm still here. Still in pain. Still figuring it out… in spite of it all. 🩷