For most of my adult life, I’ve been open about living with endometriosis, PCOS and infertility. These diagnoses shape far more than physical health; they shape your daily life, your identity, your emotional bandwidth and your relationship with your own body. I’ve never shied away from sharing the hard parts, because I believe no woman should feel alone in something so common yet so deeply misunderstood.

But this time was different.

Back in July, after years of pain and frustration, I made the decision — with my doctor — to have a hysterectomy. The surgery wasn’t until mid-October, which meant months of waiting, preparing, processing and trying to stay optimistic while still managing everyday life with chronic pain. 

And for the first time, I chose not to talk about it publicly.

Not because I was embarrassed.

Not because I was ashamed.

Not because women’s reproductive health is something that “shouldn’t be discussed.”

I stayed quiet because I needed privacy. I needed the mental space to move through a major medical decision without fielding horror stories, unsolicited comparisons or the infamous “You’ll be back to normal in a week!” comments. Every woman who has ever shared a health update knows exactly what I’m talking about.

Here’s something we need to confront: Women’s health issues should never have to be kept secret to protect other people’s comfort.

Too many women have suffered in silence for far too long — because society told us periods should be whispered about, pelvic pain is “normal,” infertility is too personal to mention, and hysterectomies are something to hide. That silence doesn’t protect us. It harms us. It keeps women misdiagnosed, dismissed and struggling to advocate for the care they deserve.

My silence this time wasn’t about shame. It was about peace. And that’s a very important difference.

As the surgery date approached, I kept reminding myself of one core truth: You are allowed to seek the care you deserve — even if it requires effort, distance or a bold decision.

I spent years trying to find a provider who listened — really listened — to what I was experiencing. It wasn’t until I expanded my search beyond my immediate area that I found someone who did. That experience reshaped the way I view healthcare. Sometimes the right doctor is 10 minutes away; sometimes they’re two hours away. Either way, you are worth the drive.

My surgery confirmed what had long been suspected: both endometriosis and adenomyosis. I kept my ovaries, which means I’m not facing sudden menopause, and my recovery, while not instant, is progressing day by day. I’m still healing, still resting, still working from home. And I’m deeply grateful that my job allows me that flexibility, because the recovery process, physically and emotionally, takes time — far more time than the overly optimistic “You’ll bounce back quickly” narratives would like us to believe.

As I navigate the slower pace of healing, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect. And here is what I want every woman reading this to walk away with:

1. Privacy is your right. Silence should be a choice — not a burden. If you keep something private, it should be because you want privacy, not because the world has made you feel ashamed or inconvenient.

2. You know your body best. Trust that. Pain is not normal just because it’s common. If something feels wrong, it deserves attention.

3. You are not “difficult” for wanting answers. You are advocating for your health. That is strength, not stubbornness.

4. It’s OK to outgrow a doctor. Care that dismisses you is not care at all. You deserve to be heard — not managed, minimized or rushed.

5. Go where the care is. If you can travel for errands, for events, for a weekend away, you can travel for your health. You are worth the mileage.

6. Women have suffered too long in silence. That ends with us. Talking openly about reproductive health doesn’t make you dramatic. It makes you a catalyst for change.

I’m sharing this now — not during the lead-up, and not in the rawest moments of recovery — because I believe in the power of women telling the truth about their bodies and their experiences. Not for shock value, not for attention, but because our stories help other women finally feel seen, validated and empowered.

If there is one message I hope this column leaves with you, it’s this: Be your own advocate. Loudly, softly, fiercely — whatever way feels right. But do it.

Keep searching until you find care that makes you feel heard. Keep pushing for better. And never feel obligated to stay silent for someone else’s comfort.

Your healthcare journey belongs to you — on your terms, in your time, and with every ounce of strength you already possess.