3 years ago today I had a hysterectomy. That’s it, that’s the tweet. The caption. The title. A blip on the radar of my life that I attempt to suppress as the seconds, minutes, months, and years tick by. Except it’s not that simple. I am engulfed in sadness with each anniversary of that day.

But why? I never had aspirations of the perfect nuclear family. My childhood didn’t paint that picture for me. Sure I wanted kids, but always pictured myself globetrotting with them in tow with no husband in sight. I really knocked that one out the park huh? But that’s another story for another day. The point is I saw one or two children and once I achieved that I knew I was done. So as the doctor asked me if I was sure I was ready to remove my ability to ever have kids again why was I overcome with sadness to the point I had to call my mom? At that very moment I felt so alone, so small, and at this huge crossroads...should I really do this?

I was on one of the biggest jobs of my makeup artist career. It went extremely well and I was invited to go celebrate. We sat at this upscale restaurant and reviewed the highlights of the day with delicious food and beverages but I had to get ready to head home. As I got up to use the restroom I realized that I had bled through a tampon, and a pad, and my clothes onto these beautiful white leather seats in front of crew members. They were super sweet about it and I made it home but I never got called from that production company again.

I never wanted to relive that moment. I was tired of having to go buy new clothes during a work day due to accidents. I could no longer buy 2-3 boxes of tampons and pads every two weeks for a cycle that never ended. I was over having to explain what my body was doing to different doctors who didn’t seem to take me seriously, even after showing them pictures of huge blood clots expelled from my body only to have them prescribe a variety of hormone cocktails to taper off the bleeding to no avail. I wanted control of my body again without fear and uncertainty.

So I signed away my ability to carry another child as I didn’t feel I had another choice. Every year I’m surprised by the anniversary and every single year I relive the sadness. Every year I am reminded that I also ended up in the hospital again after my surgery due to a pulmonary embolism. The blood clots on my lungs were the result of the hysterectomy and could’ve killed me. Every year I am relieved that I am not living in fear of my body but now I also pray that my daughter doesn’t have to endure that monthly trauma; that she has a normal cycle and doesn’t inherit that torment.

Fibroids, endometriosis, PCOS, and the like, are conditions that a number of us endure but feel apprehensive about discussing because I guess blood and vaginas aren’t exactly sexy topics. Just know you aren’t alone and that may not seem like much but in those moments of trying to tie something around your waist to hide an accident, debilitating pain while at work or any other time that you feel alone, all you want is someone to get it. Trust me, I get it.