I had gone to the GP because my periods were so painful I had ended up in A&E. The cramping was brutal. The bleeding was heavy. I was passing large clots and regularly soaking through my clothes in public. And the response, more or less, was: this is normal. Some women just have difficult periods. Here is something for the pain.

I believed them. What else was I supposed to do? I was seventeen, and these were the people who were supposed to know.

So I got on with it. I managed. I became very good at managing. I learned which days of the month to clear my diary. I learned which painkillers worked best and in what combination. I learned to sleep on a towel. I learned to smile through the worst of it when I was out in public, because the alternative - explaining to someone what was actually happening inside my body - felt too exposing, too dramatic, too much.

It was only years later, deep into my infertility journey, that I began to understand what had actually been happening to me all that time. The pain I had been told to accept as normal had a name: endometriosis. And it had been quietly wreaking havoc in my body for most of my adult life.

Endometriosis is a condition where tissue similar to the lining of the womb grows in other places in the body - on the ovaries, the fallopian tubes, the bowel, the bladder, the ligaments that hold the uterus in place. Every month, that tissue behaves like the lining of the womb does: it swells, it bleeds, and because it has nowhere to go, it causes inflammation, scarring and adhesions. Over time, it can stick organs together. It can twist and contort the uterus. It can make conception feel impossible - because for many women, it is.

By the time I was correctly diagnosed, my endometriosis was at stage four - the most severe classification. My uterus was twisted and attached to my bladder. My bowel was covered in deposits. Several of my organs had fused together. And I had been told, years earlier by a gynaecologist, that there was no sign of active endometriosis. I had no reason to not accept this diagnosis as we know that really the only way to 100% diagnose endometriosis is to have laparoscopic surgery, which he did perform on me. This is a surgical procedure where they make a minimum of 5 incisions for a camera to go through. They look all around your abdomen. So to have this Dr, tell me there was no sign of active endometriosis; I had no choice but to accept this as the truth.

Years later when I was under the care of a team of Doctors who would correctly diagnose and treat me, one of them explained that laparoscopic surgery, though common, is incredibly intricate and when trying to diagnose or treat possible endometriosis it is important to insist upon someone who performs these procedures all day every day as these Doctors will be able to find even the smallest of deposits, as it is their day job. The first Doctor to perform this surgery was a gynaecologist, so his main business was delivering babies and performing C-Sections. Again, these are the things you learn, only after you have gone through the wringer.

I do not tell this story to frighten anyone. I tell it because I spent too many years doubting myself, accepting pain I should never have had to accept, and trusting systems that let me down. I tell it because I know I am not the only one.
If you have ever been told that your pain is normal when it does not feel normal, please trust that feeling. Pain that stops you living your life is not something you have to accept. Heavy periods, pain during sex, bloating so severe you look pregnant, cramping that radiates into your back and legs - these are not just part of being a woman. They are symptoms. And they deserve to be taken seriously.

It took me years to learn to advocate for myself in medical appointments. It took me even longer to stop apologising for the space my pain took up. But I got there, and if this is where you are right now - searching for answers, wondering if what you are feeling is real - I want you to know that it is. You are not imagining it. And you deserve better than being told to just get on with it.