My first experience left no visible scars, but the impact ran deep. Feeling safe in my own body again took time. Healing meant patience, support, and unlearning the idea that discomfort should be endured quietly. It wasn’t just physical recovery—it was rebuilding trust, especially with myself.
I don’t share this story to shock anyone. I share it because I wish I had heard one like it before I needed a hospital bed to learn these lessons. I wish I’d known that asking questions isn’t awkward, that stopping isn’t failure, that pain is not a rite of passage.
If this story does anything, I hope it replaces silence with honesty—because bodies deserve care, and people deserve information, not after something goes wrong, but before.
