The worries of a chronically ill aspiring writer & motherhood/infertility

In the words of the great Bilbo Baggins: “I feel thin. Sort of stretched. Like butter scraped over too much bread” today… and I had to write it all down.

SO - I have always been a driven to work. To achieve. To keep moving. Keep reading. Keep writing. And never stop.

literal footage of me as a english lit student

As a young child, I always aspired to be good academically and in my personal life. Although I wasn’t good at maths, it pushed me to be successful in other aspects of academia: the arts. English literature/language, drama, drawing, painting… It fed me and, in turn, I fed myself to it.

Then, (dun dun DUNNN) I was diagnosed with Endometriosis. I couldn’t create the majority of art - acting - I had always thought would become my entire life. Because of my endo, I became bed-bound. Forced to live in my bedroom—and it’s became more of a cell than a place of comfort and peace and rest. Two years later, I had an MRI scan where my endo specialist found severe deep endo tissue in my uterus and Adenomyosis which would mean a hysterectomy as it is the only cure currently. I was told by my endo specialist to discuss with my partner the notion of children, and whether we’d want to have them before the major surgery of removing my womb.

This terrifies me. Terrifies me.

I feel like I’m running out of time - with my health, my future as a possible mother (something I’ve never really wanted to be until I found my partner and felt safest in all the world), and as a writer.

I’m currently in the editing/revision process of my draft, and I am facing the reality that my path to becoming a published author may be taking longer than I ever thought. And I hate it. I want this draft finished and completed, put out into the world. I want that achievement. I crave to be that little girl again desperate for approval. I want to be that young woman in university who adored writing essays and dissertations because I loved the feedback and the constructive criticism my professors gave me.

But I feel like I’m running out of time. My stories beg to pour out of me, but my fingers aren’t fast enough to type, and my brain is gradually losing the drive I once lived on. And so the question comes to mind - who will I be if I cannot create? If my chronic illness takes over; dependant on pain killers which fog my brain and turns me into a zombie, sleeping the days away; wrenching over in pain for hours each day; forced to stay completely still or it might trigger another flare up again.

And then there’s the internalised misogyny (HISS HISS). What sort of woman am I if I’m not a mother, or able to give children? I know that’s silly, and I don’t truly believe it, but my own struggles with internalised misogyny and the way society has forced those ideologies onto women/people with uteruses since we arrived into this world.

So, as my mind is drilled with all the worrisome possibilities, one question flashes in my mind louder than all the rest: What if I cannot have both?

Being a writer is something I have always wanted to do. As a child, I loved writing stories (as well as acting them out). Whilst the other kids in my school ran around playing tag, I was always the one who refused to play and beg the teachers for indoor play so I could sit in my classroom’s reading nook and read. And then, twenty years later, with the prospect of losing the ability to biologically conceive children, it is only now it’s started to tick in my mind that maybe I do want to be a mother one day?

My chronic illness is long-term, and without any cure. I will have endometriosis for the rest of my life whether I become a published author or become a mother. But it is unbearably difficult to live with. What if I have to choose? A writer or a mother? Already, over a year into writing my first novel, it has taken me longer than I ever could’ve imagined, and even now I still feel like I’m nowhere near finished. So, what if I choose to become a mother as well, and have to balance motherhood and a career alongside a debilitating chronic illness?

my mind rn

I understand!!!!!!! that this is a lot of ‘What ifs’ but this is what has been playing on my mind since I was recently diagnosed with adenomyosis. And as the waiting list in the UK for the NHS is very, very, verrryyyyyyy long right now, I will probably be circulating all of this for much, much longer.

So, I wanted to release it into the only format I know how to: write. Write it all down. Even as I type this, I battling the worse case of brain fog in years.

I don’t really know whether this blog will be of any help to those who will read it. It’s a jumble of anxieties but at least it’s all out now. However, to anyone who is dealing with a chronic illness, and you feel in despair, please know that I see you, I love you, and I hope you find the answers you seek and every single doctor/nurse/medical practitioner you meet believes you! And to the writers out there battling their own chronic illnesses, feel free to message me whenever or if ever you need someone to vent to - I know 100% that chronic illnesses can make you feel so isolated, so I am always here <3

Thank you for reading!