I Will Still Rise: Surgery, Complications and Recovery

October 12, 2016 Katie A personal: health, personal: that spoonie life 0 Comments

endoTwo months ago today, I went into the operating room for a surgery I had been trying to get for a year.

At that point in time, my health had continued to decline, and it was declining faster and faster as time went on.I saw an amazing nurse practitioner who listened as I cried, explaining at a 7am appointment about how miserable I was. I had been in the ER the night before due to the pain. She told me that I had gone through more than anyone else should ever have to endure, and that while she couldn’t do much for me as a nurse, she could refer me to a doctor and start me on the path to surgery.

The doctor I ended up seeing after two rounds of blood work, two ultrasounds and a month of anxiously waiting while dealing with the daily pain from endometriosis made it very clear at that appointment that she had no interest or plan in even helping me have somewhat of a normal life.

She told me:

I was fat.

That OTC pain killers would cure all the pain (yeah, okay).

She told me to come back in three months, and if then I had “lost weight”, she would “consider” surgery.

I walked out, got into my car and sobbed. I had such high hopes for this appointment and wanted to feel better. I wanted to feel like a medical professional understood me, cared about me, wanted to help me as I had only been getting worse, and worse, and worse.

Instead, I was pushed out and told to make a follow up appointment in three months if things didn’t get better. They didn’t. They got worse. My girlfriend saw me start to wither away because I was exhausted. I couldn’t sleep. I continued to be in and out of the ER due to pain and heavy bleeding. I was only getting worse… and no one cared. emdo2

Three months later, I anxiously made my follow up call.

I spoke up, saying this doctor really was not the right fit for me and asked to see someone else.

The next doctor I saw changed my life entirely.

At that same appointment, the first time I met Dr. Hastings – she agreed surgery was what we needed to do. She sat and listened and watched as I cried, telling her about how no one wanted to help me, how my health was going downhill. I had been in and out of the ER several times in the past year because of endometriosis.

She told me as I left that she was going to help me get the relief I needed, the relief I deserved. That same day, she carried my file into the surgery coordinators office. I was told to call back if I hadn’t heard back in about a week. I walked out of the appointment stunned.

Time and time again, I had gotten my hopes up and had them crushed.

Time and time again, I was left to only get worse, worse, worse.

fight-songThree weeks later, when I got the phone call with my surgery date – I sat at my desk with “Fight Song” playing and cried. This was going to happen. I had a surgery date. I was on the road to recovery. I was on the road, waiting anxiously until my surgery date.

On August 12, 2016 – I walked into the outpatient surgery center, registered and sat anxiously to be called back to be be prepped for surgery. I had hardly slept the night before. I was anxious. I was worried. At the same time, I knew that I was in good hands. I had a doctor who cared about me and who wanted the best for me.

Oddly enough, I had found out just two days prior that my doctor would be having a collegue assist in the surgery. At first I was pissed when I found out who it was, but Dr. Hastings assured me that she would be doing most of the work and the assisting surgeon would be there only if needed. Who was this doctor? Yup. You guessed it. The one who called me fat and made it clear she didn’t want to treat me.

Going into it, I knew that there was a very real chance that I could end up with a larger incision. It was one of those things where we planned for it to be a last resort, but I also knew because of how sick I was – that it was a very real chance it would happen.

My mom came in and we took some pictures before they wheeled me back into the operating room.

The last thing I remember were the jellyfish floating around on the operating room, moving onto the operating table and the anesthesiologist telling me he was giving me some medication in my IV to calm me down before surgery started. I don’t remember anything after that.

20160812_104032 When I woke in recovery, I really had no idea what the fuck was going on. I don’t remember much, even two months later. My mom said I was in a lot of paint, but I don’t remember it.

I remember feeling gross. I vaguely remember my doctor coming in and giving me an overview of the surgery. I remember trying to focus on her and what she was saying but the only thing I could absorb was this:

“We had to do the larger incision, we got in there, and we realized we needed to open you up all the way. It was the best option and we were able to excise a lot of the disease, adhesions and scar tissue.”

What I didn’t know and understand at that point in time was just how sick I was.

I later learned that I was unable to be weaned off of the oxygen, and even with the oxygen, I was wheezing. My heart rate was sky high and eventually that started to come down as we found a pain medication to help… it didn’t last long once they had me up and moving.

img_0230They had gotten me stable enough they thought I could go home and removed the catheter. The nurses helped me into a wheelchair and took me into the bathroom to make sure I could urinate on my own. I remember clutching one of those barf bags in my hand, remembering how I threw up post op nine years ago with my first surgery.

The moment they got me up and started to get me back into the wheelchair, I nearly passed out and threw up.

It wasn’t too much later that they decided to admit me for the night for observation. I was still too sick, too unstable. I was upset, but I knew that this was the best option for me. I hated it. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be in my own bed. I knew I had to stay.

I surprised my nurses over the night 18 hours at how well I was up and moving on my own and how well I had begun to recover. I was still shaky, exhausted and sore. My blood sugar was high but my breathing and heart rate had finally stabilized. I blew those nurses away.

I proved to them, and myself, that I am a fighter. img_0059

It’s been two months now.

In a way, it seems like it was forever ago. What turned into what was supposed to be four one inch incisions, turned into a six inch incision and two months off of work while I recovered.

I had staples. I had a minor infection.

I sunk into a deep post op depression.

When I look back today, I don’t really think I grasped how this surgery was going to impact my life. I knew it would change a lot of things. I knew I would start to feel better as I got further and further into recovery, but I never really fully understand how different things would be.

img_0499I celebrated the day I had my staples removed (that entire experience had me terrified and on the edge of a panic attack, but it was over before I knew it with minimal pain. I felt so much better once those damn things were out).

I celebrated my first shower (thank god for shower chairs).

I celebrated as each steri strip began to fall off.

I took daily incision photos. img_0196

Every day, I started to notice a difference. Some days I slept more than others, I bled heavily for the first week post op. The day to day pain I remember before surgery wasn’t entirely gone… but the surgery had helped so much that I have only had two, maybe three days, where I’ve had to take the prescription strength pain meds.

It’s been a long two months. It feels like it’s been forever.

meI just went back to work last week (surprised my work kids – they had no idea I was even picking them up, much less coming back that day). It’s getting into a new routine. It’s learning that I still need to be gentle on my body. I’m still healing. I had major surgery with major complications. img_0115

It’s a period I shouldn’t be having and the endometriosis pain that comes along with it. Even with surgery, I knew I would still have pain. Remember, there is no cure for endometriosis. It is a daily battle, even with surgery making such a huge difference in my life already.

20160812_143019It’s learning that I still need to rest when my body is telling me to rest.

It’s learning that my body is still regaining the strength and energy I once had.

It’s pushing through the last of school and walking the stage for the local graduation ceremony – one month and three days after surgery. I walked across the stage and become a high school graduate.

It’s been healing – and it hasn’t been easy. It’s exhausting. It’s painful. There are days where I have to stay in bed and just listen my body and take care of myself.

A lot has changed in two months… I’ve come so far, and there’s even more to come as time passes.

Overall, it’s learning that my entire life has changed.20160915_191242



An Untold Story Never Heals: Surviving, Learning to Heal, Learning it’s Not My Fault

October 10, 2016 Katie A Uncategorized 0 Comments


trigger warning: this post will have discussion about sexual assault〉

The news coming out over the past couple of days has been overwhelming. It’s been triggering, it’s been overwhelming. It’s made me hurt, it’s made me angry and it’s made me think about experiences I’ve had over the years.

It isn’t something I ever talk about publicly. It’s terrifying to think about putting this out into the world. It’s scary to open up like this. I’ve seen hundreds of women sharing their stories.

It’s my turn to speak up.

It’s my turn to share.

It’s my turn to share these stories, hoping they will reach someone to needs to hear the words:

It is not your fault.

You are not alone.

I’m a kid, sitting in my front yard almost daily. I have a circle of neighborhood friends with me. We are outside playing games, playing with Barbies, or just hanging out. It’s been this way for years – ever since my parents would let me play outside on my own, and even before then – when they’d sit on the porch or do yard work. It’s a routine, especially on the weekends.

I crave this time with my friends.

The neighbor next door is standing against his truck, beer in hand. He’s there every day I’m outside with my friends, the majority of us all girls my age. I’m constantly aware of this eyes on me – locked on me. I’m constantly aware that he’s watching me, beer in hand, shirt off most of the time.

Deep down inside of me, even at a young age, I know what he’s thinking of. I know what he wants.

In middle school, I was out running around with my friends when he called me over to talk to him.

He told me he had something he wanted to show me.

I felt that instinct, the dread, the fear rise up inside of me and I told him no. I told him no twice. He kept pushing the subject, his front door was wide open, his wife was gone to work. He was standing in the doorway basically begging and luring me to come inside.

In a moment of panic, I told him no again, that I could hear a family member calling for me and I ran. I ran as fast as I can, and as far as I could.

I didn’t tell my parents about it for years.

I was in middle school and decided to take the 10-15 minute walk to Taco Bell with one of my best friends. She had lived across the street from me for her entire life and both of our parents were divorced. She was struggling, but I was always there for her. She was staying over and my dad had left me some extra money, so we decided to walk and get ourselves something to eat and bring it home.

On our way home, a group of older high school boys decided to follow us. A couple of them wouldn’t stop talking to us, asking if we would come to their house to party. They’d ask us repeatedly. They likely ask questions I don’t even remember. They were desperate, and desperate for two young girls.

They were too close to us, pressuring us, trying to intimidate us. I gave minimal information, didn’t talk much and neither did my friend. We were together, and I knew and had learned that it was always better to be with someone than on your own.

One of the guys eventually told the others to shut the fuck up and leave us alone.

They still pushed and prodded, but after what seemed like hours – we were finally closer to home and managed to slip away.

We both knew what awaited us had we gone with them.

In high school, I repeatedly had a guy grope me after school.

He kissed me when I didn’t want it. He grabbed my breasts. He stuck his hands up my shirt.

He ran his hands down the outside of his pants, I knew what he wanted.

He was a large part of my friendship circle of that time – and after that, I felt alone.

Almost everyone saw it happen.

No one did anything.

No one said anything.

After that, no one in the circle would talk to me, much less look at me. They were mad I wouldn’t get this asshole get what he wanted. They didn’t have to say it. I knew it.

I came out my sophomore year of high school.

A few years later, a family member began to make advances on me.

I didn’t realize it at first – we were spending more time together, more errands, and I needed that. I needed that support from my family.

It got worse.

He started to make advances and one night, he closed the door to my bedroom and sat on my bed.

That same sickening feeling came back.

The next day, he hugged me in the kitchen and I stood still, tense and flat out freaked out. He told me that I didn’t know what I wanted, he told me that I didn’t know who I was. He told me that I should “experiment” before making up my mind.

He completely disregarded who I was, and not just as family.

He wanted me in ways that I never thought would happen. He wanted me in ways that were never ever okay. He wanted me in ways that still to this day make me feel like throwing up.

My entire life broke at that moment and I locked myself in my bedroom, frantically asking a friend to come get me as I packed up my essentials.

It’s been sever years since then… but it’s left its scars. It’s left me feeling dirty. It’s left me feeling unwanted. It’s left me feeling like it was my fault. It’s left me doubting myself when it happened. It’s left a level of terror inside of me and that won’t go away.

My entire life that I knew shattered that day.

post3It takes a lot to stand up and talk about these stories. It takes a lot of strength. It takes a lot of bravery. It means confronting memories so many of us have tried to block out for years. It takes confronting emotions and feelings that bring us right back to when it happened.

I will admit that I am honestly terrified about sharing this with the world. I don’t talk about it. It’s something I try to forget as often as I can even though it’s still there, in the back of my mind.

I also know that by sharing my story, I can help women. I can show them that they aren’t alone. I can show them that they are loved and cared about.

I can show them that there are thousands and thousands of women who stand with each of us, knowing the pain and the fear we’ve endured.

Most off all, I want you to know: it is not your fault.


Dare Me (A Nocte Novella) is Here!

October 3, 2016 Katie A Uncategorized 0 Comments

When you find out one of your favorite authors is releasing a novella featuring of your favorite characters? You flail. And when she asks you to help spread the word, you say YES. Let me just tell you from the teasers I have seen, I cannot wait to read this!

If you haven’t read the NOCTE trilogy, read it! You’ll get a lot of Dare and Calla… and you’ll likely fall for them as much as I did. Promise.

Dare Me


Did you love Dare DuBray from the Nocte Trilogy? Did you love love love the story, but you wished there was some more steamy scenes?

Well, guess what?

Dare is back in Dare Me, a novella featuring he and Calla… and some steaminess to be had. 🙂

I hope you like it. No, I hope you love it. 🙂

It’s available exclusively on Amazon, and even better, if you’re a Kindle Unlimited member, you can read it for free. If not, no worries- Dare Me is only $.99 pennies. (And even if you don’t usually use Amazon for books, you can download the Kindle for PC, iPad or your phone for FREE to read!)

The hotshot novellas are the perfect length for a lunch hour or bedtime.

You can buy on Amazon here.


They say she’s crazy.

She’s not.

They don’t know the truth.

She does. The problem is, she doesn’t always remember it.

But I do.

My name is Dare DuBray.

I’m in love with a girl who is is erratic and beautiful, and a little bit mad.

But that’s ok.

We’re all a little mad, aren’t we?

Love couple


A Year Ago vs. A Year Later

July 28, 2016 Katie A Uncategorized 0 Comments

erA year ago today, I walked out after an appointment I had such high hopes for. I had been referred to an obgyn within the practice where my primary care doctor is. I read the reviews about him, and I was hesitant, but I went.

I went with the support of my girlfriend.

I went with the support of my friends.

I went with the support of my parents.

I went with the support of my sister.

I went to this appointment with hope.

About ten minutes into the appointment, every thread of hope I was holding onto was gone.

Every hope I held onto was torn into shreds.

The day before, I had been in the emergency room, trying to make it another twenty four hours. I just had to hold onto this hope. I had to hold on. I told myself I had to.

When it became all too clear that this doctor was not going to help me in any way, I felt all this hope slip away.

He mentioned hysterectomy, but then refused to do the surgery. I was desperate for any relief. He said “yeah, we can do a hysterectomy, but I won’t do it.” He told me that I was “too young” and that the full hysterectomy would make my life worse. He told me that my breasts would sag because a hysterectomy would put my body into menopause.

He gave me no long term options. He threw a new prescription at me.

I walked into the hallway after the appointment, shaking, ready to break and asked him:

“Will you even consider doing a laparoscopy to treat endometriosis?”

His reply? “No, not at all.”

I walked out of that building with my sister, trying so hard to hold on. I was breaking down from the inside out.

No one cared. No one wanted to help me.

I was already passing time until the next time I had to go to the ER.

I was waiting for the moment where I passed out from bleeding so heavily for so long.

I was waiting for the next moment where the pain was so severe I threw up.

This had become my life.

I had been fighting for so long, and I didn’t want to live this way anymore.


365 days later . . .

I am still fighting.

I am counting down the next two weeks until I go in for a laparoscopy.

I fought for an entire year to get to where I am now.

I’ve had to cancel plans. I’ve been in and out of the ER. I’ve had doctor after doctor tell me they can’t help me. I’ve had a doctor who called me fat, and basically put up roadblock after roadblock, making it clear she had no intention to give me a long term plan.

I’ve watched my entire quality of life slip away.

It’s gone.

With two weeks until surgery, it all still seems to surreal. It doesn’t seem like this is my life. It doesn’t seem like that I finally found a doctor who listened to me, who wants to help me live again. I sat on the exam table that morning, crying into a wad of tissue while she listened to me.

She gave me options.

She didn’t dismiss my pain and tell me that motrin and aleve would solve all the pain.

She listened. She cared.

With her and my surgical coordinator, I am getting ready for surgery.

I am exhausted. I’m in pain every single day. It has taken so much from me.

I’ve come an entire year with the support of my family, my friends. My girlfriend has been my number one support. She’s woken up to my texts when I can’t sleep because of the pain. She has seen me break down because of the pain. She has stood by my side when no one else was there.

She is the reason I am still standing tall today.

Without Molli, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

In two weeks, she will be be supporting me as I go into surgery. Something we have both been fighting for. When I couldn’t get up, she was there. On the nights I cried because of the pain, she was there. She even wrote a letter to my doctor, explaining how the disease has only gotten worse over the past year.

We are facing more than just surgery.

I am faced with over a month off. It wasn’t something we had expected. It wasn’t something we had planned. I know that I need this surgery, but I will admit that the thought of being off for that long is terrifying. I’m faced with the fact that I won’t be able to work. I’m faced with the fact that this will be a longer and harder recovery.

Yet, I found myself thinking today about what would have happened a year ago if someone had taken my pain seriously. I wonder about what kind of life I’d be living now. I wonder what my life would be like after having surgery before things got this bad.

I still need help. I still need support.

What may have happened a year ago may have changed things about where I am today.

I’ll never know.

In two weeks, I’ll wake up from surgery with a new outlook on life. I’ll wake up knowing that this surgery is happening. This surgery will help. I’ll walk through those hospital doors, knowing I fought long and hard for this day.

I’ll leave that hospital knowing I have a long, painful, exhausting and hard recovery ahead of me.

I still need your help. I still need your support. I am fighting daily.

Even if you cannot donate to the fund to help me get through being off work for so long, your support means the world to me. I can’t do this without you. Your love, support, encouragement helps. Even a dollar or five dollars helps. If you can’t donate, just knowing that I have your support is enough to keep me going for these next few weeks.


I Need Your Help: Surgery Recovery

July 24, 2016 Katie A Uncategorized 0 Comments

Some of you may know that I’m scheduled to undergo surgery on August 12 for Endometriosis. While it is going to be an outpatient procedure (unless they end up having to make a bigger incision), it is still going to require anywhere from 4-6 weeks off of work to recover.
This is not something I ever expected when I was given a choice of two August dates. Unfortunately, this is the reality of the situation. Not only that, but because of how poorly I am given the severity of the disease currently – it is going to be a longer and more difficult recovery than my first procedure in 2007.
I am the person who is always there for others. I have constantly and always put myself last. I drop everything to be there for others, even when I can barely take care of myself. I give, I love. I live to help, support and encourage others.
It is hard to even ask for help. It is not something I do often. Right now? I need your help. I really, really, need your help.
Within the last year, I have watched helplessly as this disease has stripped me of so many things.
I have had more and more days where I cannot get out of bed.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t eat when the pain is so severe.

I have missed countless days of work.

I have gotten behind on the school program I am in.

I have no social life.

I have no energy.
I have been in and out of the emergency room. I have been going to several doctors, and several appointments.
Even getting through a normal shift at work has become increasingly difficult.
I have no quality of life. None.
I have been fighting so hard, for so long. I have gotten to the point where I was ready to give up because I just kept getting worse, worse and worse. No one wanted to help me.
Instead, I am now going in for this surgery with a chance of having a brand new life where I can actually LIVE. It comes with a price of missing a month or more of work.
I need your help. support
I need your love. I need your support. I need your encouragement.
I’ve set up a gofundme page to help cover the unexpected costs of being off of work for a month or more. It will help make sure I can pay bills. It will help make sure I will have enough to eat. It will help make sure I can get whatever post op supplies I may end up needing that I don’t already have.
Even if you can’t donate, just sharing this and spreading the word will be a tremendous help. If you can’t donate, just knowing that you are here for me and support me is enough. I am so lucky to have you in my life and I am so thankful for anything you can do to help, financially or otherwise.

An Open letter to the One Who Said We’d Never Make It

July 6, 2016 Katie A Uncategorized 0 Comments

9ac0bd270c65191289a6d5f8a02658d3you said we would never make it.

you worked hard to undermine what relationship i had with your best friend and you actively pushed for us to break up, telling us that it wouldn’t work, that we were rushing into things.

you stood back as you lied and broke promises, turning what friendship i thought i had with you into a living hell. you didn’t speak to me for well over a year when you dragged me down into some drama i really had no part in.

you told my girlfriend i was horrible.

you told my girlfriend how passive aggressive i was, all while freely admitting that while you hadn’t uttered a single word to me, you were all to happy to stalk my social media to dig up dirt.

you promised time and time again that you would change, that things would be better. time and time again, we worked to believe that. time and time again, our belief that you would change shattered and it became more and more clear that you aren’t the person, much less friend, that we thought you were.

instead, you raced to spread your toxicity into our lives. you pushed for us to break up, disguising it as concern. you would tell my girl that i wasn’t worth the time, the distance. you told her that she was rushing into something we both knew was right and true.

but here’s the thing. . .

we are stronger than ever. we’ve come through our own challenges, standing beside each other. we’ve faced some brutal things throughout our lives well before we even knew each other. we faced backlash and hurtful words from those we loved the most.

we came through it on top. 24ba8ebd964de33ee930adfc5d607aea

we came through stronger than ever.

if anything, we’ve learned that we refuse to let that negativity into our lives. we’ve pushed it out, created safe and healthy spaces. we’ve made new, close and healthy relationships with those around us.

you said we’d never make it to the move – but in the next few weeks, it’s happening. you always doubted us, and tried to get under our skin, you tried so hard to make us second guess our entire lives together. you didn’t win.

in the end, when it came time to walk away – we knew that we had not only made the right choice, but we had made the best choice. you were never the friend you should have been. you were never the positive, open and caring person we thought you were. and that’s okay, it’s your life.

and in the end, we came out on top, stronger than ever, and ready to spend our lives together. time and time again, we will always come out on top, stronger and more in love.

i hope that in time, you find the same – that you will learn to love yourself and others. while you may not see any wrong in what you’ve done, i know that we are healthier, happier and stronger because of what we endured and walked away from.

we made it all the way to the top.


How I Learned to Love Myself: Body Image, Self Love and more.

July 4, 2016 Katie A Uncategorized 0 Comments

I wanted to take the time to share part of my journey so far. Today I’m talking about body image, how it has played a role in my life and the slow process of learning to love myself.

july4For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with body image, disordered eating and some mental illness that have all stuck with me in some way to form some pretty unhappy thoughts about my body. I’ve been diagnosed with type two diabetes and PCOS within months of each other. It’s been a rough road.

Most recently, I was seeing a new OBGYN to try and get some long term treatment for the severe endometriosis I am battling and advice on things I can continue to do dealing with PCOS and the issues I’m facing with it. It has been so bad in the last year and has sent me to the ER several times and left me with no help from a few medical professionals.

When I walked into the appointment, I was hopeful. My mom was with me for support and I left shaking – angry, upset and hurt. It started a downward spiral. The doctor I saw that morning flat out told me that I was fat, and she would do nothing to help me other than throw pills at me. She made it very clear she had no interest in helping me at all.

A few weeks later, I flew into Tennessee to visit my girlfriend and one afternoon while we are shopping I had a complete breakdown because I was so uncomfortable, but the outfits I loved just didn’t FEEL right. I went on and on about how this doctor had treated me, how it triggered a lot of horrible thoughts, had started a pattern of disordered eating.

I’m going to be completely honest – that entire situation with the doctor and what unfolded in the weeks following was probably one of the hardest things I’ve had to deal with. I was so unsure about my body, myself. I felt like a small, scared child unsure of what to do and the doctors words and treatment of me left me scarred and struggling.

For a while, I blocked it out. I was numb. I was upset. I was shocked. I was already uncomfortable in my own body. What that appointment left me with was a lot of hurt that surfaced again. I really struggled but I didn’t open up to people about the situation. I felt judged and looked down on enough with that single appointment.july2

When it all came floating to the surface, I had no choice but to face what happened. I had gone from someone who was constantly on the go, biking at least 20 miles a week for years to someone who had been in the ER several times in a year because of how severe the endometriosis had gotten.

Over the last year, I’ve become more comfortable in speaking out about my health. I’ve realized that by speaking out, I can help others. I can tell people how my life has changed. It’s also made me realize something huge. Something that within just a few days, has changed a lot of things for me.

My body is strong. It’s carried me this far already. It’s carried me through diagnosis after diagnosis. It’s carried me through some hard times growing up. It’s carried me even on the bad days where I can’t get out of bed.

I’ve started eating better. I’m doing some biking and walking. I’m not stepping onto that scale because it will only bring me back to where I was after the appointment. I’ve noticed small changes, small ones, but they are there.

I’m able to wear some of the pants I wasn’t able to wear a couple months ago, my shirts are feeling more comfortable. On the good days, I have more energy. I’m happier. I’m not looking at my body and thinking how much I hate this part or that part. I’m feeling more comfortable, and that is an amazing change for me.

I’m strong. I’m stronger than I realize and I have to thank my body for that. I have to take care of it. It’s carried me through a lot over the past year and I am thankful for that. It can carry me on the worst days.

While I’ve struggled with a positive body image, knowing that my body has carried me this far is enough to really think about doing the best I can to take care of my body and learn to love my body.july3



The (Brutally) Honest Truth About Depression

July 3, 2016 Katie A Chronic Illness, personal: mental health 0 Comments

she’s a bitch.

she will creep up on you out of nowhere and silently. she will hide behind the amazing moments you live for, waiting to strike.

she will follow you around, making you second guess every move you make. she’s waiting and watching and ready to strike when you least expect it.

she will leave you broken. she will leave you crushed. she will attack and tell you things you may begin to believe. she’s left me broken. shattered. she’s left me unable to eat. unable to sleep. unable to get out of bed. she’s left me in the dark, wondering why i am still here.

even with medication and therapy, she’s still there. waiting. watching.

sometimes you just have to wait for it to pass, holding onto your friends and family. sometimes you brave the storm alone, one breath, one step at a time. each storm that passes, you come out a little higher than you did before, piecing the pieces back together.

it takes time. she will rear her ugly head again and again. you’ll feel the storm pushing you back, drowning you but you fight, you push against the wind, you get through the tears, the nightmares. you want to give up, to give in, but you don’t.

some days are harder than others, but you’ve made it this far already.

let her rear her ugly head. let the depression be the bitch she is, but don’t give up.

don’t give up. ♥


Keep the Faith: How a PCOS Group Saved my Life

July 2, 2016 Katie A Chronic Illness, personal: health, Uncategorized 0 Comments

f85730b89d84c92fcefe4605d4a23549I was diagnosed with PCOS in September of 2015. It was eight months after I had been diagnosed with type two diabetes. Once again, I felt lost. I was scared. I was devastated. I felt like I was alone.

On top of all of that, I was told that becoming pregnant was something that would either not happen, or it would be very high risk (and the doctor who told me this, made it clear that it wasn’t the best option for me). Needless to say, by the time I got back into my car, I was a wreck.

For months, I had been staring at myself in the mirror – trying to figure out where this extra dark hair on my chin and neck were coming from. It was months of testing my blood sugar, taking medications and trying to hang in there.

I cried my entire way to work, cried at work and then cried even more when I got home from work. Eventually I calmed down and started searching for groups on Facebook. I was already in a few for chronic illnesses and spoonies, but now I needed to find a PCOS one that was right for me.

It was hard. There were so many of them. So freaking many.

A few hours later, I found myself reading up on a group called PCOS Positivity. I joined. I was hesitant to make that nerve wracking introduction post, but I did. I opened up and let these ladies into my life. I told them how lost I felt, how overwhelmed I was, that I wasn’t sure what to do, where to start or how to breathe through this new and scary diagnosis.


In that group, I began to find myself. I had already been blogging about life and my health journey, but in this group, I was welcomed and I could share positive moments, welcome new members to the group, and grow into loving myself, encouraging others and seeing the love and positivity flourish in this group. I joined the group right in it’s infancy, and holy crap, we are now 6,000+ strong!

Let me tell you what this group has done for me:

The group has given me positive information about my diagnosis.

The group has welcomed me with open arms in one of the hardest times of my life (at that point in time, my life had become diagnosis after diagnosis).

The group challenged me to love myself, no matter how hard of a time I was having. These amazing ladies were always there for me.

I’ve met ladies I never would have met if I didn’t have this group, and so many of them have seen me at my worst, and my best.

I’ve seen the group grow, grow and grow some more. I’ve seen this group grow into a community of ladies who support each other, encourage each other and are there for each other.

I’ve seen how this group gathers around its members, spreading the love, opening up to the group about major life events or just when they really just need a friend.

I know that I am not alone in what this group has done for me. There’s thousands of us who call this group home, our family. There are thousands of us who found this group when they needed it. There are thousands of us who speak out about PCOS and raise awareness.

If I hadn’t found the group when I did, I don’t know where I would be today. It has had such an impact on my life and I’ve learned so much from it and the amazing ladies in the group. We’ve grown and grown and grown, we are entering a new phase and I cannot wait to continue to spread the love, positivity and inspiration that these ladies have given me.


An Open Letter to Jeremy Camp: The Strength and Strain of Coming out

April 20, 2016 Katie A Uncategorized 0 Comments

(for those who don’t know, I was a moderator for Jeremy Camp on his message board. He is a Christian musician and I loved being able to support him, his music, message and other members on the board. This open letter chronicles my coming out experience)

“Several years ago, I was one of the few in my area who would attend every local show you did here. I was there at the first show in Rancho Cordova when the power blew, I was at the shows at the huge church in Roseville. My brother and I went to the shows together, he even took photos at the show at UC DAVIS and hung with you and the crew backstage.

These years and moments were a huge part of my life. I worked tirelessly to promote you and the events, to attend them, to share the word and your music with others.

Not only that, but I was also a moderator on the message board. I loved it. I loved being there as an inspiration, a supportive person and to encourage others. I had late nights shutting down the spammers, I worked with other admins to dissolve drama. I shared my story, my testimony and my struggles.

I truly felt welcome, loved and supported there.

That all changed in an instant.

I started seeing so much hate on the board toward the LGBT community. It was shocking. Appalling. It blew my mind. For a group that felt called to love and support others, these members were doing the exact opposite of that. Instead of embracing everyone as Christ had, they turned their backs and spewed hateful words towards the community.

It was a personal blow.

For weeks and months I struggled with this. I spent nights crying, days trying to find a way to avoid the hate yet still be a moderator. I tried to show that love, compassion and acceptance Christ had. I was one of the few who did.

Eventually, it came to a breaking point. These members needed to see that a gay person was not some kind of monster. They needed to see that people of the community were normal, loving people who led normal lives and worked with so many in various communities.

As one of the main moderators in the Sisters in Christ board, I chose to come out as lesbian.

I couldn’t stand seeing the hate these members were spreading. They had to see they were damaging one of their own, hurting me down to the bones.

I knew that the post would be hard to swallow for many. I knew I’d likely face backlash from it. But Jeremy, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. They needed to know that I’m a normal girl who loves Christ, who loves encouraging and helping others.

I posted it, and shortly after, signed offline for the night – partly out of anxiety and because I’ve always struggled with chronic illness. I took a deep breath and knew that I had done what is best for me. I had to do this.

By morning… I woke and all hell had broken lose. While I had a few long time friends on the board supporting me, encouraging me and letting me know that while they didn’t agree with my “lifestyle”, they still cared about me.

Unfortunately, the bad outweighed the good.

Members of the message board started to harass me. I was threatened. I was told that because I was gay, I was going to go to hell. I was told that I could be stoned to death because I am gay.


Worse was members of the admin and staff team lying to me. They told me they had sent an email explaining their stance and actions, but I never got that e-mail.

Even worse than that?

The main admin of the board, C (as we all knew him by), took to the general part of the forum and publicly humiliated me. The actions of the team made it very clear that I was never welcome on the board – the humiliation continued as members stalked me on forms of social media, sending me harassing messages. I had been publicly humiliated on a board with thousands of members…

All because of what I said. Yet, he (and others on the team) took that step to humiliate me. That? Jeremy, that’s what still stings the most. How is this showing Christ’s love? How is this loving others as He loved us? Jesus took the time and spent time with people no one else did… yet his followers, they did the exact opposite.

The situation came at a time where I was depressed. I was struggling and so much. The situation nearly pushed me to a suicide attempt. How was I supposed to feel like I am loved, cared about, and supportive when people who claim to show Christ’s love can act so cruelly?

It’s been several years now since this all happened… some days are better than others. Some are not. What remains is how hurt I am. It shows in the panic of coming out to others, to stepping foot into a church. It shows in the nights where I’m in bed crying.

What happened to me on the board should have never happened. The moderating team and admins should have treated me as a human being. Instead, I was lied to continuously about that “email”, I was publicly humiliated. I was stalked and harassed.

I am writing this because I need you to know what happened. I can’t get this closure without you knowing what happened. Maybe you already do, I’m sure you heard bits and pieces several years ago.. but I wanted you to hear it from me. I wanted you to know how hard this has been for me, that it hasn’t yet healed.

Since then, I have really struggled with my faith. I don’t feel welcome in a church. I’m scared to come out to people involved in church or the Christian music community. I still carry the weight and scars from the experience because people who claim to follow Christ quite literally made my life a living hell.

You may not even remember me, or even read this email, but I need to you know what happened, and how it has affected me over the last few years since it happened.”

Was this easy to share? No. In fact, I am anxious and terrified that some of these same people will come back into my life and start the same issues as they had when this situation first unfolded, but I also know that it is my time to speak up about this.

I won’t stay quiet anymore. I will speak up. I will encourage others. I will support others. If you are struggling with coming out and/or the aftermath? I am here and so are many others.