The day I began training to become a doctor, little did I know my journey as a lifelong patient had already begun. Like many people, I had visions for my future life; my career, family plans, ambitions. I had never had what would be considered a ‘healthy period’ and like many women was put on the pill at 17 and there I remained in blissful ignorance until my mid 20’s, totally unaware (even as a doctor) that I was harbouring an incurable gynaecological disease that would one day drastically change the trajectory of my life.
Then, after I decided to stop the pill and ‘go natural’ I, like too many other women have also experienced, entered a whole new world of suffering. Miscarriages, disabling period pains, joint pains, fatigue. Doctor’s appointments sitting in the patient chair, struggling to advocate for myself. A complete lack of answers, being told ‘everything was fine’ and trying to struggle on working as a doctor whilst it felt like my body was betraying me.
Like many women, my symptoms were initially minimised, normalised, or fragmented across different appointments and specialties. I experienced firsthand how exhausting it can be to live in a body that is struggling while simultaneously trying to convince people that something is genuinely wrong.
At the same time, I was continuing to work within medicine - balancing hospital shifts, professional expectations, family life, and increasingly poor health. There is something uniquely disorientating about understanding medicine clinically, yet still finding yourself lost inside the system personally.
After 6 miscarriages, failed IVF (that I now know was always destined to fail) I was early 30’s when I finally heard the word ‘endometriosis’ directed toward me from the end of my bed after an emergency laparoscopy. No explanation, no follow up, no treatment started. This from a team within the same hospital I was working at as a doctor at the time. And this is the true tragic irony – if I as a doctor struggled to advocate and receive the correct care, what chance do other people have without the medical ‘language’ and experience?
I was fortunate to finally find a specialist gynaecologist who came in right before I was close to losing my bowel, and somehow I fell pregnant whilst waiting for a hysterectomy. A complicated pregnancy because of the endometriosis and fibroids ensued, but I was lucky to experience motherhood before I had to have all my gynaecological organs removed. Surgical menopause at 34, five years on and I am facing further surgery and very much aware I may still require a stoma because of the extent of my endometriosis.
What struck me most was not just the physical impact of illness, but the emotional and psychological toll of delayed diagnosis and feeling unheard. Over time, I realised that many patients weren’t simply struggling with symptoms - they were losing trust in themselves, in their bodies, and in healthcare altogether.
That experience fundamentally changed me.
It changed how I communicate with patients.
It changed how I think about healthcare systems.
And ultimately, it changed the direction of my career.
What began as personal frustration evolved into advocacy, public speaking, charity work, and eventually writing my book, Not Just Painful Periods.
The book was never just about periods or specific diagnoses. It was about validation. About helping people feel seen earlier. About giving patients language, confidence, and understanding in a system that can sometimes leave them feeling invisible.
Alongside this, I founded the charity Mortal And Strong, developed the Diagnosis Spiral and Thrive Arc framework, and began focusing my work on the intersection between medicine, lived experience, and systems change.
Ironically, some of the hardest experiences of my life became the very thing that clarified my purpose.
I still believe deeply in healthcare and in the extraordinary people working within it. But I also believe we need to listen differently. Because behind many delayed diagnoses, there are people quietly adapting to levels of pain, exhaustion, and fear that should never have become normal.
If there is one thing I hope my work contributes to, it is this:
That fewer people feel dismissed. That fewer people lose years of their lives searching for answers. And that patients no longer have to become experts in suffering before they are finally taken seriously.
