I'm angry that all it took was one little pill to make my life more manageable but it took seven years to find it. I'm angry that some of my issues have never been diagnosed and are untreated to this day. I am angry that every movement I make toward becoming more active again, results in a set back.

What do you do when there’s no magic cure and you will remain sick for long periods of time - maybe even all your life?

I remember standing in front of my bathroom mirror covering my left eye to make sure it wasn’t a dream. Yep, something was wrong. I couldn't see anything out of my right eye.

Miscarriage is like receiving an invitation to a party you never wanted to be invited to, and your RSVP has already been checked. You have no choice but to attend.

This experience has made me realize that although the world seems so open about so many topics, this topic, abortion, wasn't one of them. There was no one to talk to about it, not my family, not a therapist not a friend because I feared being judged and shunned.

I find myself constantly longing for the day that the medical community will put as much energy into treating mental illness as they do other illnesses. It seems that when you’re diagnosed with a mental illness, the approach is a one-size-fits-most to developing a care plan.

In the midst of the global pandemic, coronavirus, there are many vulnerable among us who DESPERATELY need us to STAY HOME. Here are 8 women from the Kindred community whose very lives depend on us coming together and social distancing.

As a soon-to-be newlywed, rising maternal mortality in the U.S. suddenly seemed very relevant. As a black biracial woman, learning that specifically black maternal mortality was the reason why it was rising - was frightening and still leaves me breathless when I think about it.

I still struggle to adjust to the fact that I have cancer; sometimes, I completely forget, other times it's all I can think about. I do have moments though when I get angry and intensely upset (like that time I sobbed in the bathtub), but I've learned to feel those feelings as they come and let them go.

Some days it's a gradual sadness or mental overwhelm. Other days, it comes in waves; unexpected and crippling. I often feel as if I can't think, can't move past the next task. Sometimes my whole body hurts, usually, my mind and heart hurt most.

On the plane ride over a girl two seats behind me got airsick, very airsick. The flight attendants had to close one of two restrooms on the plane because it was covered in vomit. As soon as I registered what was happening my stomach coiled, my chest clenched. I felt trapped in my own body. I was so close to her. Was it the stomach flu? Could I get sick by breathing the same air?

I sat on my bed, feeling like I’d just climbed Mount Everest. My heart was pumping, my whole body was shaking, and I was struggling to catch my breath. Yet all I’d done was climb up 14 steps to the first floor of my house. The last three steps I just about managed on my hands and knees before collapsing in a heap on my bed.

I am breaking up with my uterus. Yes, you read that correctly. I am in the final days of owning one of my most identifiable, gender specific organs, and my emotions are all over the place. I have been diagnosed with adenomyosis and uterine polyps, and for those that are unfamiliar, it is a condition that occurs when the tissue that lines the uterus begins to grow into the interior muscular wall of the uterus, creating clusters of cyst-like pockets.

I was diagnosed with GNE Myopathy, a rare form of Muscular Dystrophy, in my late twenties. This muscle-wasting disease is untreatable and progressive; it will leave me in a wheelchair with limited use of my arms, and is likely to shorten my life. It is very strange to know these things, but be unable to control them.

I am 20 years old, and spending a long weekend in the major city near my college town with my parents. We’re out at dinner with family friends, having a great time, eating lots of cheese curds, and I suddenly feel my left calf seize. I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, hoping to stretch out my calf in the process, but it just feels so. much. worse. I let my parents know, and they tell me it’ll be okay, it’s probably just a pulled muscle.

I wondered, had it always been so hard to keep my eyes open after lunch? When did digestion become such a task? Maybe it had always been like that. Maybe I just needed to get more sleep. For the first month or four, even I thought I was just being lazy.

I sat silently hoping Professor Forsythe wouldn’t notice me turning white and clammy as tears streamed down my face. History of Ohio was my least favorite class at CSU, but my discomfort had little to do with boredom. The pain in my lower abdomen sent me reeling into a panic; I would soon black out from the agonizing throbs.

I’d agreed to the Pitocin when my contractions didn’t strengthen after eight hours, the Nubain when a day had passed under the fluorescent hospital lighting and I still hadn’t slept, the epidural when the contractions weren’t dilating my cervix according to established medical timeframes. The full buffet of medical interventions I’d vowed to avoid was up for the taking, and I’d sampled many of the offerings, starving for the bliss of my newborn child against my skin. The c-section was the final course, served up like the dessert I knew I didn’t want but just had to try.

I’m an “old” mom. My son arrived just ahead of my 35th birthday and before that year my husband and I weren’t sure we wanted to be parents. However, after my father-in-law died unexpectedly, the conversations about having a family of our own became more frequent. We faced the grim reality that if we didn’t stop riding the proverbial fence we may have a child whose grandparents never knew him. So when my mom was diagnosed with stage three anal cancer in April 2015, her positive biopsy swiftly led to my positive pregnancy test four short months later. I was not at all prepared for what was to come.

The moment I found out I had cancer, I was sitting in my cubicle at the first job I had gotten after graduating from college. My biggest worry that day was finishing my Christmas shopping, as the holidays were just a few weeks from then. That was going to be my first Christmas together with my family since moving back from college in Minnesota, and I was so excited to spend time with those I loved. With one phone call from my doctor that afternoon, after a set of yearly routine tests, my entire life was flipped upside down.