Face to Face with Fibroids: A Journey of Pain, Truth, and the Path to Healing
Written by Jetta Nicoline Harrison | October 24th, 2024
I’m writing this from a hospital bed, where the weight of my reality presses down on me like never before. My fibroids—growths that have been silently expanding in my womb—have brought me here, to this room where harsh lights cut through the starkness, where beeping machines measure each labored breath. I’m sitting in pain, both physical and emotional, feeling the rawness of what fibroids have forced me to confront.
This is not a story of resolution. I’m not at the end of my healing journey—I’m still in the depths of it, holding onto the threads of hope that are only beginning to reveal themselves. My body is speaking to me with every twinge, every ache, and I’m choosing, in this moment, to listen. This is my truth, and I’m sharing it because I know I’m not the only one.
The Unseen Stories Our Bodies Hold
Fibroids are not just medical conditions—they are stories. They are the quiet, hidden narratives that our bodies hold onto when words fail us. Each fibroid in my womb is a testament to the disappointments I’ve faced, the love I’ve given that wasn’t returned, the betrayals I tried to swallow down. Each one grew as I endured relationships that didn’t honor me, as I held onto memories that hurt. My body has been speaking, even when I couldn’t, and now I have to listen
Louise Hay, in her book You Can Heal Your Life, suggests that fibroids can represent “nursing a hurt from a partner—a blow to the feminine ego.” This resonates deeply with me. Each relationship that left me feeling unseen, unworthy, and unappreciated seemed to manifest in my body as another layer of pain. My fibroids have become a living history of the emotional wounds I carried silently, and now I’m choosing to face them, to heal them, to let them go.
It’s not just my story, though. Black women, especially, face a unique burden when it comes to fibroids. We are diagnosed at younger ages, experience more severe symptoms, and often face a medical system that does not take our pain seriously. We are three times more likely to develop fibroids than any other race, carrying a disproportionate burden that cannot be ignored. We hold not just the weight of these tumors— but the weight of a world that too often dismisses our struggles, our voices, our humanity. Malcolm X’s words still ring painfully true: “The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black woman.” This is our reality, and our stories deserve to be told.
The Impact of Fibroids: Losses We Seldom Speak About
For some, fibroids mean pain that disrupts everyday life—pain that bleeds into work, into joy, into the moments that should be simple. For others, they mean dreams deferred: the hope for children, the desire to be whole, the longing for a body that feels like home. I know what it is to lose, to feel that my body has betrayed me, to grieve the life I imagined. The pain isn’t just in my womb; it’s in my heart.
But we don’t often speak of these losses. They are too intimate, too raw, too bound up in the silent expectations placed on women—especially Black women—to endure. To carry on, to be strong. But I don’t want to be silent anymore. I don’t want to pretend that my pain isn’t real, that my story doesn’t matter. I’m speaking now, for myself, for all the women who’ve endured silently, and for those who couldn’t find the words. I want to honor the depth of our experiences, the invisible wounds we carry, and the resilience it takes to wake up each day with this weight pressing down on us.
What This Pain Is Teaching Me
As I sit here, face to face with the undeniable reality of what fibroids have done to my body, I’m finding clarity in the pain. This clarity doesn’t make the pain disappear—it just brings it into focus. I’m learning from this experience, and I hope that by sharing, it might resonate with you too, wherever you are on your journey:
1. The Power of Choosing Love that Nurtures
I have poured my heart into people and places that couldn’t hold it, and my body has carried the residue of that pain. I allowed myself to stay in relationships that diminished me, where my needs were left unmet, and my fibroids grew as if in response to that unspoken sorrow. I now understand that love is not supposed to hurt or drain you; it should fill, uplift, and support. I am making the choice—imperfectly, slowly—to seek out relationships that honor my heart and soul. This is not just about romantic love; it’s about friendships, family, community—every connection that has access to my spirit.
2. Letting Go of the Burdens We’ve Inherited
Many of us, especially Black women, have carried expectations we didn’t choose. We’ve been told to be strong, to be everything to everyone, to keep going even when it feels like our world is falling apart. I grew up altering my appearance to fit standards that weren’t mine—relaxing my hair, absorbing chemicals that did more harm than good. It wasn’t just the physical chemicals I absorbed, but the societal pressures to conform, to be “acceptable.” I am learning to release those burdens, to embrace what is natural and authentic to me, to shed not just the physical toxins, but the emotional ones—the unspoken expectations that told me I needed to be less than who I truly am.
3. Embracing the Invisible Beauty of Resilience
The stories that live in our bodies are often invisible to others. My fibroids aren’t visible to the outside world, but they have shaped every part of my existence. They are a testament to what I’ve survived, to the love I’ve given, to the pain I’ve endured. I am learning to find beauty in this struggle, to see the strength it takes to wake up each day, to carry on, to hope even when hope feels impossible. I don’t have to be healed to be whole. My beauty is in the struggle, in the vulnerability, in the choice to keep going.
4. Honoring the Many Paths of Loss and Choosing My Own
Fibroids have not only shaped my body—they have influenced some of the most tender and challenging moments of my life. They have forced me to confront the reality that pregnancy doesn’t look the same for everyone. For many of us, fibroids bring the heartbreak of infertility, making it impossible to conceive in the first place. For others, they lead to the pain of miscarriage—of holding onto a hope that slips away too soon. And for some, like me, fibroids become a factor in choosing to release a pregnancy, a decision made with a heavy heart and deep reflection.
This was not a choice I made lightly. It was a decision that held a profound weight in my life, influenced by my health, my circumstances, and the truth of what felt right for me in that moment. I share this because I want to honor every woman who has faced the complexity of making choices around her body and her future. This is not about justification—it’s about recognizing the reality of living with fibroids and the different ways they impact our lives.
I want to acknowledge the grief that comes with each of these paths—whether it’s the inability to conceive, the loss of a pregnancy, or the choice to let go. I honor the pain, the courage, and the hope that exists in every woman’s story. This is my truth, and while I don’t know what the future holds, I am choosing to move forward with grace, holding space for whatever possibilities may come. I am learning to trust my own path, to honor what I have lost, and to create a life that reflects the deepest truth of who I am.
Empowerment Through the Challenge of Fibroids
If you’ve been given the challenge of fibroids, I believe it’s because there’s a call for transformation hidden within it. These struggles are not meant to break us—they are here to unearth our strength, to draw out the truest parts of who we are. Fibroids have brought me face-to-face with the hardest truths, asking me to surrender, to release, and to trust. They have shown me that my pain is not the end of my story but the beginning of a deeper, more empowered way of living. This isn’t about waiting to be healed; it’s about choosing to find power in the process—knowing that each step, each tear, and each breath is part of something sacred.
The Womb as a Vessel of Transformation
Our wombs hold a power that goes beyond creation—they are spaces of alchemy, capable of turning pain into wisdom, grief into growth, and struggle into profound strength. The womb is a sanctuary of potential, a vessel that holds not just the possibility of new life, but the birthing of our truest selves. I am learning that honoring my womb means honoring myself, and that the choices I make—from who I love to how I heal—are acts of creation. We are all creators, whether or not we choose to have children. We are constantly creating our lives, our loves, and our futures. This is a reminder that every choice matters, and that we deserve partners, relationships, and a world that see the sacredness within us.
An Invitation to Healing and Connection
This post is not a set of instructions—it’s an invitation to come closer, to lean into the places that hurt, and to allow ourselves to feel fully. It’s a call to sit with our stories, to give ourselves permission to grieve, to hope, to heal. To every woman who has felt the weight of her body’s struggle, to every person who has questioned if their pain is valid, to every heart that has been cracked open by loss—you are not alone. I see you. I feel you. And I honor the courage it takes to face this journey.
To the women who have lost children to fibroids, who have watched hope slip away in moments of miscarriage, who have made difficult decisions out of love and necessity—I want you to know that your story is sacred, and your pain is real. You do not have to carry it alone. To those who have stood beside us, holding space for our grief and our healing, your presence is a gift. And to every woman who has felt betrayed by her own body, please know that your body is not your enemy—it is a powerful, living testament to everything you’ve endured and everything you’ve become.
A Commitment to Ourselves and Each Other
As I sit here, reflecting on the journey that brought me to this moment, I am making a promise. A promise to honor every part of myself—the parts that are messy, the parts that are still healing, and the parts that are already whole. I promise to keep showing up, even when it’s hard, even when it feels like the darkness might overwhelm the light. I will no longer shrink to fit someone else’s story, nor will I apologize for the way my body has chosen to tell mine. I will love myself in the way I want to be loved—fiercely, unapologetically, and completely.
As I write these words, I hold an intention: “I release the pattern in me that attracted this experience. I create only good in my life.” This is my prayer, my declaration, and my commitment to myself and to every woman who has faced this journey. We are not just surviving—we are becoming. We are rising. We are rewriting what it means to be whole, to be powerful, and to be worthy.
Walking the Path of Healing Together
This path of healing is not one I am walking alone, and it’s not one you have to walk alone, either. Though I am still navigating my own journey, I have had the honor of guiding others through their pain, witnessing the light that emerges even in the darkest moments. If my words resonate with you, if you feel the pull to explore your own healing, I am here to hold space with you. Together, we can uncover the truths that are waiting to be spoken, the wounds that are ready to be healed, and the possibilities that are longing to come to life.
Click the link below to learn more about how we can take this journey together. Healing isn’t about finding the perfect path—it’s about being seen, supported, and celebrated for who you are, exactly as you are. Let’s walk this road together, with open hearts and brave spirits, knowing that we are enough—always enough. We are in this together, and together, we will rise.
“Grief carves a place in the heart and sits there forever. But when focused, it can be a powerful motivator. Sadness becomes resolve, and pain becomes action.”