When Good Things Feel Out of Reach
Her first message was not really about yoga.
She had undergone surgery for endometriosis, yet she was still carrying something the surgery could not remove: fear about her future.
She wondered whether she would ever become a mother. She questioned what her diagnosis might mean for the life she hoped to have. Beneath it all was a painful belief:
Maybe good things just won’t happen to me.
Her words stayed with me because they held so much more than a question about symptoms or recovery. They carried the emotional weight that can accompany endometriosis—the uncertainty, the grief, and the quiet fear that the diagnosis has already decided what your life will become.
Perhaps you have carried a thought like this, too.
Maybe your words were different:
Can I trust my body?
Will I always be in pain?
Will I be able to have children?
Will my life ever feel like mine again?
At the time, she was living in Switzerland and I was living in Spain. We began meeting remotely every one to two weeks and continued working together for several months.
Our sessions began with her body.
I created a gentle, customized yoga practice based on where she was at and what her body needed during that season. There was no expectation that her body should perform, push through, or become something different. The practice was an opportunity to slow down, listen, and begin relating to herself with greater care.
Once she felt more grounded, we moved into conversation.
Together, we explored the thoughts and fears she carried about her diagnosis, her symptoms, endometriosis, and infertility. She began noticing the stories that had quietly taken root within her—stories about what her body meant, what her future might hold, and what she believed was or was not possible for her.
The purpose was not to tell her to think positively or promise that everything would unfold exactly as she hoped.
It was to help her meet what she was carrying with honesty, curiosity, and compassion.
Over time, she established a home practice she could sustain on her own. She developed greater awareness of what she needed physically and emotionally. Our work came to a natural end—not because every uncertainty had disappeared, but because she had begun to trust her ability to meet herself within it.
She was no longer only reacting to endometriosis. She was learning to understand the relationship she had formed with it.
That relationship began to change.
Years later, she is a proud working mother of two children.
Her path to motherhood is a beautiful part of her story, but it is important to say that this was never a promised outcome of our work. The deeper transformation had already begun before she knew what her future would hold.
She was learning that her diagnosis did not have the authority to define her worth, her capacity for joy, or the possibility of good things still unfolding in her life.
That first message became the beginning of a relationship—and, in many ways, one of the earliest expressions of what Mind Body Endo was created to offer.
A place where the physical experience of endometriosis is honored, but the invisible experience is not overlooked.
A place to listen to the body, explore what has become attached to the diagnosis, and find a steadier way forward.
She once feared that good things would not happen to her.
Today, that belief no longer tells her story.
Identifying details have been changed, and a different name has been used to protect this woman’s privacy. Her story is shared with care and reflects the heart of the work we did together.
