The first signs of spring are revealing themselves—a soft, calm breeze, a clear blue sky, the sun shining brightly and warming my bare feet. The snow is fading, and small leaves are re-emerging from the branches.
I am not still. I am unsettled.
It has been a week to remember. I’ve been reflecting on the invisible thread that weaves women together in a tapestry of strength, resilience, and love.
Last week, I had the privilege of meeting an incredible group of women. We were united in our intent and cause. We had gathered to speak with members of the U.S. Congress about Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS). PCOS is a hormonal, metabolic, and reproductive condition that affects nearly one in five women.
As a PCOS patient of 15+ years, I have lived through my own struggles with this condition—from confusing symptoms and misdiagnoses to searching for treatments that work, only to start all over again. PCOS dictates every hour of my every day. But that is a story for another time.
We met with the offices of U.S. Senators and Representatives at Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C. This initiative was led by PCOS Challenge, a community I will always be grateful for. In our meetings, we shared insights about PCOS and advocated for more research, funding, and treatment options.
How was it that a condition discovered more than 90 years ago still had no FDA-approved cure?
On my ever-growing list of "Things that puzzle me about social systems," this was another item.
The stories within our group were as diverse as they were familiar. Struggles with menstrual cycles, chronic pain, infertility, hirsutism, metabolic disorders, acne, hair loss, weight gain, sleep disturbances—the list went on. Our frustrations with healthcare and government systems echoed across generations. Some of us were in our twenties, others in their thirties, forties, fifties, and sixties. I found myself unsettled again. A condition that affects a woman’s entire lifespan, yet even in 2025, the treatment options remain scarce.
I was one of the younger patient advocates in the group, surrounded by women who had been fighting for their health for over 15 years. Their stories of endurance, tenacity, and advocacy gave me a renewed sense of courage.
In those moments, I had a quiet realization:
I was the woman they once were.
They are the women I am becoming.
This wasn’t just about a moment in time, it was about something much larger. A condition that is shaping generations of women.
There is a certain affinity I have toward women. It is an invisible thread. Their experiences inspire me. I am proud to belong to a collective that has, time and again, refused to be silenced. Their determination is a legacy, and it challenges me to find my own ways to carry it forward.
Across generations in my own family, I have seen women endure in distinct ways. Their struggles remind me of Mother Trees. They weather harsh seasons, survive uncertainty, and yet, give birth to cycles of renewal. They stand rooted in the ground.
Beneath the surface, their roots intertwine in a mycorrhizal network—hidden, yet powerfully connected. They communicate in a shared language of care, reciprocity, and abundance. I learned the magic of that language while exchanging stories with my fellow patient advocates. Their words were gifts I will always treasure.
Every stage of my PCOS journey has been a step toward self-discovery.
Where medicine has fallen short, relationships have filled the gap. In the absence of a cure, friendships and community have been my most precious form of healing. The words of bell hooks always give me comfort.
“Whether we learn how to love ourselves and others will depend on the presence of a loving environment. Self-love cannot flourish in isolation.” —bell hooks
Love and support have the power to transform. They can plant seeds of confidence, courage, and action.
Last week, we sowed those seeds at Capitol Hill during a time of great uncertainty and chaos. What grows from them, I’m curious to see.
But for now, I remain hopeful as the first signs of spring are revealing themselves.
The air is warmer. The ground is softer. The roots are spreading.
If you've ever felt unseen in your healthcare journey, know that you're not alone. Let's continue this conversation.
What has helped your journey?
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