To the Girl Who Just Had a Hysterectomy.
To the girl who just had a hysterectomy,
If you’re reading this, you’re probably sore, swollen, foggy from anesthesia, and wondering what the hell just happened to your body — and to your life.
You might be curled up on the couch, trying to sit still without crying. Or maybe you're lying in a bed that doesn’t quite feel like your own yet, clutching a heating pad, staring at the ceiling, trying to process what just happened. Or maybe you’re numb. Not physically, but emotionally. Shocked. Disconnected. Detached.
If any of that sounds like you… I’ve been there. And I want you to know something right away: you are not alone — and you’re not weak for feeling heartbroken, confused, or completely unprepared for the grief you didn’t know would come.
Because a hysterectomy isn’t just a surgery. It’s a loss. A shift. An unraveling of the version of yourself you always thought you’d grow into. It’s the moment you realize your future has changed in a way that’s both invisible to the world and undeniable to you. And it hurts — in ways you may not even have words for yet.
So if you feel broken right now, I want to gently offer this truth: you are not broken — you are brave. You are in the middle of something hard and sacred and soul-shifting. You’re mourning something that most people won’t understand, and that’s okay. This grief doesn’t need to be understood by everyone to be valid.
I know how lonely it can feel. I know what it’s like to scroll past pregnancy announcements with a quiet ache in your chest. I know how it feels when someone says, “At least you can adopt,” and it lands like a slap because they don’t realize they’re skipping over your pain. I know how it feels to want to scream, to cry in silence, to pretend you’re fine when you’re not. To wonder if your body betrayed you. To look in the mirror and not recognize who you are anymore.
But here’s what I also know: you will survive this. Not in the cliché, "stay strong" kind of way — but in the slow, messy, beautiful, real-life kind of way. One deep breath at a time. One day at a time. Some days will feel impossibly heavy. Others will carry unexpected light. You will cry over things that don’t make sense. And you will laugh again — sometimes at the absurdity of it all. Sometimes because healing is weird like that.
Eventually, you will find yourself again — not the exact same version of you as before, but someone softer, stronger, and more self-aware. You’ll learn how to advocate for yourself in a doctor’s office. You’ll become fiercely protective of your peace. You’ll hold space for your grief without apologizing for it. And you’ll start to feel proud of the woman who made it through all of this — even on the days she thought she couldn’t.
You don’t have to have it all figured out today. Or tomorrow. Or even next month. Just know that healing is not linear, and grief does not make you weak. You are allowed to feel joy and rage in the same breath. You are allowed to mourn the children you never got to carry. You are allowed to love your body even if you don’t always like what it’s been through.
So to the girl who just had a hysterectomy: I see you. I love you. I’m proud of you. And I promise — you’re going to be okay.
Not because you’ll “move on.” But because you’ll move forward — with more wisdom, more compassion, and a deeper understanding of your own strength than you ever knew possible.
And on the days you forget, come back and read this again.
With love,
Someone who’s been where you are, and is still standing.