That Didn't Take Long...

It didn’t take long for me to break my promise to write every day.

To be fair, I have worked on my novel on some of the days I’ve missed. And for the others… well, it’s just a full season of life. A full-time job, my daughter’s lacrosse season, photography on the side (which fills many evenings and weekends), and - if I’m honest - trying to decompress from the medical whirlwind we’ve been living in.

We finally have a diagnosis for my daughter.

After more than a year of her feeling awful, and months of tests, we now know it’s Hashimoto’s hypothyroidism. It means daily medication and some dietary changes, but most importantly, it means she should finally start feeling better.

And that alone feels like a victory.

But getting here? It’s been frustrating in a way I’m still trying to put into words.

We were bounced from specialist to specialist as her symptoms got worse. Each time, more waiting. More uncertainty. Not even tests - just trying different medications they prescribed that were for problems she didn't actually have - until one day, completely overwhelmed, I called our primary care doctor in tears. She listened. She ordered one blood test - just one - that none of the specialists had run.

And there it was. The answer.

As a parent, that realization is hard to sit with. Because all along, my daughter’s symptoms read like a checklist for a thyroid issue - something we had even asked about before. And yet, it was brushed aside. Dismissed. Reframed as anxiety. 

Of course there was anxiety. Anyone would feel anxious after being sick for that long without answers.

But that wasn’t the cause - it was the result. And I felt awful that I hadn't pushed harder for her. That I'd trusted the doctors without questioning more. That I hadn't just done more.

There were moments along the way that shook me more than I let on. At one point, a CT scan to rule out masses, which I knew meant ruling out cancer. Just the possibility sent me into a quiet spiral I had to hide from her. I couldn’t let her see my fear, even as it made it hard to function.

I know how exhausting it was for me. I can only imagine how it felt for her.

If there’s anything meaningful to come out of all of this, it’s the lesson she’s learning about advocating for herself. She’s experienced, firsthand, what it feels like to not be heard. To leave appointments frustrated. To be told what she’s feeling doesn’t quite add up - when she knows it does.

She was even told not to Google her symptoms.

And yet, the diagnosis we finally landed on? It’s one she had already suspected through her own research.

At the same time, her primary care doctor reminded us what good care looks like. She listened. She took concerns seriously. And with one simple test, she found what everyone else had missed.

That matters.

I can’t speak for men - I’m not one. But from a female perspective, I can say this: it’s probably a good thing she’s learning this lesson now.

Because, unfortunately, this won’t be the last time she’s not heard.

Her life will likely include moments like the ones I’ve experienced - where her ideas are dismissed, only to be praised when repeated by someone else. Where being assertive earns her labels men never receive. Where empathy is mistaken for weakness. Where her symptoms are minimized. Where she feels pressure to keep proving herself, over and over again.

The list goes on.

My hope is that by the time she’s grown, the world will be different - that she’ll face less of this than I have.

But until then, I’ll be right here.

Helping her find her voice.
And reminding her to trust it.

I'll be honest - I probably won't write every day. My goal is going to be a few days a week for right now. I feel like I'm playing catch up, but even in all the chaos, it's a good season in life. And I want to soak in every moment.