I had a colonoscopy this morning. I had already rescheduled it three times before today.
It wasn’t my first—and it won’t be my last.
The first time was about seven or eight years ago, when my body started speaking in ways I didn’t yet understand. Ongoing stomach issues. Discomfort that wouldn’t settle. Questions with no clear answers. My doctor sent me for both a colonoscopy and an endoscopy, hoping to find something.
At the time, I was already deep in my mental health journey—cycling through antidepressants, one after another, sometimes three or four at once. Each one meant to help, but many of them left me feeling worse physically than they were helping mentally. My body was reacting, even if I couldn’t fully connect the dots yet.
More than 20 concoctions of medications and a hundred-pound weight gain later, I made the decision to stop them altogether.
It wasn’t easy—and it wasn’t a decision to take lightly. It was scary, if I’m being honest. My psychiatrist at the time was uneasy about my decision, but Rich supported me fully after watching me suffer through side effects that felt just as overwhelming as the mental health battle itself.
By that point, I had already been diagnosed with treatment-resistant depression and something in me knew I needed to listen to my body. Every time I had a severe physical reaction, I was sent from one specialist to another—cardiologists, gastroenterologists, rheumatologists just to name a few. And yet, each time I weaned off a medication, my symptoms would disappear.
My body exhaled.
But the story didn’t end there. Because colon cancer runs in my family, my gastroenterologist and GP both urged me to continue routine colonoscopies.
So I do.
Even though every part of me wants to avoid it—which is why I rescheduled this one three times.
Yes, the prep is awful. Yes, the anxiety builds. But what people don’t always see is how triggering this is for me. My history with inpatient care over the last dozen years and multiple rounds of ECT has left me with PTSD and medical trauma. Hospital smells, gowns, the loss of control—these things don’t feel routine to me. They bring me back.
My body holds my stories. My past. My healing. My truth.
When the procedure was over this morning, I could finally breathe—until the doctor told me she wants to repeat it again soon. I told her I couldn’t go through this again “soon.” She understood, and we agreed on a date in December.
Because the truth is, these procedures aren’t just routine.
They’re responsibility.
They’re prevention.
They’re choosing to show up for the uncomfortable things.
They’re an act of choosing myself, even when it’s hard.
I’ve learned the hard way that ignoring my body doesn’t serve me. Listening to it does.
So I’m trying.
And if there’s anything I’ve learned through all of this, it’s this:
Take care of your body. Go for the check-ups.
Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
#colonoscopy #anxiety #prep #treatmentresistantdepression #mentalhealth #physicalhealth #listentoyourbody #youareenough #triggers #trauma #ptsd
YouAreEnough 