What Curiosity Makes Possible

By the time I sat on the examination table with Kamil beside me, I had spent years trying to understand the pain.

Over a decade earlier, I had undergone an endometrial ablation after months of constant bleeding left me severely anemic. The procedure worked beautifully, and for many years my body settled into a new rhythm. I believed that chapter of my life had come to a close.

Then another chapter quietly began.

The monthly cramps returned, even though the bleeding did not. At first they were manageable. Over time they became disruptive, and eventually they shaped my calendar, my energy, and the way I moved through each month. My body was asking for my attention in a language I could feel but did not yet understand.

Over the years, I described the pattern to several physicians. Each appointment brought thoughtful recommendations that might ease the pain. High doses of ibuprofen during the week I expected the cramps. Birth control pills to regulate my hormones. Eventually, because I had completed my family, a hysterectomy. Every conversation reflected a sincere desire to help, and every physician offered the best path they could see.

Through each conversation, one question continued accompanying me.

Why was this happening?

Understanding mattered deeply to me. I wanted to know my body more intimately. I wanted to understand the story beneath the symptoms. Curiosity felt like another form of care, and I found myself hoping someone would enter that question with me.

Eventually, I was referred to a pelvic pain specialist, and Kamil came with me to the appointment. She listened as I described the ablation, the years that followed, and the pain that had gradually become part of my life. Then she explained that I had developed ablation syndrome.

Healthy uterine tissue had continued responding to my monthly cycle while scar tissue prevented blood from leaving my uterus normally. My body had been responding exactly as it could. The pain had a history. It had a cause. It belonged within a story that suddenly made sense.

I cried on her examination table.

The tears arrived before I understood them. Kamil reached for my hand while years of confusion, relief, exhaustion, and gratitude moved quietly through me.

Someone had stayed with my story long enough for understanding to emerge.

That appointment has stayed with me for many years. Each time I return to it, I notice something new. One of those discoveries surprised me.

I've spent much of my life asking why.

Questions have always felt like companions. They have quietly shaped the way I move through relationships, my work, my writing, and my own healing. Over time, I have come to recognize something that had been present all along.

Curiosity is how I show love.

It is how I care for the people closest to me and, now, most especially, how I care for myself.

It is how I listen closely enough to understand what someone is really trying to say. It is how I walk alongside buyers and sellers as they make life-changing decisions. It is how I facilitate breathwork, trusting each person's experience to unfold in its own time. It is how I write, following a memory until it begins to reveal something I had not yet seen. It is how I have learned to meet my own body, my anger, and my questions with patience.

Over the years, my anger became a faithful companion. It often arrived before I understood why, living close enough to the surface that I could see it in my face before I felt it in my thoughts. As I began paying closer attention, I realized it continued asking something of me.

Curious about the boundary that needed care.

Curious about the grief that was still asking to be acknowledged.

Curious about the longing that had not yet found words.

Curious about the places in my life that were asking for deeper understanding.

This is the meaning sacred rage is beginning to hold for me.

It gathers around something precious. It asks for our attention with remarkable persistence. It keeps us close to the questions that matter until understanding has time to unfold.

When I remember that day on the examination table, I remember the quiet relief of no longer carrying the question alone.

I also remember beginning a different relationship with myself.

One rooted in patience.

One rooted in curiosity.

One question at a time.

A Gentle Invitation

Is there a place in your life where curiosity might reveal something that certainty never could?

REGISTER HERE: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/the-journey-home-a-6-week-guided-experience-for-those-ready-to-reconnect-tickets-1992776071875