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Since the beginning of the pandemic many artists, including myself, have been struggling to fully express themselves or their work to its fullest capacity while maintaining safety protocols. I love creating photo editorial projects with my cousin as an artistic outlet and throughout the pandemic we have been exploring drone photography as a way to maintain social distancing between models and photographers in a time where face to face photoshoots may be dangerous for immunocompromised artists like ourselves.

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By Mark Treskon and Ananya Hariharan:

"The essay lays out three ways in which art was informed by and engaged with campaign goals: to promote health, to promote community, and to promote equity."

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Using Art to Promote a Healthy Community during the COVID-19 Pandemic

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This essay uses an art-focused public health campaign in Washington DC's North of Massachusetts avenue (NoMa) neighborhood to explore issues related to placemaking, public health, community and economic development, and art. The Wear a Mask campaign, from NoMa's Business Improvement District (BID), used art to encourage passers-by to wear face coverings.

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One of my ongoing passions as a teaching artist is creating lesson plans and performance pieces for disabled and/or chronically ill performers. I've witnessed incredible social progress collaborating with ABA therapists for Autistic students and Physical Therapists for students with Cerebral Palsy. Moving forward, I'm interested in exploring ways practitioners can bring artistic forms of therapy to audiences and students who can't physically make it into the classroom. I want to learn how to create an artistic environment among florescent lights and IV drips.

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Theatre spaces are often inaccessible with narrow aisles and plenty of stairs. Moving forward I would love to consult theaters and event managers as an accessibility specialist to ensure the disabled community has equal access to the arts.

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If I had to choose one person who has influenced my values most as a teaching artist it would be Dede Clark, owner of kidsActing Studio and lifelong mentor. Her lessons of empathy and inclusion exemplified throughout my childhood can be summed up in her quote, “It’s about letting each person be safe in discovering who they really are… We have kids in shows that range from being really timid to wildly outgoing. We have kids with a various range of disabilities that we teach. We have kids on every gender spectrum. And it’s all good. It’s all wonderful because that’s who they are.”

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The artistic director and founder of kidsActing casts a light on the lessons she's learned from teaching theater for 37 years.
By Amanda Pinney, Photo by Stef Atkinson
Dede Clark could never get enough of the blinding stage lights and rolling cameras. After receiving her bachelor's degree in theater education from the University of Kansas, Clark worked in theater in New York City before completing her master's degree in film at the University of Texas.

Clark realized she wanted to bring her love of theater and acting to children of all ages and talent levels, and in 1980, she founded kidsActing in Austin.

With a host of programs suitable for all acting levels, ranging from young beginners to advanced performers, the studio features everything from summer camps and musical-theater classes to audition workshops and full-scale productions. The emphasis at kidsActing is on making the kids feel welcome by providing an inclusive environment for everyone.

To commemorate her 37 years spent working as a theater teacher, Clark reflects on the top five lessons she's learned from being a mentor for kids, whether it was in front of or behind the curtain.
Her Lessons:
1. Cherish each individual. "You have to cherish each child for who they are and whatever they bring to the table. They don't have to be a certain type of person to be successful, to have their lives enriched, to give to the community. It's about letting each person be safe in discovering who they really are. This is a safe place for that. We have kids in shows that range from being really timid to wildly outgoing. We have kids with a various range of disabilities that we teach. We have kids on every gender spectrum. And it's all good. It's all wonderful because that's who they are."

2. There's a solution to every problem. "Screaming at people doesn't get you anywhere. Everything can be handled, and when you work in this business, you know that stuff happens. It just happens. You always have to be able to go, 'OK, how are we going to solve this?' It also translates into life. Instead of worrying about something, you just say, 'OK, all right.' When you work with kids, having the ability to not freak out is really valuable because they are mirrors. If you're tense and crazy, then they're going to be tense and crazy, and then everybody gets crazy. Ultimately, it all works out in the end."

3. Everybody bonds without a cellphone. "I have a rule that when [the kids]walk in the door, they put their cellphones in a basket. They power them off and put them in a basket. My attitude is simply that you're here, there's a community engagement, there's creativity, we're going to build something together. If you're texting, you're not building anything but your thumb muscles. What happens is everybody bonds so much more because there is real interaction. When we first started doing it, I had parents that said, 'My kid can't be without their phone,' and I said, 'Oh yeah, they can.' I haven't lost one yet. I've been doing this for 37 years, and I haven't lost a kid yet."

4. Hard work pays off. "That's all there is to it. Theater is about that. It's about responsibility, teamwork, creativity, hard work-all of that in one. The kids thrive on hard work. They'd rather be here than other places. So, the long hours are not a problem because everybody is working toward the same goal and everybody wants the best show possible. They love what they're doing, so they're engaged. I think the value of hard work paying off comes from the value of discipline in doing something that you love. These kids are doing [theater]because they thrive and they love it."

5. Be kind. "It's really important to me that all the kids treat each other with respect and kindness. Sometimes you get a young kid who's very successful, gets a lead [role]and all of a sudden, they start to cop an attitude. Well, we nip that in the bud really fast. One of the things we do here is I triple cast all my advanced shows so, for example, there will be three Belles in Beauty and the Beast. When they're not playing the lead, they play a chorus part. I call it my diva-prevention plan, and it works. What happens that is beautiful is instead of the kids wanting to be better than one another, I see kids work together. We want them all to really get that they're a team, that if one sinks, they all sink. If they all float, then it's great."

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From the Desk of Dede Clark - Austin Woman Magazine

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By Amanda Pinney, Photo by Stef Atkinson Dede Clark could never get enough of the blinding stage lights and rolling cameras. After receiving her bachelor's degree in theater education from the University of Kansas, Clark worked in theater in New York City before completing her master's degree in film at the University of Texas.

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One of Dede's favorite songs we sang for her at her retirement; it reminds me of where I came from and all the lessons she taught me.

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Happiness - From "You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown"

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Happiness - From "You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown"

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Graphic art of my name by my cousin, Devon Foster

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As an artist, I am invested in work that utilizes the stage to empower its audience; an agent for change which sparks dialogue outside of the theatre and inspires action.
As a teacher, I create a safe space for exploration through the arts, instilling within my students that there are no limits when it comes to storytelling.

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I always want my students to feel safe in the classroom to not only explore new things, but explore their ever evolving identity.

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I began pursuing activism more intensely throughout my medical leave as I gained firsthand insights into the disparities in our medical system, particularly within reproductive health. My work through various local organizations has given me the opportunity to engage in beautiful collaborations of which I am extremely proud. It has also inspired me to discover new ways of integrating artistic activism into my practice; learning how to intersect the world of theatre and public policy

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After a turbulent year, Mady Morneault, Lauryn Ott and Anna Sweeney share their trials and triumphs.

(l to r): Anna Sweeney, Mady Morneault and Lauryn Ott, Photo by Brandon McKinney

Let's take a trip back to October 2020. The Honorable Ruth Bader Ginsberg has just passed. There's a loud uproar over the Senate's push to fill her seat before it's even had a chance to cool. Women's March branches all over the country rally behind their shero, protesting the Supreme Court's disregard for tradition, precedent and Bader Ginsberg's own wishes to wait to fill her seat until after the presidential election.

Mady Morneault, Lauryn Ott and Anna Sweeney weren't new to activism. But co-hosting the local Women's March was their first and biggest endeavor by far. The rally and the women organizing it gained valuable guidance from the national chapter of Women's March, but they mostly undertook the planning and execution of the event with little help from other local organizations. When the rally first got underway, everything went smoothly. Sun shining, Taylor Swift playing in the background.

Attendees having fun. They were warned about possible pushback from certain groups and trained on how to deescalate volatile situations, but for all intents and purposes there was no cause for serious alarm.

Then the Proud Boys showed up. For the uninitiated, the Proud Boys are a right-wing white supremicist group of men who galavant about town in full tactical gear with loaded weapons to intimidate and threaten those who stand against their archaic and, quite frankly, deplorable ideologies about who does and doesn't deserve to be treated like a human being. Cresting over a hill leading down toward the Wooldridge Square Park pavilion, they strode in. Shouting derogatory slurs toward the women. Mocking their efforts. At several points physically and verbally assaulting those in attendance.

The astonishing part of the whole situation, however, wasn't even what happened that day. Disgusting? Yes. Traumatizing? Most certainly. But perhaps most harrowing: not a single person from the media even approached the young women about what they'd experienced. (If a tree falls in the forest and nobody's around to hear it...)

A Year Passes

One year on, each woman has taken a divergent path to move past the events of last year. Ott is still apprehensive about being as proactive as she was. "I'm not running back to go marching again," Ott reveals, a somewhat somber grin tugging at her lips. "I feel like we've been running a marathon in this pandemic. I'm exhausted."

Even in her understandable exhaustion, she found the ability to stay active.

"Work has picked up," Ott says. "I'm leading a number of different initiatives at work for women-owned businesses. So that's really exciting. I got to travel a little bit safely, which was really nice. Funny enough," she says with a smile, "I went to Florida, which is the worst place for COVID. We had planned it after vaccinations; there wasn't a Delta variant. I was telling people, 'I went to the worst state for COVID, and then I returned [to]the worst state for women.' So now [I'm] trying to wrap up the year and excited to get some rest."

Sweeney has experienced a number of transitions since last October, including graduating from Texas State in December with her bachelor's. "I have been working in vet med actually," she says. There's a note of surprise in her own voice, considering she'd started working in the social work field after she graduated. "I eventually made the decision to switch to working in vet med. I've also been volunteering with Pug Rescue of Austin, fostering pugs." The point is punctuated with the delighted yips of two pugs she's fostering at the moment.

She even started a new job at a new animal hospital in Austin. In the midst of all of that, Sweeney still managed to participate in the Don't Mess with Texas' Abortions rally. She as well as dozens of other women donned the signature red cloaks from the somewhat prophetic television series The Handmaid's Tale.

Wellness Milestones

Morneault has also stayed incredibly active. She returned to part-time work and continued volunteering with Planned Parenthood. She, too, participated in the Don't Mess with Texas' Abortions rally. "Just trying to keep myself busy with my writing and my advocacy," she says. "I've been spending a lot of my time doing photoshoots and writing for my Instagram, @madymorneault. I also recently redesigned and revamped my website for all of my projects that I've done this year as a way of raising awareness for endometriosis, with Modibody and health.com. It's called missmisdiagnosis.com, and it's been really fun to see that take off."

After suffering for most of her adult life from endometriosis, Morneault had what she hopes to be her final surgery to remove the rest of the scarring. "I made the decision to travel to the Center for Endometriosis Care in Atlanta, Georgia, for the surgery," she says brightly. "Recovering from that was a huge part of my life that I've been waiting on for a long time. It was extremely successful, and they gave me a rate of only 5% possible rate of recurrence, which is the best-case scenario you can get. It's a huge blessing for sure."

Ott recently celebrated her own astounding wellness feat. "I celebrated five years of being cancer-free in July."

The announcement is subdued, but her smile is genuine. "I got my official five-year stamp. So I've been downgraded to a low risk of occurrence." Ott wears her emotions openly on her face. Just saying the words "five years cancer-free" has a profound effect on her each time they leave her mouth.

Senate Bill 8

Photo by Brandon McKinney

These women know firsthand what it means to live with trauma. The whole world is suffering from it collectively. There's a pervasive feeling of unease that the next major catastrophe will be the one to ultimately bring humankind to its knees. But let's bring things back down to earth. In September, the state of Texas passed 666 bills including Senate Bill 8, one of the most aggressive and direct challenges to Roe v. Wade in history. Gov. Abbott and his cabinet have sent a very clear message to the rest of the country, reinforcing a centuries-old practice of policing women's bodies.

"I'm sure we all read what he said about victims of rape," Sweeney says, then pauses. Her face a mask of barely concealed rage. "Disgusting," she spits out. We live in an age where the entire country is actively-most times painfully-attempting to grapple with the more deplorable aspects of its history. The 666 bills passed in September was the proverbial middle finger to progress, accountability, equity and equality. (If you're wary of the figure, according to the Texas Legislature Report on the State Capitol official website, yes, that is the actual number.)

It's no wonder, then, that Ott has opted to temporarily step away from more hands-on activism. The fact that what they went through still affects them one year later speaks so viscerally to the seeming never-ending onslaught of tragedies plaguing the world. How does one stay sane?

The Healing Power of Therapy

"Therapy," Ott says with a rueful chuckle. Her next words are more serious, "Limiting your news is helpful. You can scroll through Instagram and still see what's happening. So I'm like, 'Well, if I'm going to see it on my socials, I'm not going to go out of my way to watch CNN 24/7.' It can take over and suffocate you. I've been reading a lot too," she continues. "That helps me escape into a different world than this one. It's been really helpful for me to give my brain and heart a break."

"Therapy has been a huge part of my healing journey," Morneault says. "Especially last year with the Women's March and all the trauma that kind of ensued, I know I wouldn't have been able to bring myself back into that advocacy space if I didn't take care of myself first."

She also believes in limiting her dependence on the news cycle. "During the pandemic when I was detached from everybody else, I used to have the news on constantly," she recalls. "So for every time I check the news I try to have a moment of silence with myself. I love being out in nature, listening to the sounds of nature and just existing and plugging into that as opposed to what's online and what's in the news. I'm gonna feel the wind on my face, or the heat because it's Texas, and reset."

Rage Against the Machine

"I have been getting angry with what I've been seeing," Sweeney admits. "With what's been going on in Texas, I'm furious. And I think that's okay. I think I have the right to be furious. Rights are literally being taken away, so I think everyone has the right to be furious. I was so disappointed with the response from the Supreme Court. I'm not surprised," she says, "but I was hoping more preventative measures would've been taken before it got this far."

The pause here is simmering with the sort of searing energy it takes to relieve feelings of blind rage. "At the same time, it kind of also drives me. I'm so ready for Nov. 8, 2022," Sweeney says with conviction. "I'm going to go hard. I'm going to register everyone I know."

Ott reflects on the grief each one of them felt last year. "This is why we were freaking out when [Bader Ginsberg] passed away," she says emphatically. "We didn't trust our system to protect us, and it didn't. So there's a lot of anger. When this passed we all texted each other and were like..." She lets out a heavy sigh, illustrating their collective grief. "I do feel that urge to do something. Marches are so great because it's such a source of community. Sometimes it's just good to be angry around people who are angry about the same thing."

Anger Into Action

"My personal favorite thing about protesting is that it turns anger into power," Morneault says. "That thing of being angry around people who are angry about the same thing you are, when you have that collective force, that anger turns into power. It turns into a voice, and it turns into a message."

Grief. Fury. Rage. These emotions are valid and at times are useful to help motivate action. "Now it's about what can I do?" Sweeny says. "I can't go bribe a state legislator. I can't control what's being done in law. But I can at least try to get [people]to bring more awareness to the situation."

Reflections on Women's March: Lauryn Ott

Whether marching or speaking their truths, they have never lost the spirit and brass ovaries to speak up and speak loud about what needs to be fixed. This includes turning a much-needed critical eye toward the organization that started them on this journey: Women's March. Many have noted the oftentimes contrarian behaviors of the organization.

The outrage over SB 8 is valid, but a large contingency can't help but wonder where all this anger was when Black lives were being sacrificed to the gods of law enforcement. When the Black Lives Matter organization was in desperate need of support from like-minded organizations, where were they? When Women's March held rallies for voting rights, the BLM presence was mysteriously absent. (Perhaps the invite got lost in the mail.) Similarly, where was this female fury after years of the murder of trans women?

"I can't tell you what my relationship is with the Women's March," Ott says openly. "I know that's not a happy answer. But I think it's important that we hold people accountable. If you're gonna claim that you are rallying around intersectional feminism, that means you help everyone. I struggle with that as far as my future participation.

"I am not interested in talking shit about anyone," she continues. "At the same time I think it's important to realize we sometimes don't even have each other's backs, and that's something we really need to focus on. Especially white women. This is a problem we have in the feminist community," she says with a small chuckle of frustration.

"We wanna support the shiny, popular things and not have those conversations with women of color and see what we can actually do, or step aside and create that platform for women of color. I think that's what I've been struggling with. I did a march, and I'm proud of myself and I'm proud of us. We really pulled something together quickly and it was beautiful. But now it's my turn to step aside and let someone else go. Whether that's the next generation, whether that's women of color, I'm happy to step aside and support."

Reflections on Women's March: Mady Morneault

Morneault offers another perspective. "I think it's really important to recognize there are so many things that you can do other than marching," she says. "I know there were times in my life where I wasn't physically able to march or go to a rally or to just show up in person somewhere. One of the silver lining of the pandemic is that it's proven how much we can do virtually. And I think that's something we shouldn't take for granted moving forward. You can volunteer at a text bank, you can call and write your Senators. I make a huge effort to make sure that the activism of whatever I'm involved in is not performative."

Reflections on Women's March: Anna Sweeney

Sweeney sees a need to focus attention on more than just the visible "women" aspect of Women's March. "It's important to remember that not everyone identifies as a woman," she insists. "People can still get pregnant who are not women. There's nonbinary people, there's transgender people, and it's affecting all of these people as well. I think it's important to emphasize the equality part and less the gender identities."

She makes the point clear: "It's not feminism if it's not intersectional," she says. "I think a lot of people forget that." As this active face of feminism, Women's March can't be one-sided.

True Sisterhood

Photo by Brandon McKinney

Through all of this, there's one constant that's held these women together. Their friendship.

"I know that our little text group that we have, we haven't stopped since before the march," Morneault says. "I tell people, 'You don't get how much I love these women.' I have not gone a single day without talking with them. Not a single day was missed."

The Zoom erupts with the kind of laughter heavy-laden with mutual adoration.

"We have multiple chat groups," Ott says with enthusiasm. "We're all on TikTok, so we're always sending each other things. It's family." The self-proclaimed mom of the group radiates so much love when speaking about her sisters in spirit.

"Honestly, they're my two closest friends," Sweeney says. "I talk to them more than I talk to my roommate. They're included in every big thing in my life. Any important decision I'm always like, 'Guys, please help.'" More laughter. The mirth of true sisterhood.

Even through what seems like a never-ending cycle of catastrophes, we must remember we are never alone. There's always someone in your corner who wants you to succeed. Mady Morneault, Lauryn Ott and Anna Sweeney have found sisters for life in one another, sharing a bond kept strong through a year of trials, triumphs, extreme pain and unimaginable joy. They were indeed "baptized by fire."

Like the most powerful sword, their experiences in the last year have forged a lifelong friendship that nothing can chip or fracture. Despite the sound and the fury, they have each other.

What makes the other two women survivors?

What do you believe makes you powerful?

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Mady Morneault, Lauryn Ott, Anna Sweeney -- Turning Anger to Action

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Let's take a trip back to October 2020. The Honorable Ruth Bader Ginsberg has just passed. There's a loud uproar over the Senate's push to fill her seat before it's even had a chance to cool.

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Community holds power

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My mentor, Dede Clark gave me my first job in teaching artistry when I was 14 years old. It became a great foundation for my career and college education. I love my job and I wouldn't have it any other way; it's where I learned the practice of "process over product" and the powerful act of manifesting confidence. I originally went to college for performance, but realized after my freshman year my true passion lied in education.

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"A three-act play shedding light on real oppression stories in women’s health with a how-to advocacy tool box to affect progressive change in women’s rights, menstrual equity and Intersectionality."

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Confronting and continuing to heal from trauma has dramatically effected the work I aim to create. When we confront our trauma, we acknowledge the things we've overcome while intentionally deciding to no longer let it hinder our present; including our work. Voicing my experience with chronic illness on a public platform after being labeled as "hysterical" for so many years was not only cathartic, but granted me the power to help other patients with a shared experience. I hope to create more work that explores the intricacies of trauma taboos and catharsis.

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This article is part of Health's series, Misdiagnosed, featuring stories from real women who have had their medical symptoms dismissed or wrongly diagnosed.
I've been dealing with chronic pain for as long as I can remember. At four years old, I developed cyclical vomiting syndrome, a disorder that causes nausea and vomiting. As I got older the episodes went away. But when I was 13 and started my period, things began to ramp up again.

Every month when my period came, I'd get nauseous and fatigued. I was slightly concerned, but I was used to dealing with those symptoms when I was younger, and I also thought I was experiencing normal period pain.

By the time I was 16, my periods were super heavy and irregular. I bled pretty much three weeks out of the month. That's when I started thinking, This is not okay. I need to get this regulated. My ob-gyn put me on birth control pills. It helped me stay on somewhat of a regular schedule, but that only lasted for so long.

I went to college about three hours away from my home in Austin, Texas. That's when my body really started saying, Hey, you need to pay attention to me.

I was doing musical theater and taking dance classes, learning how to be a performer. I enjoyed it, but I was also frustrated and thought, Why can't I be as flexible as those other girls? Why can't I jump as high? I was so sore all the time and I didn't know why.

I would also have these random pain episodes that made me throw up, and I couldn't hold down water. I went to the emergency room four times freshman year. My doctors and I thought it was food poisoning, and then we thought it was a virus.

Things became very difficult and isolating for me in the first semester of my sophomore year. I was in so much pain every morning that I couldn't get out of bed. The worst of it was in my abdomen, hips, and lower back, but it would often radiate down my legs, too.

My parents and health care professionals kept telling me, "You're just anxious, you need psychological help." I remember asking my general practitioner to perform bloodwork to check my thyroid in the hopes of finding an explanation for why I was constantly fatigued. When the bloodwork came back normal, he encouraged me to seek out a therapist and said, "When you can get your anxiety under control, you can get your symptoms under control."

To be fair, I was anxious and depressed. But it was because I was physically deteriorating and losing my ability to train. I was like, "What am I going to do if I can't be a performer?"

My university put me on a three-month waitlist for a psychologist, and basically I had this mental breakdown and told my mom, "I don't know what's going on, but I can't get out of bed." I moved back home to Austin in December 2017.

I transferred to Austin Community College, and after another year of flare-ups and feeling depressed, I went back to my original gynecologist in March 2019. I basically begged her for a laparoscopy to see if endometriosis was the problem. [ Editor's note: A laparoscopy is when the doctor makes a small incision in the abdomen and inserts a thin tube with a light and camera to view the pelvic region.]

I'd started researching endometriosis after a friend told me about it. She said I might have it based on my symptoms, and I told the doctor I thought she was right and would like to look. The doctor agreed to do the laparoscopy and turns out I did have endometriosis; I was diagnosed with the condition on March 28, 2018.

Based on what she found, she also performed laparoscopic ablation surgery to remove endometrial tissue-but the procedure removes the surface layer of tissue only. It doesn't stop the disease, and in my case, the disease was progressing.

The very next day, March 29, my older brother took his own life. I remember running around trying to help my mom get things together and barely even resting from surgery. I got a diagnosis and then, bam, I had to focus on this other thing. It honestly feels like it happened so long ago because he left my life years before he died. But it was very difficult.

I spent the months that followed dealing with family stuff and managing symptoms. Then I wound up hospitalized for two weeks in August 2019. Again, I couldn't keep water down. I was in so much pain, constantly throwing up.

I was like, "I think it might be the endo." But the doctors told me, "It can't be endo because you had surgery in March." They took scans, and then said, "Well, we did all these tests. There's nothing that warrants your pain, so it must be psychological." I fought the diagnosis at first. But they just didn't care to continue down that road investigating what was going on because they didn't know.

So many doctors don't understand endometriosis, and they think that laparoscopic ablation or birth control pills solve everything, which they don't. And if a doctor doesn't believe that or doesn't know that, there's no way I'll be able to convince them.

One positive thing about that particular trip to the hospital was that my partner, Jacob, was with me. We'd met the month before, in July. He was absolutely the first person to believe me when I said I was in pain. Because when you have an invisible illness you don't have to just convince the doctors, you have to convince your friends, you have to convince your family, you have to convince your parents.

Even when people do believe you're in pain, they might not want to deal with it. I had a couple of friends who were like, "Oh well, you can't go out anymore so you're not invited to stuff." You fall out of the group chats. My ex-boyfriend before I met Jacob broke up with me after three years together because my endo pain was becoming a daily thing and it very much influenced our sex life (one possible side effect of endometriosis is painful sex). He just told me, "I don't want to do this anymore."

But Jacob wasn't like that. He never questioned anything I said. He took me at my word and respected my intelligence. I was able to have a healthy sex life with him. If it hurt or I said, "I need to stop," it was never a problem.

On January 23, 2020, Jacob was killed in a motorcycle accident-taken in an instant.

People in my life assumed that I was staying home and lying in bed because I was in grief, not because I was still in a lot of pain. But it was both. That's one of the hardest things for doctors to understand, too: They think that if you're struggling with something emotionally, it's automatically the only explanation for your physical pain.

That's what happened when I went to a doctor in late February to discuss excision surgery. This type of surgery cuts out the diseased tissue down to clear margins, unlike ablation surgery, which just lasers off what's visible.

This doctor asked me, "How's your home life? Are you doing okay?" And I said, "Well, my partner passed away." That turned into the doctor saying, "Everything's fine. You're just in grief." And I was like, "Yes. I am. Very much so. But also, there are some other things going on."

He eventually agreed to do the excision surgery and put me through MRIs and different pre-op procedures. But then I had to come back for an emergency appointment because I was in so much pain. It felt like there was a 10,000-pound stone sitting at the bottom of my pelvis. I told the doctor, "I know my surgery is in a couple of weeks, I just want to let you know what's going on."

He gave me an exam that was so painful I was holding back screams. He literally said, while his hand was inside of me, "It just seems like you have a really low pain tolerance." And then he pulled his hand out and he's like, "The anatomy is normal. It's just a little inflamed. And we got your MRIs back and it's all clear, so I'm actually going to cancel your surgery."

I lost it. I replied, "You can't do this. If you said I had endo that needed to be removed before, doesn't it still exist even if it doesn't show on the MRI?" And he just wouldn't budge. It was very obvious that he made this decision before I walked into the room. And so I was like, "So there's nothing you can do to help me?" And he was like, "Well, we can keep giving you birth control."

He also advised me to stop touching myself, because I'd told him I'd given myself a self-exam. He was like, "Oh, no, no. You can't do that. You can't put things up your vagina. You can't put your fingers up there."

It was mind-blowing. Like, "Just ignoring it? That's your treatment for this horrible pain and disease?" And it's also very oppressive and violating to have doctor tell me I can't touch my own body. I ended up leaving.

My friend recommended I go to a specific medical office in Houston, which I did, and the doctor there referred me to another surgeon she called the "endometriosis queen." She told me, "You need to go see her."

So I went in, and the doctor looked at my case history and records and said, "It looks like you have stage 2 endo, so we need to get that excised as soon as possible."I just started crying.

I had my excision surgery on June 16, 2020. The doctor handed me my pictures afterward, and I thought, Holy crap. This was what my body looked like inside? There was brown-and-red splattered endo adhesions everywhere.

The first time I stood up after the surgery, I didn't have any of the hip pain that plagued me for so long. That's because I had endometriosis growths on my hip ligaments, and the growths were removed during surgery. I believe this explains why I couldn't get the splits in college and struggled with my legs in dance.

Unfortunately, they also found endo on my diaphragm, and my gynecologist is not trained to operate there. So I'll need to have another surgery.

I personally feel like I would have received proper treatment much sooner if I didn't give dismissive or rude doctors second, third, and fourth chances. I should have just kept looking for a doctor who listened to me right off the bat.

So my advice to women in a similar situation is to remember that you don't owe a dismissive doctor anything, and the more you educate yourself about your condition and rights as a patient, the better you can advocate for yourself. Now I have a medical journal and a file of medical records that I take with me to every doctor's appointment; I write down my symptoms, questions, and goals for the appointment beforehand.

I also started speaking out about my experience roughly a year ago, after that traumatic doctor's appointment in February 2019, when the doctor told me I needed to stop touching myself. I've written articles, shared my story on Instagram, and created a website where I can advocate on behalf of myself and others who are fighting this disease.

My mom and dad were a little worried at first about how public I've made my journey. They were like, "We don't want you to focus on that so much. We don't want that to be your life. It's not what defines you."

And it's like, I get that. But it is my life right now, and I am constantly thinking about this-so why not channel it and figure something out where I can be useful? Because I know there are other women out there that are suffering in silence, and I don't feel comfortable not doing anything.

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This Woman Had Endometriosis Since She Was a Teen, but Doctors Kept Insisting Her Symptoms Were All in Her Head

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This article is part of Health's series, Misdiagnosed, featuring stories from real women who have had their medical symptoms dismissed or wrongly diagnosed. I've been dealing with chronic pain for as long as I can remember. At four years old, I developed cyclical vomiting syndrome, a disorder that causes nausea and vomiting.

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Performance by Planned Parenthood Texas Votes

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A performance piece inspired by Latin America's, "The Rapist In Your Path" to garner support for abortion access in Texas. I aspire to create more work like this.

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One of the most transformative experiences of my life was co-hosting the Austin Women’s March in 2020. We successfully and safely completed our event despite an attempted hijacking from a national domestic terrorist group. Planning the event was an intensive workshop on collaboration; my two co-hosts and I entered as complete strangers, and now they are two of my closest friends. It truly taught me the deep value of building relationships through collaboration, vulnerability, and trust.

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Baptized By Fire: The Story of the Women's March Austin Rally

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The entertainment industry is riddled with competition, but I value my collaborative achievements on a much grander scale than my individual projects. This is because I value experiencing empowerment through community building. I hope to facilitate that for other people as well through my teaching artistry. I believe that shame is the opposite of art and shedding a "same shame" through artistic expression builds community.

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So much of the shame we internalize isn't even self-generated, but labels slapped on our bodies by a patriarchal and ableist society.

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Therapy allows us to get comfortable within our vulnerability; an essential tool for artists and a vital tool for collaboration. If we can not find rest in vulnerability within ourselves, how can we expect to open up with collaborators? This is why I believe therapy continues to influence my work as an artist as I learn to deconstruct my insecurities and use artistic practices in a therapeutic setting.

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A nonprofit that provides crisis services for patients with endometriosis. Founded by my dear friend and advocate, Bee Lynn who I volunteer with in my free time.

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The first studio that taught me the beauty of process of product.