Finding the Magic with Endometriosis: Part 1

As it’s coming up to the most magical time of the year, I thought it was finally the moment to confess to a slightly alternative way I cope with endometriosis... Magic.

In this two part-series, I want to explore how fantasy and magic helped me cope with the feelings I was experiencing around endometriosis, anxiety and depression, and how I now use ‘magic’ in my everyday life.

The power of magic

When we’re children, we eventually grow out of magic or are told to because it’s not ‘real’ and presumably, will inevitably lead to being disappointed once the illusion has shattered. But as an adult, I’ve not found that to be the case at all.

The risk with magic is that it’ll lure us into a world of make believe, that takes us away from reality and makes real life even harder to deal with when we leave our magical bubble. But perhaps, when it comes to living with endometriosis, a little bit of magic is exactly what we need.

My relationship with magic

My love affair with magic started at a young age with Sabrina the Teenage Witch and other books and shows of that nature. I didn’t get into Harry Potter until my adult years, but my love for the series has only increased over time.

The Harry Potter books for many of us are a safe haven, a cozy retreat inside the walls of Hogwarts, where even though evil threatens the magical and muggle worlds, there’s still something comforting and safe feeling about the school (even with their questionable child safety issues).

When I first read Harry Potter, I was thrilled by the idea of magic – the wonder, the mystery, the impossibility of it all. When I returned to the series during the midst of my endometriosis return (alongside its friends, depression and anxiety), there was still that childlike joy at the magical world, but there laid something more in the pages of those books. It was a world that I could escape into, a world where anything was possible, where a neglected child could turn out to have an alternate reality, where everything was not as it seemed.

A place to heal

Harry’s story allowed me to forget my own story whilst I disappeared into his, and yet it equally allowed me to experience and process my story from a distance. When he lost, when he suffered, when he grieved, I felt that pain and I allowed it to ride through me (especially as my endometriosis returned at the same time as three family losses). Whilst I didn’t always directly acknowledge that the pain actually stemmed from my own personal suffering, the book gave me freedom to express it in a safe way that I felt capable of doing.

Another, and probably the most obvious way the story was able to help me, was by allowing myself to escape from my current reality of endometriosis, and dream that maybe a different existence could be possible for me. Whilst that may sound damaging – it wasn’t. A different existent was possible for me. It didn’t come in the form of a hairy, friendly, monster-obsessed half-giant rescuing me from the evil stringy clutches of endometriosis, but it came in the form of myself, discovering ways to heal and discovering ways to find the magic in my own life.

And of course, there’s Professor Lupin. An individual who through no fault of his own, has been scarred with a condition that’s incurable, and returns every month, affecting his relationships, his work and his sense of self. Lupin’s experience allowed me to view my own experience through another, and made me feel less alone.

So, it's safe to say that yes, I am a big HP fan. But that's not where my relationship with magic ends... In the second installment of this series, I'll explore how I add a little extra magic into my life with endometriosis.