The Diagnosis I Didn’t Want, But Deep Down Knew Was Coming: My Wake-Up Call with Ulcerative Colitis

There’s a kind of pain that whispers before it screams.

At first, it was just exhaustion—a heaviness I brushed off as part of a busy season. I was holding down a demanding job, showing up for everyone but myself, running on caffeine, candy and the quiet belief that slowing down meant falling behind. I wanted so desperately to feel important.

Headaches became normal. Gut issues flared and faded. My anxiety lingered like background noise I had learned to ignore. There was always a reason to keep pushing. Always a reason to dismiss the signs.

Besides, I was strong.
Strong women keep going.
Strong women don’t stop.

Until they have no choice.

My body finally gave out in a way I couldn’t ignore. The diagnosis—severe ulcerative colitis paired with severe anemia—hit like a lightning strike. Sudden, yes. But also…not surprising. It was as if my body had been trying to get my attention for years and had finally resorted to the only language I would listen to: a full-body shutdown.

In that moment, everything changed. My calendar didn’t matter. My to-do list lost its power. What mattered was staying awake to what was real. What mattered was finally learning to listen to my own body—and my own needs.

Getting diagnosed with UC didn’t just interrupt my life—it disrupted my identity.

I had always been “the reliable one.” The woman who could juggle everything without flinching. I wore busyness like a badge of honor, mistaking burnout for success. My self-worth was tied up in performance, productivity and the illusion of control. Slowing down wasn’t just inconvenient—it felt like failure.

But the truth is, illness strips away everything that isn’t essential. It forces you to confront the version of yourself you created to survive—and invites you to meet the version of you that’s been waiting underneath.

I had to face some uncomfortable truths:
That my body had been wiser than me all along.
That I had confused overgiving with strength.
That I had bought into a version of success that required self-abandonment.

Healing, I’ve learned, isn’t just about treatment plans and supplements. It’s a complete reorientation of how you move through life. At least, it was for me.

I knew that healing meant more than medication—it meant combining Western medicine with a holistic approach and major lifestyle changes. I needed to give myself the best chance. So I did.

I began setting boundaries—because I had no other choice. No one teaches you how to actually care for yourself while holding a job, being a wife, a friend, a sister, a daughter. I didn’t know how to protect myself without first shutting everything out. It might sound dramatic, but illness really does strip away anything that isn’t essential in those early stages of recovery.

I redefined what health meant to me. I started reading everything I could find—on gut health, mind-body medicine, the science of change. I became my own experiment. I knew the changes I needed to make would be dramatic. They might even sound extreme to some. But there isn’t great information out there about UC, and I was determined to go deep.

These weren’t easy shifts. But they were necessary.

And over time, I began to rebuild—not in spite of my diagnosis, but because of it.

There’s a difference between surviving and living in sovereignty.

Survival is reactive. It’s about getting through the day, checking boxes, staying afloat.
Sovereignty is something else entirely. It’s the quiet, powerful decision to take full ownership of your healing—not in a self-blaming way but with radical compassion and radical responsibility.

I didn’t choose my illness, but I did contribute to it. And now, I get to choose how I respond to it.

Every decision I make—what I say yes to, how I spend my energy, where I place my trust—comes from a deeper, more honest place.

This is what self-trust feels like.
Not perfection.
Not control.
Just the daily practice of showing up for myself—on purpose.

If I could offer anything to the woman reading this who sees herself in my story, it would be this:

Please don’t wait for your body to scream.

You don’t have to hit rock bottom to change the rules.

You can begin now—by listening. By honoring what you feel. By questioning the rules you inherited about success, strength, and self-worth.

Maybe your new rules sound like this:

Rest is not a reward. It’s medicine.
My value is not tied to output. It’s inherent.
My body is not an inconvenience. It’s a compass.

Getting diagnosed with UC was never part of the plan.
But it was the wake-up call that cracked everything open.

I didn’t become stronger by pushing through.
I became stronger when I finally stopped—and chose to listen.

And now, I have a new outlook and a newfound purpose:
To help other high-achieving women find the same freedom I’ve found.

Here’s to doing it differently.
Anna