You know those mornings when you wake up and everything seems different? That’s exactly what happened to me. From one day to the next, without warning, my body decided to speak to me. Joint pains appeared, mainly in my left shoulder and right knee. It was as if my body was telling me: “Hey, we’re not young anymore!”

At the same time, I noticed that my figure was changing. Despite my unchanged habits, the scale was showing higher and higher figures. It was both frustrating and worrying.

Faced with these changes, I did what many of us would do: I consulted doctors. One for my knee, which seemed to need surgery, the other for my general condition. Because beyond the physical pain, my morale was taking a hit.

About six months after these initial changes, mild hot flushes began to appear. Seeking to understand what was happening to me, I decided to take a step back and go meditating in England. It was there that I felt a familiar pain, linked to my ovaries and uterus.

Back in Geneva, my gynecologist was categorical: a total hysterectomy was necessary. In other words, surgical removal of both uterus and ovaries. This news came as a shock.

We often hear it said that “in our grandmothers’ day, they didn’t need hormones”. True, but that’s comparing apples and oranges. Our grandmothers lived in a less polluted, less stressful world. Today, our bodies have to face up to hitherto unknown challenges.

Lisa Mosconi, a pioneering researcher in the field of women’s health, highlights the extent to which our medical system has neglected the specificities of the female body. Her work is a pivotal point, reminding us of the importance of informing ourselves and not turning a blind eye to our needs as women.

A month after the operation, hormones transformed my daily life. Suddenly, I was enjoying life again. Dark days brightened, and a sense of renewal came over me. My body and mind seemed to realign, allowing me to rediscover the joy of living.

These hormones became my lifeline, providing indispensable support in the face of modern challenges. They helped me regain a balance I thought I’d lost. I realized that taking hormones is not a sign of weakness, but a necessary adaptation to our stressful times.

Yet, despite this improvement, something inside me remained unfinished. The doctors had solved the physical problem, but what about my deeper emotions? No one had explained to me why I felt so empty, so heavy.

I still had an inner journey to make, a journey of acceptance of my new reality.

It was during a meditation stay in England that everything changed. Facing my teacher, Bhante Bodhidhamma, I burst into tears. His question struck me like a bolt of lightning: “Have you grieved for your organ?“.

Those words opened the floodgates. Losing an organ is like losing a family member, it’s losing a part of yourself, literally. It’s not just a physical issue, it’s deeply emotional and mental. Why didn’t anyone tell me about this? Doctors fix the physical problems, but they often forget the emotional side. Who takes care of our hearts and minds? It’s up to us, and it’s an essential process.

For two weeks, I worked on my grief. Each meditation was a step towards acceptance. I cried, I raged, I accepted. And little by little, a heaviness went away.

It was as if a veil had been lifted. I understood that my excesses, my compensations, stemmed from this unacknowledged loss. Once I’d grieved, I no longer needed those emotional crutches.