She told me her story.
I built this for her.

She gave me her truth. She sat with me and told me what she had lived through — the years of pain that no one could explain, the cycles that dropped her to her knees, the doctors who looked past her, the loneliness of carrying something that had no name. She told me about the surgeries, the struggle to get pregnant, the way she just kept going because there was nothing else to do. Nobody had told her what was wrong with her body. Nobody had told her she wasn't alone.

When she told me her story, I was already deep in my own fight — dismissed, misdiagnosed, begging doctors to believe me. And hearing her words did something nothing else had done: it made me feel less alone. It gave me permission to keep fighting. It made me understand that what was happening to me had been happening to women in my family for generations — and that the silence we had all been living in was the real enemy.

Her mother had it too. Surgeries, difficulty getting pregnant, a body that fought her at every turn — all of it unnamed, all of it endured in quiet. Back then, there was no word for endometriosis. There was no community, no advocacy, no Wall of Roses. There was just pain and silence and women getting through it alone.

That ends here. That is why I built this.

Kaitlyn Stewart has endometriosis and adenomyosis. She has had fourteen surgeries. She has sat in emergency rooms and been sent home. She has been told her pain was not real. She has lost things that cannot be returned — including her son, Kalib, whose memory is woven into everything she builds.

She is a singer-songwriter, a researcher, a patient advocate, and a woman who made a promise she intends to keep. She channeled her grandmother's battles, her own surgeries, her grief, and her rage into something that could outlast all of it — a nonprofit, a community, a movement that tells every woman with endometriosis: you are not crazy, you are not alone, and your story matters.

The full story — the surgeries, the losses, the fights, the moments that broke her and the ones that rebuilt her — is in her memoir. But this page isn't about everything she has been through. It's about what she decided to do with it.

Every tool and resource Stories of Endo has created came from a real gap — something Kaitlyn needed and couldn't find, something her grandmother needed and never had access to, something the women in our community ask for every single day.