PMDD: The More You Read, The More You Learn
My daughter — strong, funny, brilliant. If I earned a pound for every time someone said you look fabulous, I’d be rich enough to pay off the years the system failed you.
They didn’t see you. Not the pain, not the patterns, not the truth beneath your skin. Invisible doesn’t mean imaginary.
This is for you, and for every girl who inherits this storm. For the questions no one asked, for the knowledge I had to learn, for the husband who carried the weight when professionals wouldn’t.
I wish PMDD looked like a broken arm — something obvious, undeniable. Maybe then they’d care.
A decade between tattoos, and now the word lives on my body. My sleeve gets attention every day; now the illness will too.
If the road is paved with loss, I’ll walk it loudly. A human billboard for the sixteen years you were dismissed.
And this — quiet, steady, unshakeable — is my final message to everyone who hurt you: I see her. I always did.
For Molly

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