There are so many moments that can split your life into “before” and “after.” The loss of a loved one, a career change, the birth of a child, the loss of a job, or being diagnosed with an illness.

I had one of those moments 11 years ago.

I had gone in for a routine gynecological exam. I almost didn’t go that year. I felt fine. I was healthy. But I had switched doctors, and my new gynecologist insisted on a baseline Pap smear. I left the office and didn’t give it another thought, until my phone rang a week later.

I was told my pap results were abnormal, the highest level of abnormality, and that I needed to see an oncologist. It all felt surreal, like it was happening to someone else. A biopsy followed. I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. I had a procedure to remove what they could, but they couldn’t get clear margins. The safest option was a hysterectomy.

I was lucky. My doctor caught it early. The hysterectomy removed all of the cancerous cells before they had the chance to spread. My body healed. But emotionally, it took much longer. An experience like that forces you to confront how little control you actually have—over your body, over time, over the things you once might have done without thinking, that now can’t be done as easily or at all.

Back then, I wrote about how difficult it was to slow down. How uncomfortable it felt to be vulnerable, to ask for help, to let my body dictate the pace of my life. How frustrating it was when my body wouldn’t do what I wanted it to. I think about how so much of that was conditioning, this pressure to be strong in a way that means pushing through instead of pausing, enduring instead of allowing. I’ve gotten a lot better at listening to my body, but that is, and probably always will be, a work in progress for me.

I think about how, in many ways, I was incredibly privileged. I had health insurance. I had a doctor who insisted on a test I almost skipped. I had access to specialists, to surgery, to follow-up care. I had resources and support.

I’ve had this awareness for many years. But sitting here today, eleven years later, I’m watching a healthcare system that was never designed to provide comprehensive care for women slide even further backward. Access to information is being restricted. Clinics are closing. Women are dying in completely avoidable ways. Reproductive health services are being dismantled piece by piece. And it’s important to note that when we talk about reproductive healthcare, we are talking about things like pap smears; pelvic exams; breast exams and mammograms; STI/STD testing, treatment, and prevention; HPV vaccinations; contraception and fertility counseling; pregnancy-related care; abortion services; menstrual and hormone health; and, yes, cervical, ovarian, and uterine cancer detection and care. The reality is undeniable: women’s health has never been a priority—and now, more than ever, we are seeing just how disposable it has always been.

This time of year will always be one of reflection for me. It’s a reminder of what I went through, what I’ve learned, and what I’m still learning. But it’s also a terrifying reminder that healthcare, particularly women’s healthcare, is not a given. It is something we have to fight for, advocate for, and protect. The right to healthcare should never be up for debate, and yet here we are. And that reality demands our attention. In a time when so many crises are unfolding around us, it can feel impossible to focus on just one, but ignoring any of them, especially those that determine our health, autonomy, and dignity isn’t an option.