My name is Mary-Susan, and this is why I wear the rainbow skirt.
When people look at me, they don’t immediately see the years of pain, surgeries, grief, and loss that brought me here. They don’t see the little girl who started bleeding at 11 years old and never really got a break from it. For 11 years, I bled.
Eleven years of pain. Eleven years of missed moments. Eleven years of trying to survive in a body that felt like it was working against me.
Endometriosis stole so much from me. It stole part of my childhood and so much of my teenage years. While my friends were worried about school dances, football games, and sleepovers, I was worried about pain. I was worried about bleeding through my clothes at school. I was worried about making it through the day without ending up curled into a ball from cramps that felt impossible to explain.
I underwent seven ablation surgeries in an attempt to manage the disease. Each time, I would have surgery and then return to school trying to act like everything was normal. Like I hadn’t just had abdominal surgery. Like I wasn’t hurting.
But things kept getting worse. Eventually, I sought the help of an endometriosis specialist. During my first excision surgery, we learned just how extensive my disease truly was. Endometriosis had spread from my cervix all the way up to my diaphragm. It was everywhere.
That discovery changed the course of my life.
At just 21 years old, I underwent a hysterectomy. Along with it came the removal of my appendix, my gallbladder, and a bowel resection. This brought a different kind of heartbreak.
Infertility.
I had always heard that endometriosis could make it harder to get pregnant, but I was young and never imagined that motherhood would be taken from me before I ever had the chance to experience it.
In 2020, I was 21 years old, newly married, and facing the reality that I would never be able to carry my own children.
I remember looking at my husband and feeling like I couldn’t give him the one thing I wanted most to give him: the opportunity to become a father. Those were some very dark days.
Thankfully, I still had my ovaries. So in the summer of 2022, we began IVF. By the grace of God, we were blessed with four healthy baby boy embryos.
For the first time in a long time, hope felt possible.
But our journey wasn’t over. Now we needed someone willing to carry one of those precious babies for us.
We started searching for a surrogate even before beginning IVF because we had no idea how long the process would take.
Spoiler alert: it took a very long time.
After one failed match, I was emotionally exhausted. Then I decided to apply for the Blessed With A Baby Campaign through Your Fertility Advocate.
That decision changed everything.
We were chosen and matched with our angel, Skye.
How do you adequately thank someone who chooses to carry your dreams?
Skye looked at two complete strangers and decided to help make their biggest dream come true. She opened her heart, her home, and her family to us.
The bond was immediate.
What started as a surrogacy match became family.
Suddenly we had gained six people that we love with our whole hearts, and our lives will never be the same because of them.
In December 2025, we completed our first embryo transfer through a fully medicated cycle.
It worked. For a brief moment, all of the years of waiting, surgeries, injections, appointments, and heartbreak felt worth it. We were pregnant. Then we lost him. The miscarriage felt like being punched in the gut. We had become parents, but to a baby we couldn’t quite reach.
We are angel parents.
We all took time to grieve and heal before trying again.
In May 2026, we completed a second transfer using a modified natural cycle. We lost that baby boy too.
There really aren’t words for that kind of grief.
Two sons. Two babies deeply loved. Two babies we will never stop missing.
And that is where our story stands today.
We still have one transfer remaining in our contract, and when everyone is emotionally, physically, and spiritually ready, we fully intend to move forward with it.
Because hope is still alive.
Because our sons matter.
Because our story isn’t over yet.
The Finding Your Rainbow Project is about more than a skirt. It’s about carrying the stories that connect us. It’s about honoring loss while still making room for hope.
When I wear this rainbow skirt, I wear it for the little girl who spent years in pain and wondering if anyone believed her.
I wear it for the young woman whose disease stole her ability to carry a child.
I wear it for every surgery scar.
I wear it for every tear cried on the bathroom floor.
I wear it for the babies we lost.
I wear it for the women still fighting battles nobody else can see.
And I wear it because even after everything, I still believe in rainbows.
I still believe God writes beautiful stories.
And I still believe ours is being written.
This is my story.
This is why I wear the rainbow skirt.
Photos taken by Thomas Hughes.
Find out more about Project Finding Your Rainbow.
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