When Endometriosis Makes My Body Unrecognizable, Perfume Helps Me Reclaim It
Welcome to Note to Self, Refinery29’s fragrance series exploring perfume beyond the bottle. Through intimate stories and scent memories, we’re unpacking the emotions, experiences, and identities behind the fragrances we wear — and why they can become such a deeply meaningful part of who we are.
Some mornings, it feels like my body has been awake for hours before I have. By the time I catch up, it’s already made a series of executive decisions. I’ll stand in front of my closet wondering why nothing feels right, only to realize it’s not the clothes, but the body wearing them. Yesterday’s jeans suddenly feel optimistic; the dress I’d planned to wear belongs to a version of myself who didn’t show up today. After changing twice, I accept the outfit was never the problem.
Overnight, there’s a heaviness that wasn’t there before. Bloating has appeared from nowhere, and the kind of fatigue sleep barely touches. That’s the strange thing about endometriosis — a condition where cells similar to those lining the uterus grow elsewhere in the body, causing severe pain among other debilitating symptoms. Not only does it change how your body feels, but it changes your relationship with it. Alongside the agony, the fatigue and hormonal shifts mean I’m constantly being reintroduced to my own body.
That’s usually the point where I do something that sounds faintly ridiculous until you’ve lived it: I reach for perfume.
While it doesn’t fix anything, fragrance is one of the few things I still get to choose before my body starts calling the shots.
The women finding comfort in scent
While it doesn’t fix anything, fragrance is one of the few things I still get to choose before my body starts calling the shots. More often than not, it’s Esteè Lauder Bronze Goddess — mine and my mom’s summer scent. It smells like vacations, warm, salty skin, and the version of me that existed before pain became something I had to factor into every plan. I wear it because it reminds me I’m still in there somewhere.
You see, endometriosis erodes the certainty of knowing myself until my body no longer feels like somewhere I can reliably come home to. So when everything else feels unpredictable, is it any wonder I reach for something that smells like continuity? As it turns out, I’m far from the only person with a chronic illness who’s turned my love of fragrance into something much bigger than a simple spritz.
For Rioco Green 32, fragrance offers a brief escape when her endometriosis flare-ups make the world feel painfully small. “Scent has an amazing ability to transport you somewhere else,” she tells me. Her ritual begins with Aesop Geranium Leaf Body Oil, a herby, invigorating, and grounding scent that helps her momentarily disconnect from the pain while making her feel as though she’s actively caring for a body that’s asking so much of her.
None of us expect perfume to perform miracles. Instead, we all ask remarkably little of it: to remind us of who we were before our symptoms got there first.
For Amie Flynn, 34, wearing perfume is about recognition. During an endometriosis flare-up right before a work meeting, she recalls standing in front of the mirror thinking, This isn’t me; it’s just my symptoms. She reached for Jo Malone Poppy & Barley Cologne, as she always does. “The familiar fragrance gave me a moment to pause and reset,” she tells me. “Instead of focusing on how unwell I felt, I was reminded of who I am beyond my diagnosis.”
None of us expect perfume to perform miracles. Instead, we all ask remarkably little of it: to remind us of who we were before our symptoms got there first.
Why perfume is more than just beauty — & the science behind it
Dr. Sula Windgassen, a health psychologist specializing in chronic illness, says this response is remarkably common: “[With endometriosis], body image can be affected by swollen bellies, confidence reduced by brain fog, and your sense of meaning or value as a person can be obscured by pain. It can feel like you just need to survive,” she says. In this version of life, Dr. Windgassen points out something that makes complete sense to me: “Even these small acts of choice start to carry more weight.”
I recognize this more than I’d like to admit, even when choosing a perfume starts to feel like a personality trait I’m clinging to. It’s where scent slips beyond beauty altogether. Dr. Windgassen adds, “Routines, bodily states, work and relationships can all shift with chronic illness […], but scent can act as a stable cue when everything else is in flux.”
There’s also a more scientific side to it. Dr. Windgassen points out that certain scents — most notably lavender, bergamot, and chamomile — can activate the parasympathetic nervous system: “This is the body’s built-in ‘calm down’ setting,” she explains. “It slows heart rate and reduces stress responses before you’ve even had time to talk yourself out of it.”
Unlike other senses like taste or touch, smell doesn’t go through the brain’s usual editing process. “It goes almost directly from the nose to the olfactory bulb, the amygdala, and the hippocampus — areas responsible for emotion and memory,” explains Dr. Windgassen. That could explain why on the hardest days, something as simple as wearing a fragrance during an endometriosis flare-up can offer a little respite.
How scent can become a grounding ritual for living with endometriosis
It’s something I know all too well. Choosing a perfume on my most painful days is one of the few things my body and I can still agree on. After speaking to psychologists, I kept coming back to one word: anchor. Not in a poetic, lifestyle sense, but something more literal — a way of not drifting too far from myself.
This is something Anishka Sooriah, 25, has also experienced. She describes losing herself after endometriosis surgery to remove the tissue growing outside of her uterus. For Sooriah, scent became something entirely archival: “There’s this oud oil that my partner gifted me,” she recalls. “Whenever I wear it now, it pulls me straight back to those early days of the relationship. I miss that version of myself sometimes, before the pain.”
While the emotional pull of scent is deeply personal, there’s also science behind why certain fragrances can make us feel more like ourselves. Dr. Anna Persaud, a biochemist and CEO of This Works, where fragrance meets wellness, says that while we often think of fragrance as purely aesthetic, it can provide emotional support. “Because fragrance engages both memory and emotion simultaneously, a familiar scent can create an immediate sense of recognition and continuity,” she says, adding, “It becomes a sensory cue that reconnects us with ourselves.”
During periods of grief, upheaval and illness, Dr. Persaud explains that people often return to fragrances they’ve worn for years because familiarity can do the emotional heavy lifting. “Scent doesn’t just help us remember those experiences,” she explains. “It can help us re-experience some of the [positive] emotions associated with them.” Let’s not get it twisted; the perfume isn’t transporting you elsewhere. Instead, it’s a reminder that you’re still here.
Chriselle Lim, founder of Phlur, has noticed that this shift is now influencing purchasing behaviors. “People are wearing fragrances for themselves rather than other people,” she tells me, adding, “Choosing and applying a scent creates a small sense of normalcy and control.” Lim suggests choosing by mood — and there’s a knack to it. Citrus notes, for example, are thought to boost energy, while skin-like musks feel cocooning and comforting, and woody notes have a grounding effect.
On my shelf, that means Kilian Paris Sunkissed Goddess (ylang ylang and coconut) for extra warmth, Diptyque Fleur de Peau (bergamot and musk) when I need wrapping up a little, Phlur Paradise Nectar (mandarin and pink pepper) to lift my mood, and Miu Miu Fleur de Lait (mango, coconut, and osmanthus flower) on the days I want to borrow some confidence.
How I use perfume to find my way back to myself
Naturally, my body decided this would be the week to fact-check everything I’ve just said, and I’m in the middle of one of the worst endometriosis flare-ups I’ve had in months. I’ll spend the next five to nine days cancelling plans, measuring time in pain instead of calendars, and missing the woman I was a few days ago.
Perfume won’t change any of that. It won’t calm the inflammation, shrink the bloating, or give me back the energy that this condition steals. It isn’t a treatment, and it certainly isn’t a cure. But tomorrow morning, before I face another day of this flare, I’ll still reach for the Bronze Goddess. Not because I want to smell nice, but because, for a few seconds, it reminds me that this version of me isn’t the whole story.
I used to think perfume was the finishing touch. Turns out, on the days I need it most, it’s where I begin.
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