Surviving Not Thriving

     I’ve always been a laid back, glass half full type of person who would just go with the flow. Prior to having kids, I wasn’t really a crier. I was taught to take what I was given in life and make the best of it, to appreciate the little things in life, and to enjoy every day because life’s too short. Jason and I try to instill those same values in our kids.

    After Connor was first diagnosed, I was focusing so hard on trying to remember those little parts about myself and living up to them that I never saw the anxiety coming. As time went on, my ability to cope with the situation got worse, but I didn’t even realize it. My once focused and organized self felt like I had 30 tabs open in my head, and if I closed one five more popped open. I couldn’t keep any of our schedules straight or remember what I needed to get done in a day. I had a really short fuse and would get frustrated easily. I was withdrawn and not initiating conversations. Then there were the “butterflies” – I was always nervous and could never put my finger on why. The only time I was most comfortable was when all six of us were home in the house together when I knew everyone was safe; and even then, the butterflies were never completely gone. One particular February weekend, Sadie had an All-Star basketball game that Jason took her to. While they were gone it began to snow. I was a ball of nerves reading about all of the accidents on the highway and the expressway. I couldn’t stop worrying about how they were going to get home and counting down the minutes until that happened. That night in bed, Jason and I were watching Ridiculousness (a TV show on MTV that is hysterical) but instead of laughing I started crying, and I couldn’t stop. I cried myself to sleep that night, and much of the next day. Jason did everything he could to try to talk to me about what was wrong, but the only way I could communicate with him without sobbing was through text. He reached out to my mom to try and get me to open up, but I couldn’t explain the way I was feeling. I was so out of touch with who I knew myself to be as a person. I felt so guilty because I didn’t think I was being a good enough mom. I felt overwhelmed, and sad, and stressed out. Jason sat me down and let me know that he was worried about me; that to him I was a shell of my old self. He suggested that I call my doctor, but said he’d support whatever I wanted to do if/when I was ready to do it. That conversation is when it all hit me. There was something going on with me, something bigger than anything I could handle myself, and it was time for me to get some help.

    The next day I tried to go to work. It turned out that the non-stop crying wasn’t just reserved for my husband or mother, my coworkers got it too – and we were talking about work stuff! I knew I couldn’t wait anymore. I called my doctor’s office, and they were able to get me scheduled for an appointment the following day. Once I was finally in the exam room, I let it all out – the journey to Connor’s diagnosis and everything that led up to that moment. The part I couldn’t resolve within myself was that at that moment, Connor was doing OK for the most part. That even on the bad days, he still wasn’t given a terrible prognosis that other families deal with. The words that my doctor spoke to me in that moment are ones that I repeat to myself daily – Just because someone else has it worse doesn’t mean my situation is any less traumatic. That was the day I began to believe that I was allowed to feel all of the feelings that went along with watching my youngest child go through literal hell some days. That was the day I learned that my feelings don’t need to be justified to anyone, especially myself. Most importantly, that was the day my doctor diagnosed me with Trauma Induced Anxiety and started me out on a path that would help me get my life back.

    February 2022 is when I began taking medication for anxiety. I was always the girl who didn’t like to take medicine. Have a cold? Eh, it’ll pass! Have a migraine? Find some caffeine and a dark room. Have anxiety? Get rid of the ‘I don’t like to take medication’ outlook and get your life back. That’s just what I did. The change in myself didn’t happen overnight – if anything it was the exact opposite. I battled through the first two weeks of side effects while trying to stay positive for myself and my family. My doctor warned me about the side effects and encouraged me to power through – that the light at the end of the tunnel would be bright and worth it. Let me tell you something, she was right! As time went on, I felt a sense of calm start to come back. Sure, our life was (and still is) a literal circus, but I was back to being the mom/wife who was able to handle it without wanting to hide in a dark room and cry. My concentration was improving, and I was actually enjoying the days again; I was starting to feel like myself again. That’s not to say that every day is rainbows and butterflies. There are still days that are harder than others, and still days where life feels like it’s trying to push me down, but the medication and my support system help me push through. There is such a negative connotation surrounding anxiety and medication and there shouldn’t be. I am not ashamed to say that I deal with the former and the latter helps me cope. I am far from a perfect person, and I never will be one. I will be forever grateful to Jason, my mom, my coworkers, friends, and especially to my doctor for helping recognize what was wrong guiding me to get the help that I needed in order to be the best version of myself that I can be (somedays are better than others).

    So, if you see me around, just know that I am surviving, not thriving most days. Our family will never have it all together, but we have each other, and that’s all we need. This imperfectly perfect life of ours is just that, ours, and we are happy as can be!