My journey to overcoming anxiety. Part I: My story

When I was 18, or maybe I’d just turned 19, I worked two jobs, paid all my bills (minus rent because I still lived at home) I was in college, I was interning at the public defenders’ office, one of my best friends had just left for tour in Iraq, and I was trying to write a book. (You might say I’ve always been a slightly driven individual.)

And that’s when it started: these terrible, paralyzing anxiety attacks. I couldn’t breathe. Terrible bouts of anxiety that inflicted much emotional, mental, and even physical pain. And they just didn’t end. They went on and on and on. They seemed absolutely inescapable. They terrified me. I didn’t understand them.

They almost devoured me.

At the time, I had no idea what anxiety was. I didn’t know what a generalized anxiety disorder was. I certainly hadn’t heard of PTSD. I was a girl who prided myself on marching into situations with little regard for fear. I could be nervous, even afraid, but that angst would be ignored. If fear was a door, I was the girl who would kick it in.

At least, that’s the girl I thought I was.

But then…anxiety attacked.

My anxiety was so absolutely paralyzing that I had to quit one of my jobs (although, really, that employer was just ick. You know what I mean.). I muddled through my classes (luckily, since I’d been working hard all semester, my grades didn’t suffer), and I withdrew from some social activity. Although when I look back, I finished my internship and I finished my semester and I kept one of my jobs and I did end up self-publishing my book. So, even though I was suffering, and I would suffer for hours and sometimes a full day at a time, I forced myself to push through.

During my worst hours, I’d be alone, in solitude riddled with anxiety so intense I’d shake, rock, sit huddled on the sofa, or I wouldn’t even move. I probably looked as though I was in intense physical pain. And I was. In my better moments, when I was still suffering but not so badly, I finished out my semester. I went to work. I did the things that needed to be done.

But I had a major anxiety issue on the rise. And it seemed like NOBODY understood it. Nobody even really knew what it was. I certainly didn’t.

Some people seemed to have an attitude of: What’s your deal? Everybody has stress. Get over it. While, others had a more compassionate approach: It’s all right. Everyone goes through hard periods of time. You’ll be okay.

But that was the thing, I told myself I’d be okay too. But I didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it when I whispered it to myself. And I didn’t believe it when other people told me I would be either. How could I? None of us had a clue what was even going on. And I don’t think most people understood the severity of my disorder.

I also told myself to get over it. I judged myself. I was ashamed of myself for having such a weakness as this strange, debilitating, overwhelming emotional/mental issue. And I wasn’t okay with it. I wasn’t okay with me having this problem.

So, I wanted to ignore it. I wanted to brush it under the rug. As if by so doing, I could make it go away. Because the truth was…it was far too big for me to handle alone.

God, what a lonely, frightening time that was for me. And it was far from over.

I have learned over the past 9 years that anxiety is not something to be ignored. Yet, it’s also definitely not something to be bowed to.

If you have anxiety, don’t give up. There is hope. I know.

I’ll give you more of my story in Part II of this series, in which I’m writing about anxiety and my journey through it. And hopefully, if you are struggling through anxiety, I will have some encouragement and some advice to help you get through.

 

Have you ever experienced anxiety, panic attacks, or debilitating anxiety? If so, if you feel comfortable, because it’s oh so personal, leave me a note below. Even a short one that maybe just says “Yes.” I’d love to at least say a prayer over you.  

 

 

Here’s one of the things I love about kids:

I don’t know about any of you other moms out there, but there are days (like today!) where I catch myself snapping at my kids or even, cringe, rolling my eyes when I get annoyed about something.

Certain things did not go my way today. So, I got disappointed. And apparently when Kellie’s disappointed she gets irritated quickly. Then throw in your little boy knocking your daughter over and then running away from said toddler at the speed of light…well, there may or may not have been shouting. (Of course, part of that volume was because my toddler was screaming at the tippy-top of her lungs, for like a really long time.)

And I wish I could say that this was a one time thing, that my voice never rises during the week when my children are running through the house screaming like banshees. But I can’t, because it does.

Honestly, though, one of the things that I’m so grateful for is that kids are so darned forgiving. We don’t ask for their forgiveness, but they give it. They’ve moved on and they’re all cool with us like two minutes after we yelled at them about throwing their socks all over the house.

This may or may not happen every other day at my house.

In the not so distant past, my first grader has said to me, right after I’m nagging him to pick UP! RIGHT NOW! FOR THE TENTH TIME!, “You’re the best mommy ever.” And he says stuff like that all the time.

I feel like I stare at him for a moment too long with a look that says, “What? Are we thinking about the same mom here?” And then I actually say, “Aw, thanks, sweetie.”

Because the truth is that there are days when I’m driving in the car, back of my head leaned against my seat, praying that God will just help me to be a better mom.

I mean, think about this. I’m a clinical counseling student. Someday, I will be a clinical counselor, and (knock on wood) credentialed to give counseling to people. And I sometimes think to myself, Oh, God, what if my children need therapy later on in life because I was such a naggy, crazy mom? 

The awful irony.

My gosh, I’d have to refer my own children out for therapy because of an obvious conflict of interest.

I digress.

My point is that I think God makes children so darn forgiving on purpose. I think that He kind of knows that we’re going to screw up. Because, you know, that’s what people do.

But I think there’s another caveat to our children being so forgiving. I really think that, that forgiveness convicts us. I know it does me.

Today on the drive over to Grandma’s house, I did ask my son for forgiveness for shouting at him earlier. He told me that I didn’t need to apologize because he knew he’d messed up. (There’s that forgiveness! And taking responsibility? What?!) But I came back and I said, that, yes, of course I need to apologize. Because just because someone else makes a mistake does not give me the right to make a mistake back.

Parenting and children bring out probably the worst, but also the best (a lot like marriage, just saying’) in us. There are so many things that I’m grateful for when it comes to my children. But one of the things that I’m grateful for today, is my son’s ability to completely forgive me before I even ask.

 

What is something that your children do that you are thankful for? Let me know in the comments below! 

And if you like my blog go ahead and subscribe so you can get an email each time I post something new! 🙂

(PPS: I got the adorable image ^ from love.catchsmile.com)

 

 

 

Here’s one thing my husband and I have been working on this week that is improving our marriage:

So, a long time ago, back when I was a teenager, I got married.

Dun-Dun-Dun!

And, being 19 years old, I was pretty positive, no, I was 100-precent positive, that I knew everything.

……yeah.

That went over well with my new husband who happened to have different perspectives on just about everything.

Let’s fast forward two kids and eight years later (because, don’t worry, I’ll be posting about the other crazy, vulnerable, desperate scenarios later on in this blog as well). My husband and I are still very different. We’re a multiple-heritage couple. We were born in different countries, into dissimilar cultures, and our first languages are obviously not the same. We have varying religious backgrounds (although we are both Christians now). When we were first married I was highly conservative and he was probably a moderate-liberal. And while all of these differences can be beautiful, they can also be the root of some misunderstandings. Then to top all that off, he’s a man and I’m a woman. Let’s face it, those facts alone can cause all sorts of chaos.

Moving on.

So, we decided to keep working on our communication.

This week we started reading this nifty article on familylife.com: you can click here to see it. It outlines five different ways that you can communicate that’ll help save your marriage. Now, while I’m pretty positive that we didn’t even get through the first item on the list, the first paragraph alone got a great conversation going between us.

Have you ever noticed how you might say something like, “Wow, the trash can stinks today!” And your spouse actually hears, “Why haven’t you taken the trash out yet? You must be really lazy!” And then your spouse isn’t responding to what you said, but to what they heard. Then all of their emotions are tied up in what they heard you say (but you didn’t actually say)? Suddenly there’s all this tension, and one, or both, of you isn’t even sure what’s happening?

Well, if you’ve never experienced those kinds of communication errors and misreads, then you are one lucky cookie (and so is your spouse!). But if you’re like 90-percent of the rest of us, you have experienced this at some point.

And it’s this type of miscommunication that gets us into trouble. If you, or your spouse, keeps hearing things that the other isn’t actually saying, your relationship will very quickly be saturated with frustration, anger, and resentment.

So, a simple solution to this specific type of miscommunication is to ask, lovingly and not in a high-pitched screech, what exactly your spouse meant. Or you can even tell them the truth. “Hey, honey, when you mention the mountain of dishes in the sink, I hear you telling me that I’m lazy. Am I creating a completely false narrative in my head?” And likely your spouse will say, “What? Yes, you are. But maybe you need a therapist, because you might have a paranoia issue.”

Just kidding.

Very likely, your spouse won’t have a clue as to what you’re talking about. Or perhaps they will say, “Actually, babe, I was hoping maybe you could help with the dishes today.” Either way, that false narrative that you’ve had in your head is now debunked and those negative emotions that could’ve festered, now no longer have any power over you.

Do you see how quickly a false narrative can seep into a marriage, or any relationship really, and create these little fissures that can absolutely break a relationship down? That’s why it is so important to out them. To out these false narratives and stop them right in their tracks.

So, when you start to hear your spouse saying something they aren’t:

• First, realize what you’re doing (because, let’s face it, sometimes we don’t realize what we are doing).
• Second, if you think there might be any validity to the narrative in your head, ask your spouse to confirm or disavow it (if you realize right off the bat that there is no validity, let it go).
• Third, be gracious…because we all need grace, all the time.

Have you ever experienced this type of miscommunication in your marriage or other relationships? Let me know in the comments below 🙂

The counter-culture 20something mom

Sometimes, you feel like the only one, because you are. At least, maybe, you’re the only one in the room at the time.

So, random introductory sentence. But I guess it was more for me than anyone else.

Sometimes, I feel incredibly counter-culture. I feel like I’m the new minority. And some might argue that, since I’m a woman, I am. I wouldn’t really say that though, not for that reason.

I am a mother. I am a writer. But, maybe most importantly, I’m a Christian.
I’m inconsistent. I yell. I can be oblivious. I can be intuitive and compassionate. I am strong, but I am also weak. I am beautiful, but I can also be ugly. I am sweet, but I can also be terribly unforgiving. At least for a little while.

I become offended for the underdog. I protect those I love. I hate being vulnerable, yet I crave that place where vulnerability happens. Nothing angers me more than someone treating my child unfairly, or worse, treating them as if they’re someone they aren’t.

I cannot run a marathon, nor do I want to. I cannot do a pull-up, but it’s one of my many aspirations. My writing has been rejected and my heart has been broken by that. Yet, although my broken heart wants to give up, I am still writing. And I won’t stop.

I get discouraged easily. Yet, I am so determined that you might not be able to tell. My children are the most beautiful creatures in my life, yet also the biggest challenge. I never knew how selfish I was until I became a mother.

My husband is gracious, stubborn, handsome, funny, oblivious, and so, so loyal. And he loves me with a passion that he hardly allows anyone else to experience. We have almost nothing in common, and we had less than that when we started out. But he is just what I need. He will fight for me, even when I don’t see it.

I am stubborn and prideful. I am smart and creative. I am mouthy and sweet. I have the worst self-esteem and I shouldn’t need other people’s assurance that I am, indeed, lovable. I have walls. Crumbling walls. I have scars. I have beauty, creativity, and love welling up, deep within me.

I am counter-culture, but I am also the same.

Welcome to the ramblings of a 20-something mom.

The misfits

I quit my job this week.

It was incredibly bittersweet. As challenging as this semester was, or has been, for me, I was sad to say goodbye.

I teach GED classes, or, rather, I taught GED classes. (Because my last day was Thursday, wasn’t it?) My students are often times the people with chips on their shoulders, who are sometimes too loud or too quiet, who have completely different perspectives than mine. They ride the bus. They live in the projects. Sometimes they have holes in their clothes. Sometimes they have missing teeth. Sometimes they are old and sometimes they are young. Sometimes I have no idea why they are in my class because they seem far too advanced. Often times they have learning disabilities that have either been diagnosed, or not, but never properly managed and they never have their corroborating paperwork. Some of them are sweet. Some of them are not. They often had babies in high school. Or they fought and, consequently, were suspended or expelled. Or they had family issues so severe and inescapable that they had to drop out of high school. Whatever the reason, they each had a story and they were in my class.

My class.

And as challenging as they could be to work with, I had a hard time walking away from them.

Why?

Because someone told me recently, and I think I already knew, that they have already had people walk away from them. They’ve had so many people give up on them. And now I’m just one more person walking away.

I’ve had some time to process that and work through it. But regardless, it does, at times ring a little true.

It comforts me to know a few things though, because I can’t be everything to everyone. That’s what God does. Not me.

1. I encouraged them daily. When I saw them doing something well, I told them. And I doubt if they’ve had a lot of encouragement in their lives. You can usually tell the difference between someone who’s had love and someone who hasn’t. People who haven’t usually have an angry glint in their eyes. And people who have, handle curveballs a whole lot better.
2. I wasn’t giving up on them. I didn’t walk away because they were too challenging. I just had to take a break for family and for my own academic journey.
3. I am going to be giving more of myself to the relationships and things that I have a God-given responsibility toward. My children and my husband are gifts that have been given to me, by God. And my first responsibility is toward them. As much as I care about the well-being of my students, I know that my children are mine. My students will move on with or without me.
4. My students seemed good when I left them. They’d shown improvement. They seemed at ease with the new routes they’d be taking. They wished me luck and asked when I’d be back, but they seemed okay. And I pray they will be as they go on to their next adventure.
5. I was challenged SO much by this class and by the location. My students, some, were very difficult. And my location was in the projects of Rockford. But I grew as a result. I grew as a person. I did well. And I can never regret that.

So, it is bittersweet-this “stopping” out as we say in the GED program at RVC. But it is good. And who knows, maybe I’ll be back sooner than I think. I’ll miss some of my coworkers a lot.

Someone told me this semester, “you love the unlovables.” And I don’t know how, as challenging as some of my students were, but I did care a whole lot.