Rewind

It's been so long since I've been here. In this space that I used to be so often. I've spent the last month going back--reading old posts, opening the 'Create Post' section and just staring. I've downloaded pictures, waited for words to come. Nothing. So I shut the computer, walk away, try again later. But it hasn't been coming. Not at all. Until today. Today I decided I was ready and I recognized why. I'm ready because there is a story behind the absence and I haven't been willing to put it here. But in that inability, came the inability to move forward. I couldn't just give the blanket "I've been busy" statement and then talk about Quinn's birthday, Eyla rolling over, Declan starting school, Isabella growing into this young lady. I had to address the real life first. Today is when I realized that part of my healing may come from this expression. For years, this blog, this space was so incredibly important to me. It was something I did for me. It made me feel good, I felt happy to record our life, and it felt like I was giving something to my kids. Something they could look back on--their story. So their story includes some things beyond swimming pools, cooking, playing, trips and teething. Our story is important to share no matter what. The good, the bad, the sad and the hard. One night this summer as I lay shaking on the couch, kids in bed and my mom just holding my head in her lap, I said to myself, "when this is all over, when I feel better, I am going to help someone with my experience." Whether or not I actually do that right now, because I may not be ready for that, I have to do it for myself so that I can come back to this space- in a true way, the way I've always wanted to be-and be here again.



This past June I had a two and a half month old, the other three kids at home and I was excited about the summer. Then gradually, I wasn't. I felt weird. I started to worry a lot. I ruminated over far fetched ideas and things that could go wrong. I felt like I needed to be out of the house and distracted in order to feel normal. But eventually, even that went away. I took notice of the way I felt one day while driving home. My heart started racing, my chest felt heavy. Then I began to notice that I felt that way every time I was driving home. There was a certain spot, about two minutes from home, that I would start to feel bad. It felt kind of anxious but I wasn't sure exactly what I would be anxious about. After a couple weeks of just feeling off, I went to my mom. I knew she had struggled with some anxiety in the past and just wanted to know if she felt similar. We talked and I cried. A lot. I couldn't say the feelings, but I felt them--deeply. So it was out there--I was feeling anxious. As soon as I opened up about it though, it all opened up. The nights became harder and then unbearable. I would sit up and try to distract myself until I had to just come downstairs just to snap out of it--to knock my train of thoughts right off the track. I would talk to Ryan, tell him about my fears as he reassured me that everything was okay. But words and affirmations just weren't cutting it. The internet wasn't cutting it, Pinterest wasn't, Facebook and Instagram weren't, telephone conversations weren't, baths didn't help, reading was impossible. Falling asleep--that was the only thing, once it came, that would help. One day I went to the grocery store and had to leave not even halfway through my list. Quinn's birthday was coming up, I was trying to prepare and I literally felt like I was suffocating. That is when I knew something was wrong.

This was not me.
I get things done.
I complete the list.
But I had to walk out of the grocery store with just my children because I could not bear to be in there for another minute.

July 4th is when my body finally surrendered and said "no more--we can't do it like this--anymore." I suffered from a panic attack that led me straight to the emergency room because I was convinced that something was terribly wrong. I was not myself as I knew myself and I sat in that room with my three month old, my husband and my mom, waiting for the other ball to drop. Because I knew--I just knew--that something had to be terribly wrong.
And that was when postpartum anxiety/panic attacks, adrenal fatigue and just basic malnutrition became a part of my life.

A huge part of my healing has come from a lot of talking, a whole lot of advice accepting and then more tangible things all in the realm of what I could accept as part of my life...which for me, meant only treating myself holistically and with the help of so many health care providers, my midwife and my family, I have seen big results. And I got these results while still being able to nurse my baby and be functional for my family...something that was questionable on the night when everything started spinning. What feels sometimes like an eternity, has in reality only been about three months. This has been a experience though, that has changed me.

One night when I was feeling like my irrational mind was ruling me, I felt so sick, and just so badly wanted "myself" back, I said to myself "when this is all over, I need to help other moms...I can't keep this part of my life a secret." And I can't. Because one of the things that really helped me overcome the extreme panic was talking to people who assured me that what I was feeling was okay and normal (for anxiety). Some nights when Ryan was putting the kids to bed I would have my mom lay beside me and just read me article after article about the symptoms of postpartum anxiety/panic. Just hearing every symptom as a "normal symptom" was enough to ease my mind and get me out of my head. I still have to do it even now. I'll experience a symptom that sends my mind reeling, and I have to read about it. I have to know that it's okay and that in turn helps me to look for a trigger, recognize what it was and what my physical and mental response was and then let it go. Letting it go is hard. I don't think I have ever in my life felt my mind be so extremely powerful. I have given birth to four kids when I had to use my mind in a very strong way in order to work through the pain and the exhaustion in order to get to the end. But this was new. I had never felt my mind work this way. It was such an extreme connection between trigger-thought-physical response that I almost couldn't believe the capacity in which I could do that without even really recognizing the course.

For anxiety sufferers, I became so empathetic. I never really thought twice about what that must be like. Yes, I've always been a worrier--even as a young child. But never had I experienced the feeling of my mind running to the depths with thoughts that were so far out there that I almost couldn't reel them back in. And this is the part that I still struggle with- daily, hourly--every day. I can't watch the news right now, or much of anything on tv. Social media is extremely filtered for me now because there are triggers there every minute that I can not handle. But most importantly, I have to learn how to live with this. There's a part of me that feels like I've suffered a trauma. And I'm scared to feel that again. But as is the vicious cycle on anxiety, you fear the feeling which perpetuates that anxiety which feeds the fear...but luckily--thankfully--I have had enough help over the past few months to know what I need to do and how quickly I need to do it, in order to not be in that place again.

I feel like I should also address what has actually helped me in this healing process. When I left the ER that night, I had in my hand four Xanax and a prescription for Zoloft. I never talked to a psychologist or psychiatrist, I had a battery of tests run and two antidepressants in hand--one of which I couldn't even take considering I was nursing a three month old and had no excess supply of milk (not that she actually took a bottle anyway) but at the time, the prescence of those two things actually even maybe helped a little. But in the back of my head, I knew they weren't right for me so into the trash they went. I knew that it may take me longer but I had to figure out how to fix this. After a lot of consultation with my midwife and family and friends, I immediately saw a therapist, my chiropractor, a CNM and went to the Shen Dao clinic where I had Tui Na, which is a therapeutic massage as well as cranio sacral therapy. These were all just attempts to reset my body to a place where I could begin functioning on a level needed in order to be proactive. Results from a group of testing done by the CNM that I saw revealed a lot of depletions and low levels which then led to a regimen of supplements that I am using to balance myself from the inside out. And the use of essential oils has been huge in this process. There are also herbal tinctures that I have within reach that have been a savior to me at times.

But at the bottom of this pyramid of healing, holding everything else up, has been my family. I honestly do not know where I would be without my mom. There were nights that Ryan could try and try his hardest to talk me down, relax me, assure me that it was ALL OKAY. But some of those nights it just didn't work. But my mom--she could do it. I've said it here before that I do truly believe in the energy of people, working to heal, and to a degree I know that my mom possesses that. She could talk to me in a certain way, rub my head, my back, anything... read me reassurance, or just sit there and hold Eyla for me and things would melt away. She was my life preserver.
My little sister--the one that we grew up protecting, had to figure out a way to protect me from miles and miles away. She was there for me in a way that was pretty outstanding considering the distance and when the people that I love and care about stepped in and showed me confidently, that it was all going to be okay, is when I felt like maybe it was--maybe it was all going to be okay. 
Ryan--I know that this experience was an eye-opener for him. It's scary when everything that has run so smoothly, suddenly doesn't. He definitely had to step up and take on my role in addition to his. And at the top of my list (of course after getting myself better) was the kids. I didn't want them to know what was going on and I want to protect them so that meant a lot of taking the kids out, distractions, and just staying upbeat. It's hard to give your position up but I was clearly not in the position to continue as I had been, so I am so thankful that I had people to quickly step in and fill in gaps that needed filling.

One day, my kids will know about this part of my life. This hiccup, this learning experience. I hope that I don't ever have to be with them as they struggle through something similar because of course, I hope that that isn't ever an issue they come head to head with. But if one day, they do, I will have been there and I will have crossed the awful life changing path of anxiety and panic and I will have that experience to draw from.
But something that can start happening now, is that women can start talking to each other. When I look back at the progression of this I can see small clues that I was headed in this direction. The first "clear" diagnosis that I received was 'adrenal fatigue.' I'm surprised they're still there at all. But they are and they are becoming stronger--I can tell. But I also know how I was responsible for their demise. I wasn't taking care of myself-at all. Not emotionally, not physically and not nutritionally. And now I know. Diet has been a huge change for me, and one of the harder things. Normally, I would have no problem skipping breakfast, eating lunch that involved grabbing whatever was there in between feeding the kids or taking care of other things, or nursing the baby and then dinner was usually my guaranteed meal. I was consumed with the health and nutrition of things that went into my families body without really batting an eye about what was going into mine.
But women need to talk. There was a time where I am sure me even writing this all down, was taboo. But you know, the best thing for me was hearing from women who had struggled with the same feelings. The doubts, the misunderstanding, the fear, the pain, the sadness, the hopelessness--I needed to hear those things and most importantly, I needed them to tell me that it would get better and that this wouldn't be my forever. Because at the time, it felt like it was. And from this point onward, if one woman can benefit from my story of healing--I am not on the other side yet--but healing takes a long, long time, then I will be happy. At the beginning of all of this I called someone that I really admire and look up to and that I know had struggled with anxiety. And she listened. She said "yes, yes, yes, I get it. Yes, that was me, yes." And that word-yes-got me through so much because all I needed to do was say to myself "she knew what I was talking about--she felt like this--she's okay so I will be okay" and to someone suffering from anxiety/panic disorder, those words are worth their weight in gold.