Anxiety and Me

I have hesitated to share this story, not only because of the personal nature of it, but also because some of the things I have to admit in order to bring clarity are things about which I'm ashamed.

However, I hope that in sharing my story, it might help someone who's struggling the way I have for the last few years.

I have anxiety.  Crowds, unfamiliar social situations, loud noises, cross-table talk at dinner parties, and running late all make me extremely anxious.  The feeling I get in these situations is comparable to what I imagine one who has a fear of flying feels when their airplane hits turbulence.  Racing heartbeat, inability to focus, sweaty palms, feeling that the room is closing in...

To those who know me well, this may not come as a shock.  But to those acquaintances who've known me as a singer at church, a classroom teacher, a music teacher, and who've watched me easily make conversation with strangers, it might be surprising.

That's because I've always been able to compensate.  Outside of failing to focus and forgetting what friends and family have told me over dinner, I effectively portray the image of a girl who's pretty well put together and self-assured most of the time.  Therefore, until recently, I'd never even spoken to a doctor about it, and I've never been medicated.  (Except for a couple months right before my wedding when I was a supremely HOT mess.)

In fact, I've never even acknowledged anxiety as a real possibility.  I've always assumed I must have some serious undiagnosed adult ADHD, because the secondary side effects of my anxiety include the inability to focus, forgetfulness (probably because of the inability to focus), and feeling overwhelmed because I can't focus on or remember all the things I need to get done.

At best over the years, I've been made fun of by coworkers and friends for having the attention span of a goldfish, and at worst, I've offended people by not being able to keep my attention on them during serious conversations.  (Squirrel!)

But a few years ago, after suffering a miscarriage, I started experiencing my anxiety in a different way.  It manifested in outbursts of anger, emotional instability, and anxiety about going pretty much anywhere that involved strangers, and even sometimes with situations involving close friends or family.  I attributed all of this to my imbalanced hormones and grief, and I told myself it would get better with time.  And I never told anyone.  I just powered through and pretended everything was ok.

Then, after the birth of my second child, I started to see behaviors that I didn't even recognize as myself.  The angry outbursts turned into screaming fits of rage  that I'm embarrassed to say have almost always been directed at my sweet babies.  And y'all, I'm not talking about just yelling.  All moms yell sometimes, and if you say you don't, you're either a liar or you're medicated.

What I'm talking about is a guttural, inhuman sound that leaves one shaky and feeling as though they might have damaged their vocal chords.  And also like they might be a monster.

I spoke with my obgyn because early on I worried it could be post-partum depression.  He quizzed me about whether or not I was fantasizing about hurting or abandoning my kids, and I said no.  He told me it was natural to feel some anxiety, because being a nursing mom is kind of like being in prison.

Indeed.

He recommended a mild antidepressant since they're good for treating anxiety and safe for nursing.  But I was nervous about the effects it might have on the baby.  Ironically, I wasn't as worried about the effects my cray cray behavior might be having.  I asked him for recommendations on vitamins to try first, and I took a B complex and magnesium, which seemed to help.  But I would still have days where I could tell from the second my feet hit the floor that it would be a doozy.  I'd be highly agitated and easy to rile, and my poor kids continued to suffer emotionally on the many occasions when I failed to keep my anger in check.

Even so, part of me still didn't acknowledge that I might actually have a problem such as anxiety.  I felt like after three pregnancies, one miscarriage, and many months of nursing over the course of only four years, it was probably just my hormones.  Or maybe I had anger issues and needed counseling.  Or maybe I was just a terrible mother and not meant to have kids at all.

But here's the kicker and my reason for sharing my story:
Regardless of what was causing this shameful behavior that often left me feeling worthless and overwrought with guilt, I felt wholeheartedly that I should be able to get it under control myself.  I tried changes of habit, such as yoga, reading self-help books on parenting and emotions, Bible study, essential oils and dietary supplements.  I considered the possibility that I just wasn't meant to stay home with kids, and considered going back to work full time.  I felt sure there was just an internal character flaw that I needed to fix.

For some sad reason, I was more willing to shame myself into thinking there was something inherently wrong with me, than to admit that I might actually have a mental condition that required medication.

When my second child was about to turn one, the problem hadn't improved much, so I spoke with my family doctor about the possibility of ADHD.  But when I listed my symptoms to her, she recommended an antidepressant, just as my obgyn had done.  She said all the symptoms I listed, while they might seem like an issue with attention, are also common with anxiety and depression.  She recommended I see a specialist to get a firm diagnosis, but wrote a prescription in the meantime.

I was still nursing, so again I put off taking medication, and I promised myself I'd follow up after I finished nursing.  But that never happened.  My last ditch effort to avoid medication was to see a therapist, thinking that if I could talk through the things that I felt might be triggering my "anxiety", it might just go away on its own.

But one Saturday morning, I was finally forced to accept that I needed some help.

I had plans to take my boys on an outing to a building project at Home Depot.  We had a difficult time getting out the door because neither boy was listening to me.  This is completely typical of life with 5- and 2-yr-old boys, so it didn't surprise me that I had to yell to finally get them to clean up their toys, put on their shoes, and get to the car, nor did it surprise me that we were all crying by the time we were loaded and ready to go.

But the difference this particular morning was that I seriously hesitated before putting the car in gear.  I thought to myself, "I probably shouldn't take them anywhere."  I didn't feel emotionally stable, and I felt pretty sure that a public outing was going to end badly.  However, we had made plans to meet a friend, and I didn't want to flake, so we went ahead.  We actually had a great time without incident, which is saying a lot with two boys, hammers, nails, and paint.

But on the way out, my 2-year-old decided to cop a squat on the floor and refused to move.  I finally had to give in and carry him clear to the other end of Home Depot so I could use the restroom.  (Did I mention I'm pregnant, and he weighs 35 pounds?)  I was lucky enough to find a cart to put him in before walking back to our friends who were with my 5-yr-old, who by this time was in full whackadoodle mode, running in circles and touching all of the things.  The 2-yr-old started screaming NOOOOO at me for keeping him in the cart, and throwing his shoes at anyone within range.  I was so flustered by them, I accidentally dropped and broke a package of light bulbs I had stopped to buy on our way out the door.  This is what some might call a downward spiral.

For participating in the project, we received tickets for free hot dogs, so we stopped to eat with our friends before leaving.  We had misplaced one of the tickets, so my boys had to share one hot dog, and I didn't have cash on me to buy drinks and chips, which led to lots of whining from the 5-yr-old.  This further flustered me, and I started to feel angry.  We finally found the missing ticket, so I got them the second dog to share on the way home, and I rushed us to the car because I could feel a Mommy meltdown coming on.

As we got in the car, the 5-yr-old was screaming and crying about not wanting to share the hot dog, and the 2-yr-old was whining about not wanting to leave, and I felt like I couldn't breathe for one more second in the 100+ degree weather.  I got behind the wheel and took some deep breaths to try to calm the rage building up in me.  The 5-yr-old continued to whine about sharing the dog, so I ripped his half from his hands and gave the whole thing to the 2-yr-old.  The 2-yr-old was happy with this arrangement, but it sent my 5-yr-old into complete hysterics.  I was inside my head thinking, "I'm going to lose my shit.  I'm going to lose my shit.  I'm going to lose my shit."

About halfway home, I lost my shit.  I brought the car to a screeching halt on the side of the road and threatened the 5-yr-old within an inch of his life if he didn't shut his ungrateful mouth and let Mommy get her head straight. 

He got quiet alright, but by the time we were home, I was a wreck.  I started crying uncontrollably, so I went to the bathroom for a moment to regain my composure.  This wasn't the first time I'd had to lock myself in a room away from my children to get it together, but this time, I had trouble coming back out.  I was shaking and crying, and I just. could. not. stop.

I finally came out just so they wouldn't be unattended, but I couldn't stop the crying.  My oldest started asking if I was ok, and I couldn't even give him a coherent answer through my ridiculous sobbing.

For the first time ever, I felt completely incapable of caring for my children.  Even in my angriest moments, I have never feared that I would actually cause real harm to my kids.  But in that moment, even though I knew I wouldn't hurt them, I also knew with certainty that I wasn't emotionally capable of meeting their needs.  And certainly, me sitting there sobbing and hyperventilating at the kitchen table wasn't a very good example of emotional stability. 

So I called a neighbor, and she blessed me by taking them for an hour so I could get myself together.  I drove to the closest grocery store and walked around by myself for thirty minutes just because I could, and then I went home and made lunch and ate in silence.

I was able to make it through the rest of the day with the help of long naps for the boys and some TV time after they got up.  But I continued with unexpected and uncontrollable bouts of crying, and for the remainder of the weekend, I just felt like a mess.  I knew it was time to finally do something about it.

I called my obgyn first thing Monday morning, and he prescribed a medication he considers safe for pregnancy.  I started taking it that day.  He told me to give it a week to start working, but within a few days I could already tell a difference.

I've now been taking this medication for almost a month, and it has been life-changing for me.  Sure, I still have my moments where I get angry at my kids for not cleaning up or putting their shoes on, for flushing Legos down the toilet, or for talking back to me.

But I haven't had one day where I felt guilty for the way I yelled at them, or where I felt inept to take care of them.  The only guilt I have felt is over waiting so long to do something to fix the problem, and for the fact that I can't get back or undo the many moments where I failed my tiny humans.

But instead of focusing on the regrets, I've been paying attention to the many ways in which my acceptance of and willingness to deal with my problem has changed things for the better.  I didn't realize how seldom I was laughing and smiling.  I've always been a pretty happy-go-lucky person, and like I said, I'm pretty good at compensating for and hiding my weaknesses.  But recently I thought, "I cannot remember the last time I laughed as many times as I've laughed today.  It feels so good."  Many times I've caught myself smiling just watching my kids play, watching a show, or doing a mundane chore, and it's made me realize how many moments of each day I was spending NOT smiling.

I'm 41 and eight months pregnant, so I'm pretty tired and not always at the top of my parenting game.  But now I'm much more willing to put my to-dos on hold and just be in the moment with my kids.  I can get through a trip to Target without feeling like I'm going to rip my hair out or strangle a child.  And y'all, that's huge.  And when I do choose to spend time on the to-dos, I can focus well enough so it mostly doesn't look like a bomb went off in the house.

The point is, all I had to do was acknowledge that there was a real problem, and that I needed help to make it better.  All the time I spent being stubborn and believing I could fix it myself was wasted, and if I'm being honest, probably caused at least a little emotional damage to my kids.  I can only hope I have loved on my babies enough to outweigh whatever damage I might have done along the way.  But it doesn't make it hurt any less that I put them through what I did, just because I wasn't willing to face reality.

And me.  I put ME through that too.  I put myself through feeling incompetent, worthless, and less-than.  I put myself through so many moments of unnecessary anger that left me feeling so, so guilty and had me asking what in the world was WRONG with me???

I put myself and my babies through all that, just because I didn't want to face the fact that there was a real problem and accept that I needed treatment. 

So whether you're dealing with anxiety, or depression, or something different altogether, stop trying to convince yourself that you can or should have to fix it on your own.

Maybe yours manifests in anger like mine.  Maybe you disengage with your loved ones.  Maybe you refuse to leave the house to participate in family functions because you just don't feel like it.  Maybe you're mean to your spouse instead of your kids.  Or maybe you just can't get out of bed in the morning.

Whatever your struggle, stop avoiding the reality of your situation.   Admit that there's a problem, and do something to make it better.

Your most cherished people, and YOU, will thank you for it.