Warning: This is a long and personal post. Read at your own risk.
It's conference time again, which meant that me and my family just spent the weekend in our pajamas watching church leaders deliver inspired messages. Sitting still isn't something I normally do a lot of, so I hate to admit that it's always a struggle to stay awake for all four sessions. There was one talk though, that not only did I sit straight up for, but it resonated with me in a big way. If you haven't yet, take a few minutes if you can to watch the talk, because it's inspired me to be more open about some of the things I've been struggling with the last few years.
As many of you probably already know, in 2010 I started suffering from some semi-serious health issues. Although the symptoms made me weak and miserable and I lost a lot of weight quickly, it took several months, an unnecessary surgery, life-threatening complication from the surgery, and switching doctors before I finally got an accurate diagnosis.
As part of that journey of being miserable and worrying over my health, I started having panic attacks, although at the time, I had no idea that that's what they were. My heart would beat a million
beats a minute, my whole body shook, I was freezing, and I could hardly
breathe. I was convinced I was dying. Everything about it was horrible.
Fast forward several months and through series of conversations and serendipitous experiences, I finally realized that I wasn't dying, but instead suffering from panic attacks. I was shocked to realize that I could possibly suffer from something like that. I am a very logical person and it didn't make sense that I could have such illogical fears. Once I realized what was happening, I went to a therapist who diagnosed me with a panic and
anxiety disorder and mild depression. The therapist immediately offered to prescribe medications to help relieve the symptoms, but despite having a strong family history of anxiety and depression, I still grew up with the negative stigma associated with mental disorders and I truly believed anyone who suffered from depression or other types of mental illness were crazy. Taking medicine seemed like I was admitting that I wasn't strong enough and didn't have enough faith to overcome it myself, so I refused to take anything.
I hoped that simply knowing what was happening to me would help to relieve the symptoms, but it did not. I actually got worse before improving a little, then worsening again. I felt like I was on a scary roller coaster and had no idea how to get off. My life seemed hard and overwhelming ALL the time and it took so much effort to do little tasks. Even getting into my car would seem so overwhelming some days and some days I couldn't leave my house at all.
One morning I woke up as I always did, in pain and with a sick sense of dread for the day, and I just knew that it was time for something to change. I couldn't go on pretending to be normal and living this half-life anymore. I was tired of acting strong, when on the inside I could barely scrape up enough motivation to do the bare essential tasks in a day---like going to the grocery store or picking my kids up from school.
Finally after a lot of soul searching and praying, I realized that I couldn't do it by myself. I needed help and I was blessed enough to live in a day and time that I could get it. I went back to the doctor and filled my prescription. Relief didn't come immediately, but it did come in blessed, welcome little spurts. I went from feeling overwhelmed basically every moment of the day, to finally feeling like I could handle things again. I can look back now and although my battle with this is definitely far from over, I can see that I am in a much better place than I was a year ago.
While I credit medical care for taking me over the hump on my way to healing, I could not write this post without giving a huge shout-out to Tom who was patient and loving with me every step of the way. He made this journey bearable and without his support, it would have been so much more of a difficult path.
It is my hope that by sharing my story with you, that more people will gain an understanding that mental illness is exactly that....an illness. And that it's not something that can be prayed away or overcome if you just muster up enough willpower. Taking medication is not a sign of weakness...it's a sign that we care enough about the people we love to seek the help we need.