Thursday, August 11, 2016

Admitting imperfection

I have everything I've ever wanted in life.

My marriage is successful, strong, and loving -  a partnership of best friends navigating life together. I'm the mama of a sweet, particular, awe-inspiring baby girl.
I can't walk outside without seeing a beautiful view.  There's mountains on one side, oceans on the other, and lakes in between.  A couple miles down the road a waterfall is nestled beneath the tallest trees I've ever seen.
My job is busy enough to not be boring but laid back enough to ensure that I still have something to give my family when I get home.

On paper there is nothing amiss.  

Unfortunately for me, my brains chemistry decided to disagree.

Maybe it started with my infertility diagnosis, it was certainly present while I endured bedrest and feared the worst outcomes of my any rate, my level of anxiety never died down after P was born.

At first, I couldn't really leave the house without feeling an acute, terrifying dread that something terrible was going to happen.  Anytime K left I couldn't relax again until he came home. Once, I texted my mom and made her promise not to die.  

I managed to make appearances where necessary (work, social events, doctors appointments) but otherwise I stayed holed up at home. The mere thought of getting dressed and sitting on the porch overwhelmed me so much that I just couldn't do it. I had to give myself quick pep talks in the bathrooms at work to keep from going into full blown panic mode.  I texted around to find out if it was normal to feel "a little" off balance and everyone said yes.  It was easy to justify that I was behaving normally as long as I didn't admit to anyone the full extent of my anxiety and depression.

Then we sold our house and moved halfway across the country.  I told myself that we just needed to settle into a home, make friends, get into the swing of things and then I would finally stop having cycles of desperate sadness and overwhelming anxiety.    

Well, everything is settled down. Nothing is in upheaval. My dreams have all come true. My life is, logically, pretty perfect.    But guess who is still anxious, desperate, and overwhelmed? That's right, me.

My life may be perfect but it's time to admit that I'm not.  I need more help than I can give myself and finally accepting that has taken a huge weight off my chest.  No amount of positive thinking, compartmentalizing, denial, exercise, eating well (the list goes on and on) is going to fix what has become a chemical imbalance but my hope is that with time, counseling, and medication I'll get to a place that will allow me to experience the complete fullness of my life.

Maybe I should be ashamed or embarrassed, I'm sure someone is going to judge me for what seems like a dramatic weakness, but mostly I'm relieved and ready to move forward as the best version of myself possible.