A Long Story and a Turning Point

It's funny that my last post was exactly a year ago, as of the date I start writing this post anyway. And here I am itching to write something. There must be something about February 10th that wakes up my writing bug. My desk calendar for today might have helped.

I read back over that last post now and everything rushes back. I can feel it. My entire body feels that post. When I started it, I stopped myself and considered if I wanted to feel it all again. I eventually decided that I did. Not only because I feel like there's value in reliving a learning experience even if it's painful, but also because I felt like it would make writing my next post about it just that much sweeter. But I'll get to that later. Maybe much later.

I’ve been working on this post for weeks now, because sometimes that’s how life is. But what’s interesting is that even outside of this little project, I’ve started writing almost daily! And without having to force myself! I’ve just been doing little journal entries. Here’s what I did today, that kind of thing. Getting back to basics. My writing juices are beginning to flow again for the first time since before we moved away from home. That was over six years ago! I missed writing so much. I was never relaxed enough to write in the other city. Which brings me to the big thing I wanted to write about here…

If you’ve somehow stuck with me since the beginning, you might remember that six years ago, we moved away from our hometown to a larger city (Anchorage). Having both been raised in the same small town, hubby and I both felt the urge to try something new. To spread our wings. To have an adventure and see what happened. What we expected to happen was to have a bunch of new experiences, to get spoiled living in a larger city full of larger-city conveniences, to enjoy warmer winters, to make lots of new friends, to both advance in our careers, and then 4-6 years later, make the leap to the Pacific Northwest. Warmer weather, easier living. Better opportunities for travel and varied experiences. That was the plan.

For my part, I also assumed that if I left our small town, moving my parents’ only grandbaby a few hundred miles away (which, in hindsight, I’ll never forgive myself for, by the way), it might be the kick in the pants they needed to get out of the aforementioned small town. They’re very entrenched, though, and as much as they are sick and tired of the winters, they just can’t bring themselves to leave. I didn’t really understand that before we left. You only live once, right? Get up and get out! We’ve talked repeatedly about wanting to live within driving distance of each other somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, but putting that plan into action when you’ve lived in your house in the woods for 40+ years is something entirely different, I suppose.

What actually happened in Anchorage was, for the most part, completely different than the expectation or the plan. The warmer winters were nice, the extra daylight was nice, and the conveniences were… eh, convenient. But it turns out my anxiety, which I’ve had for as long as I can remember, went completely bananas. My level of anxiety, at idle so to speak, was so high and got worse every year I lived there. With a significant amount of effort, I was able to fake it and hide it for about the first three years.

As time marched on, the anxiety seemed to both climb higher and seep in deeper, if that makes sense. Into every pore and every crevice and every internal organ. I could FEEL it in my body at almost all times. It felt like inflammation. It became harder and harder to hide, and completely impossible to ignore. My resting heart rate was high a lot of the time. I felt short of breath and had tightness in my chest a LOT of the time. Some days it was all day long. A simple trip to the grocery store put my heart rate in the 110-120 range for the duration. I would struggle to breathe, feel like I was going to pass out any moment, and break out into nervous sweats. I was in a constant state of extremely heightened awareness of any potential (even highly unlikely) danger. The head game of it was the absolute worst.

I started having panic attacks in 2017. These terrified and frustrated me to no end. The loss of control during a panic attack is scary and completely unnerving. They could strike at any time. It wasn’t just in times of acute stress; they’d come out of nowhere. In the middle of a store, or at work, or while I was driving, or even sitting on my couch watching my favorite show. Sometimes they left me unnerved for hours, as well as physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted.

My work situation went from pretty great to extremely unpleasant around this time also, which did not help matters. I went from feeling supported, encouraged, cared about and challenged, to a rather toxic environment. Under the new ‘management,’ the dead weight ran amok, a number of people began stabbing others in the back at every opportunity (including ‘managers’), and those of us not in the practice of shamelessly kissing management posterior were ignored at best and openly mocked by coworkers at worst – with no consequences.

We were constantly asked to do much more with much less, and in a depressing and frustrating atmosphere. Worst of all, there was no accountability for anyone whatsoever. This was easily the most frustrating professional situation I’d ever been in – which is saying something, considering I once spent an entire summer delivering auto parts in a car with no music and no air conditioning and having to hear people cursed at over the two-way radio. I tried to make those above me understand what was happening, but they were more fond of the Ostrich method of management. That is, stick your head in the ground and pretend everything is fine and the business will direct itself and succeed with no leadership whatsoever.

I was also sitting in the middle of a big room along with 15-20 other people. I had no ‘physical anchor,’ which is something I’ve learned I need in order to feel comfortable and to relax. Turns out this is why I gravitate toward walls. I feel grounded and safe next to something. Out in the middle of everything, I feel very anxious. It was manageable when the other things about work were okay, like good management. Once that was gone, it became so much more difficult to go to work each day.

I found myself the phenomenal therapist (who I’ve written about here before) during that time. I refuse to even think about the condition I would be in today without her. She became my lifeline, along with hubby of course, who is always and without fail, supportive, patient and loving. But no matter how amazing he is, and no matter how hard he tries to understand the anxious mind (and he has put significant effort into this!), he can’t possibly know how it feels, because he doesn’t have the condition.

In mid-2017, I started to withdraw. I stopped wanting to do anything. The anxiety was so bad. The only place I felt safe from it was inside my house. It happened there, too, but at least there I felt more in control. I wouldn’t feel embarrassed about it happening in front of other people and I wouldn’t have to exhaust myself trying to hide it. My friends and coworkers playfully blamed this on my being an introvert and I played along. They weren’t wrong; I do consider myself introverted, but that had almost nothing to do with my hiding at home and wanting to be alone. I even withdrew from my family a little bit at times. I hated the idea of letting them see me like that. I felt like I was crazy, that I was losing it, that I was a terrible wife and mother and that they would be better off without me.

And here are the parts I have been most terrified to share. That feeling/belief that my husband and child would be better off without me came on strong and fast, and it was absolutely horrific. As I spiraled downward in my anxiety and then, I believe, into a bit of depression, that little thought grew louder and louder. Some days I was able to argue it with logic. Some days, not so much. I felt like I was on a runaway train going 90mph and at any minute I was going to crash and burn.

Other things happened in 2017 and 2018 that exacerbated all of this. In late 2017, hubby and I were absolutely stunned (and thrilled!) to find out I was pregnant. We’d never been able to conceive before, in many years of trying, including several years of medical intervention. We’d long since accepted that we would not have biological children and it was really okay. After kiddo came along, we both felt strongly that it suddenly made sense. We were meant to be his parents.

I did all the right things; due to my PCOS, I lobbied for an immediate doctor’s appointment instead of waiting until 10-12 weeks as they suggested. I ate well, I drank water, I rested, I took the good prenatal vitamins. For the first time in several years I was completely beside myself with joy. A surprise baby!!! Maybe later in life than we would have planned for, but it didn’t matter. That baby was so very loved and wanted.

By the time they could squeeze me in for an appointment, I was 7 weeks and 3 days. We both took time off work to go to the appointment together, and I was so excited to see the little dark spot on the ultrasound screen and to hopefully hear a heartbeat. For so many years, these were all things that had always been privileges reserved for OTHER people. Not me. I had been rudely excluded from the club for 20 years. Surely this couldn’t be real? I felt like an imposter, but I went with it anyway.

Ultrasound time finally came. With an uncomfortably full bladder, I climbed up on the table, waited, and hoped so hard to see what I wanted to see. The doctor did easily find the egg sac… but no heartbeat. The doctor issued a dozen disclaimers and possibilities other than a miscarriage. Maybe it’s too early, maybe it’s just in a weird position, maybe maybe maybe. But in my heart, I knew immediately and without question. My baby was gone. My bloodwork confirmed it had been there, but it left this world before we even got to see it on a screen. I was in tears while still on the table and I didn’t quit crying for… I don’t even remember how long. As we checked out, the receptionist asked me if I was okay. I said no, and nothing else. I just stared at the wall behind her. My body felt numb, but my heart and my brain were in complete and utter devastation. Hubby physically held me to be sure I wouldn’t collapse with grief right there in the lobby. I’m surprised I didn’t.

I remember the horrible ugly-cry-meltdown that happened in the parking lot. Blubbering, sobbing, snot running everywhere, barely able to speak, yet still able to (sort of) utter, “WHY AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO HAVE A BABY?!” and “WHY DON’T I GET TO BE IN THE CLUB?!?” while hubby sat helplessly next to me rubbing my back. I remember the blue Subaru that parked right in front of us as I was in the middle of this fit, and the woman who climbed out of the passenger’s seat sporting a giant pregnant belly as her husband scurried to her to make sure she didn’t slip and fall. Despite having my whole world right there next to me doing everything a person could possibly do to comfort me, I’d never felt more alone.

The brutal thing about miscarriage is it’s not something that just happens in a moment and it’s over. It’s a process. The worst process I think I’ve ever endured. Multiple blood tests to ensure HCG was returning to zero. Two follow-ups at the doctor’s office. All of that in addition to the physical stuff, which was unlike anything I’d ever been through and lasted almost a week.

As a dreadful side note that I have unfortunately never forgotten, that doctor never even said, “I’m sorry this happened,” or “You’re going to be okay.” It was all so clinical for him. At the last appointment, he talked to us about whether we should be using birth control “at our age” and scared us with a bunch of statistics about birth defects as I sat there and cried, still grieving the baby I’d only lost days before. There’s no way I was in a place to consider whether I’d want to try for another one. I felt like a teenager being scolded and warned about unplanned pregnancy.

There were other complications around that time that made this spiral I was in plunge much, much lower. It was a very dark time for me. Desperate for any distraction from the mental health hell I was living in and the fact I had just lost the only pregnancy I’d ever had, I let someone into my life that I shouldn’t have. I thought I could trust them to be my friend and to be a support to me, as I was to them. Somehow, they got through all the walls I normally have up to protect myself. They knew exactly what to say, and when, and how.

And then, they hurt me. They betrayed my trust and they hurt me so badly. They even involved other people in this little scheme to hurt me, and they said things that were not true and tried to humiliate me and harm my family life. They went WAY over the line. I felt like my entire world was being turned upside down. I didn’t know if I was going to be okay. I blamed myself for ALL of it. I couldn’t see at the time that I had been exploited, manipulated, and frankly, abused. It took MANY months of therapy and my endlessly patient husband beating into my head that I was a victim, and not to blame. For a very long time I refused to let myself off the hook for that, believing that if I considered myself a victim, that it would be a copout and I’d be one of those people who doesn’t take responsibility for their actions.

Except they weren’t my actions, they were someone else’s. That person saw me in a vulnerable spot and exploited that for their own amusement/entertainment/ego/gratification/whatever. It’s disgusting and talking to that person in the first place is on my top 5 list of all-time regrets.

When all of that happened, the dark stuff got worse. For the first time in my entire life, I had fleeting thoughts of hurting myself. That is not an easy thing to share. I had never experienced anything in that realm before. Ever. That belief that the world would be better off without me was so intense at this point. It played on repeat inside my head without my consent. It was so difficult and exhausting to argue with it. I would come home from work completely wiped out just from battling with my own brain all day. I’d have nothing left for going and doing fun things with my family during the week.

I stopped taking good care of myself. I stopped being as active and my diet went straight downhill. Off a cliff, really. I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone (outside my own family of course), that no one genuinely wanted me around, and that anyone who did seem to want me around was just lying to me and wanted to hurt me. My walls grew taller and stronger. I vowed not to let anyone into my life anymore, ever. My therapist argued. Hubby argued. The logical part of my brain argued. It didn’t matter; it was the only foolproof way I could protect myself. If you never let anyone in, then no one can be close enough to hurt you.

Isolation and loneliness – obviously – intensified during that time. They became their own spiral, parallel to the anxiety spiral. Hubby and I were doing better than we had been in a long time. This was primarily because of his willingness to try to help me through all of this, to hold me up when I just wanted to curl up in a ball and fade away, to teach my hard-headed self how to communicate, to teach me to trust him more completely with my feelings and thoughts during a time when my tendency was to shut everyone out. Without his support, and that of the phenomenal therapist, I’m not sure I would be here today to write this.

Amid all this internal turmoil, for some unknown reason, I never felt safe in Anchorage except in my own house. It sounds silly and it’s very frustrating to me that I couldn’t ever identify a reason, nor fix it, but it’s the truth. The phenomenal therapist says sometimes there is no tangible reason. She said her best theory was that I wasn’t living in a place that allowed me to exist in line with my values (family, sense of community, etc), and that this causes anxiety even in people who are normally not anxious. She also said she had multiple other clients who described living in Anchorage exactly the same way I did. It wasn’t just me. That helped a lot.

Though I’d wanted to move back home since about 2016, I tried to white knuckle it. I fake smiled a lot. I hoped so hard that things would get better. That I would find a way to handle it better. Kiddo was in a great private school (because the public schools there just… weren’t the experience we wanted for him…), and he and hubby were in a wonderful martial arts program together that was so good for both of them. We loved our house there and our neighborhood and our neighbors.

But for me, that’s where the positives ended. It was nice having lots of different restaurants and stores around, but I was uncomfortable. EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t enjoy the things I DID want to do there. I was always too busy struggling to breathe, feeling like my heart was going to pound out of my chest, and watching over my shoulder like some kind of paranoid crackhead. These things were all new and foreign to me, and highly irritating.

I finally started to feel like I was coming to a crossroads in early 2018. I knew I needed to get out of there, but I was so conflicted. I didn’t want to take hubby and kiddo out of this environment they liked. But I also knew that they deserved a happy wife/mom, not an uptight/anxious/grumpy/miserable one. Thanks to the head game of anxiety, it took me over a year to convince myself that I was worth forcing the issue.

Hubby and I had so many uncomfortable discussions about this. He was so hesitant for so many reasons, all of which I understood. But as I got more honest and more blunt with him about the dark place I had been living in, he was very clear that he knew we needed to do whatever was going to make me okay again. He may not have loved the idea of moving back, but he was clear that if that’s what would help things, it was a no brainer.

It is a testament to the type of human being hubby is, and what kind of husband too, that I questioned this and flip-flopped dozens, if not hundreds, of times, and every single time, he reminded me it was what we needed to do. He argued for something he didn’t even want. He insisted we needed to do this so I would be okay. Nothing else mattered. He was not about to let me slide further into the abyss, and I think he knew this was the one thing he could do to help me. He would do anything to make sure I am okay. He definitely proved that to me all over again in this process. He had tried everything else; this is all that was left.

I started looking for jobs back home last spring. I had a few close calls, but nothing felt just right. My plan was to continue looking until mid-summer, and then suspend my search until the following spring, because I always swore I wouldn’t move kiddo in the middle of the school year. I was feeling guilty for moving him at all; I couldn’t bear to make him change mid-year.

I found myself flaking a little on the job hunting. I would look when I had hard days, and when I had not-so-bad days, I would cling to the idea of trying to wait another year. For them. I had to find a way. I had to find more strength, or a new way to deal with things, or something. It was gut-wrenching to think of making them leave a place they liked, regardless of anything.

I had a particularly horrendous day at work last fall. It was bad enough that I remember the date. October 17th. A Thursday. I won’t get into what happened because it no longer matters, but it was bad. I took hubby (who worked in the same place I did) back into a private area and cried about being treated like garbage… again. The floodgates broke that day. I wasn’t just sad and frustrated this time though, I was extremely angry. It takes a lot to get me to the point of truly angry, but I was pushed well past it that day.

I remember looking hubby in the eye in that moment and saying, “I have already talked myself out of applying for that job back home several times but tonight I am going home and submitting my application because I deserve BETTER THAN THIS. I’m sorry that that means we have to leave.”

He hugged me quietly. He didn’t argue. He knew there was no point. But on the other hand, I knew that getting that job was a long shot. It was a sweet gig that is well-known to have a great work environment and excellent pay and benefits. I knew there would be dozens of applicants for this job. But I had to apply, because if I didn’t, and a week or a month later I had an equally horrific day, I’d be so mad at myself for letting the opportunity pass me by.

I stuck to my plan. I went home that night and I spent three hours tweaking my resume and completing the online application. I gave it my absolute best, hit the submit button, and I immediately felt better. I felt like I had DONE something to move toward my goal. I wasn’t just sitting idle and complaining, I was doing the only thing I could do to get the ball rolling. That felt good. Then, I had to find some patience and brace myself for disappointment, because I knew it would be two or three weeks before I got a call… if ever.

That was Thursday night that I applied. The job posting closed on Monday evening. Imagine my utter shock when my phone rang the very next morning and it was the hiring manager asking me for an interview ASAP. I was stunned! We scheduled a phone interview for the next day. Cue the panic – I hadn’t had to do a real interview (with people I didn’t already know) in a decade! But interview time came, and I was a little grateful that they couldn’t see me, so hopefully they couldn’t tell how nervous I was.

Oh, as a side note, I found it really interesting that my interview, scheduled last-minute, happened to occur on the very same day that kiddo’s bio-siblings, some of whom we fostered for a short time, were having their adoption finalized in court. These particular siblings are very special to us and we love them like our own. We were nothing short of ecstatic that they were finally escaping the horrors of foster care after many years.

And also, my desk calendar from that day, I discovered that morning, said:

Suddenly things started to feel just a little bit… dare I say… meant to be?

The interview was with the hiring manager and one other person from the same department. It seemed to be a canned list of questions relevant to this position. I think there were 23 questions? As soon as they asked the first one, I just knew I had this interview. I HAD it. I knew all the answers; I said all the right things. I remember being so encouraged because after a few of my answers they said “wow!” or “that’s amazing.” I felt like I was on a cloud when I hung up the phone.

Can you keep a secret? I didn’t tell anyone this at the time, and I haven’t told anyone else except hubby since. But when I hung up, I knew I had that job. I knew it. In my heart there was no question. I immediately felt calm and peaceful, even excited, albeit a bit nervous about the move itself. I don’t know how I was so sure, and I’ve never experienced that before. I’m never very confident about these things and almost always convince myself of the opposite and focus on things I should have done or said differently. Not this time. It was mine. Done deal. I just had to wait for the call.

In light of such certainty, I knew I should probably start liquidating/cleaning/organizing/packing for the move that I KNEW was coming, but I couldn’t make myself do it. It was such a strange head game. I think I was afraid to bank on it and be wrong (and therefore heartbroken AND having wasted time and energy and effort on it). I also think it was just too scary to move the conversation with hubby to the next level – from ‘maybe someday’ to ‘definitely, and right now.’ I felt a bit paralyzed. Though my usual tendency is to obsess about these kinds of things and drive myself crazy needing to DO something to feel like I’m in control, this time, I decided to just sit back and wait. I knew I’d see an offer, and I knew I didn’t want to take any action until then. For lots of reasons.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Amber vs. Money

In an effort to return to blogging more regularly, I'm trying really hard to get away from the whole idea that every post I write has to be a meaningful, prolonged story. Don't get me wrong, I have some pretty amazing stories to tell. And I want to. And I plan to. But right now, I really just need to focus on resurrecting my habit of writing regularly. It's so good for me. So, I'm going to start this and work on it when I can and see where it goes.

I'm currently on my lunch hour at work. I had two options today: venture out in chilly weather to drive around aimlessly for an hour, wasting gas and potentially spending money I don't need to spend, or staying here at work, hiding in the conference room in hopes no one will need it (read: interrupt me), and writing. If I'm being honest, I really prefer joyriding to sitting at work. The mental break I get from leaving the building and getting out in the sun (or rain, or snow, doesn't matter really) is so good for me. I'm pretty sure I'm more productive in the afternoon when I get outside at lunch.
In the end though, I made what is probably the more grownup decision and stayed in. Dang adulthood getting in the way of my fun! On the upside, work wifi does allow me to watch Netflix while I blog. Currently I'm watching an episode of Friends, which might be why I've been at this for 30 minutes so far and haven't said much? Oops!

The main reason for staying in is that we are working diligently on getting our finances under control. Ever since we moved from our small hometown to the bigger city, it just seems like we have been dealt a lot of crappy financial hands. We lost about $4500 to a slum lord immediately when we moved, which I have never forgiven that guy, or myself, for. After seeing an apartment via pictures, video and FaceTime, and having our friends do a walk-through for us, we signed a lease from 350 miles away.

Three weeks later when we arrived with all our worldly possessions, a two-year-old, and two chihuahuas, we found that the condition of the place had changed. Significantly. It was as if they'd allowed a band of traveling meth heads to live there for 3 weeks. We didn't even feel safe enough to stay one night. We ended up crashing in our new boss's guest room for 3 days until we could find a suitable place to live.

At any rate, I guess we should have known that was a sign of things to come. Not to channel Eeyore here or anything, but seriously, it's felt like one kick in the teeth after another since then, financially that is. A few months later, we found out that one of our two vehicles needed $1500 in unexpected repairs. It was completely reasonable since the truck was 11 years old at the time and has needed virtually no repairs in its life, but still just really inconvenient timing. Not too much later, the kid needed to change schools, and the new one is more expensive.

Two years after we moved, we finally bought a house. It's a beautiful house in a wonderful neighborhood, but what we thought would be a pretty straightforward and easy transaction turned into a bit of a nightmare and in addition to normal expenses like movers, we also ended up spending an extra several thousand dollars making the place livable. (Related note, I will never EVER own a cat.)

At any rate, a big part of the reason we moved was to get ourselves into a better financial situation, but it feels like we've gone backwards despite the fact that our income is much higher. It's not fair, dangit! But we are working on it. A friend introduced me to a popular financial guru, who I won't name here because I don't want a bunch of people finding my blog from searching for that guy, and I did a bunch of research and then started following his program. It's pretty brilliant and I can see that it works. If not for the several big setbacks, we would be much further ahead in getting rid of our debt and building giant savings and retirement accounts.

I am so hard on myself about this! I know how to make it happen and I'm really trying - we both are - but it's so hard to get traction. We've cut expenses way back, cut out almost all eating out and entertainment budgets, we only make one trip back home per year to visit, we don't go on other trips, haven't replaced the now-14-year-old truck... on and on. I think there's an expression for this - something like "I make too much money to be so broke!" I've looked in to getting another job, but hubby doesn't want me taking on extra stress and he already puts in extra hours at work.

But in those rare moments when I'm able to show myself grace, I step back and remember that truly, it's only been three years since the move and we have had enough unexpected things pop up to easily offset the extra income that we gained by moving here. Maybe more. Of course, there are times when this makes me feel like the move was a mistake, but that's a whole other post.

Sooner or later we have to catch a break, right? All I want is to be out of debt so I can start sleeping better again and be free of these heavy rocks on my shoulders!

Anyone have Ed McMahon's number?

Amber vs. Anxiety

The other day, a cousin called me kind of out of the blue. (I love it when this happens, at least if it's a relative I adore, and I especially adore this one! She might even be my favorite. Don't tell the others!) She said, "I was just driving to work, and all of a sudden I felt like I was freaking out, just super nervous for no reason at all. I mean, I know enough to know this is anxiety and kinda how it works, but that doesn't help when it's happening."

My heart sank. My poor sweet cousin. She apparently has the disease I've been battling. The evil a-word. Mine started with no warning when I was 32, right after our third failed adoption. (I haven't a clue if those things are connected or not, but my mother's anxiety also began in her early 30s.)  My cousin's seems to have started right now, at 28. At the risk of sounding over dramatic, I have to say I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but especially not on someone like her. She's kind and sweet and super positive and funny and smart, and she got way more pretty genes than me, and she's pretty much a rockstar in every possible way.  She also lost a parent a few months ago.

I did my best to talk her through it. I assured her it would go away soon, and we talked about finding distractions. She actually has a degree in psychology, so she understands the mechanics of it, but I can vouch for the fact that that doesn't make it any more pleasant to deal with in the moment. It can be an evil, nasty monster sometimes. I told her to think about sitting on a beach and watching the waves. I told her to take a few slow, deep breaths. I made a couple of stupid jokes. I told her about the technique I just learned recently in therapy - a 'body scan' exercise which helps relax the entire body. "When the body is relaxed, the mind will follow," says my therapist, who is magnificent. And, sometimes to my chagrin, is also always right. Actually, I could write an entire post about what a perfect match she is for me, but I'll save that for later.

After a few minutes, my cousin started to feel better. She had been able to distract and calm herself through an anxiety attack, which is not an easy or enjoyable feat. I was really proud of her. Somewhere in the course of all that, she'd said "I know you have anxiety, because you've posted a couple articles on Facebook about it, so I called you because I thought you would understand how I am feeling."

I should probably say here that as I get into writing about my struggles with anxiety, which is a daunting thing all by itself, that I am writing from only my own experience. Everyone experiences this differently and I obviously can't speak for anyone but myself. So when I generalize here, please know I'm really only speaking my own truth, not anyone else's, and that I absolutely understand that other perspectives are every bit as valid as my own.

It was at this point in my conversation with my cousin that I realized that for the seven years I've been battling anxiety, I really have not told many people at all about it. The husband knows, of course, but even he doesn't know the full extent of it. I do occasionally share articles and posts on social media about it, because somehow that's less scary than telling people about it directly. To actually TELL people about it? Unheard of. Terrifying.

See, that's part of what makes anxiety such a jerk. (And trust me, it is a JERK.) It tells you constantly that you're broken, that you're messed up, that you're a freak, that you're not worthy of (fill in the blank), that you're sick and that you need to hide your condition at all costs, or everyone will hate you and leave you and you'll be all alone with the awful things circling around in your head. And you don't even realize it's saying that. It just feels like a given, like a universal truth. Like something you'd never think to question or challenge. I wish I were exaggerating.

I've been in therapy for anxiety for about a year and a half now. Shortly after it first came on, I sought treatment from my family doctor, who prescribed a medication for me that was initially extremely helpful. I remember telling him that for the first time there were no storms happening inside my mind. I never even knew they were there until they were gone. That medication helped me, virtually free of side effects, for almost three years, until my pharmacy changed generic brands and the new generic made me really sick. I talked to every single pharmacy in town and none of them could get the old generic anymore, so I took myself off of it.

As one would expect, the anxiety returned with a vengeance after I went off the meds. The storm raged on in my head. I white-knuckled it for a very long time. During that time, in an unrelated sort of way, I learned a lot about food and chemicals in food and pharmaceuticals and all sorts of things about what outside influences do to our bodies. I developed a very strong desire to learn to deal with my anxiety without medication. I believed then, and I believe now, that I have the ability to do this, with help. It is a long process and sometimes it's uncomfortable or even painful, but I'm learning, slowly.

One of the pretty significant recurring themes in my therapy is self-acceptance. I've always had a hard time with this. I'm so accepting of other people and their flaws, but when it comes to mine, I'm so unforgiving and unwilling to give any grace. I'm beginning to learn to accept things about myself. My anxiety is one of those things. The harder I fight it and push against anxiety, the harder it pushes back and the worse it gets. For me, the medication-free 'cure' (which is really just a set of coping tools I can use for the rest of my life, not a cure at all) lies in accepting what IS, not fighting it, and perhaps most importantly, not hiding it anymore. Did I mention this is scary? My palms are sweaty just typing this. And I've now been working on this post daily for more than a week.

So, I have fairly severe anxiety. There it is. So what? Lots of people have it. My therapist and my husband insist it doesn't make me any less worthy, or lovable, or smart or awesome than anyone else. They're trying to help me pound that into my own head. Some days I truly believe it, but most days it's still a battle. I'm getting better. Slowly.

What does my anxiety actually look like?

During the several days I spent pondering writing this post and whether I was really ready to 'put it out there,' I tried to really pay attention to how I was feeling, when, and why. I stumbled upon a very good example of what happens when my anxiety flares. Somehow I convinced myself to actually put it on paper, even though it is scary and embarrassing and the anxiety demons in my head are constantly telling me I have to hide this because if I expose it, no one will like me anymore, and because I should be able to control it. After all, it's my own brain, right? I should be able to control it... right? This is probably why my therapist doesn't like me even using the word SHOULD.

Back to my example. It was my lunch hour, and I needed to go to the grocery store to grab a couple of things. Little known fact about me: I usually avoid going to grocery stores alone. I don't just not enjoy the grocery store experience - it makes my anxiety flare like crazy. But I do go when it's necessary. I put on my big girl undies and I white-knuckle it. On this particular day, I was already a bit stressed due to work. I knew before I went in that I'd be much more anxious coming out than I was going in, so I sat in the car for a moment to prepare myself. My Fitbit said my pulse was 82 - up from my normal resting rate of the high 60s. I assume that's because I was anticipating the anxiety.

This all happens very fast - it always does - but I'm going to break it down into the tiniest minutia in order for you to actually walk through it with me, and for me to fully acknowledge all that's going on so I can learn to deal with it.

As soon as I hit the entrance of the store, it starts. I feel my chest tighten. I feel my breathing get a bit shallower. I grab a basket and hold on tight. As I walk across the front of the store toward the items I need, the tight chest and shallow breathing get slightly more severe. I'm about halfway there when I notice how tight my shoulders are. It feels like there is a giant rubber band around my shoulders and upper arms, squishing them together and compressing everything in between. A mild knot has formed in my stomach.

I focus really hard on my destination - the freezer aisle this time - and try to just forget all of my surroundings. I don't typically make eye contact with people in these situations, especially if the store is crowded. Crowds of people make me extremely anxious, so I guess I subconsciously pretend they aren't even there. The lights seem oppressively bright. I find minor comfort in the fact that the store's signs and fixtures are mostly earth toned. Generally speaking, earth tones seem to soothe me.

By the time I get to the freezer aisle, my Fitbit says my pulse is 116. I double check it with my fingers and it's probably right. I'm short of breath, my stomach feels like a boulder, and it feels like every muscle in my body is as tight as it can get. It's the same feeling you might experience in a haunted house when you know something is about to jump out and scare you half to death. But instead of lasting an instant like in the haunted house, this usually lasts through my whole shopping trip, and often beyond.

Out of nowhere, a flush washes over me. I become very warm from the inside out. It feels like my heart may have stopped. I quickly, but as discreetly as possible, check for a pulse. It's still there. I'm oddly surprised. I try to breathe. Deep breaths are impossible, so I try to slow down the shallow ones. I think I might throw up. (Nevermind the fact I have never thrown up in a grocery store or due to this type of anxiety. To find comfort in that fact would mean being logical, and I am anything but logical in this scenario. For the most part, logic is... unavailable... to me until it passes, unless someone coaches me in the moment.) My legs feel like Jello. I wonder if they will carry me back to my car.

It is at this point that the anxiety really takes over my mind. Once I start having these physical sensations, the little anxiety monster in my head gets much louder and is virtually impossible to ignore. He is short, furry and ugly, and he has big angry eyes and oversized, pointy, gross, yellow, nasty teeth. And he's so very vicious. He's probably a kid who was always picked last in PE class. Maybe this is why we can relate to each other.

He screams in my head.

"YOU'RE GOING TO FAINT! WHAT IF YOU PASS OUT RIGHT HERE IN THE FREEZER AISLE AND MAKE A TOTAL FOOL OF YOURSELF AND THE PARAMEDICS HAVE TO COME AND YOU LOOK STUPID AND EVERYONE IN THE STORE SEES YOU AND THINKS YOU'RE CRAZY AND STUPID?! IT'S HAPPENING RIGHT NOW! AND WHAT IF YOUR CLOTHES AREN'T COVERING YOU WHEN YOU FALL DOWN AND EVERYONE SEES HOW GROSS YOU ARE? HERE WE GO, GET READY!"

I should clarify - I do not 'hear voices.' This is not something I can hear. Again, it's like a given. It just comes to me, like when you look up in the sky and notice the sky is blue. "Oh, the sky is blue today." Same kind of thing. It's just there all of a sudden and it feels undeniable.

I do my best to shove the monster away. I repeat to myself that nothing like that has ever happened to me. Being a person who generally appreciates critical thinking, I try to focus on the evidence, or lack thereof, that any of that is actually happening. I try to focus on what I need to buy. I squint my eyes, which feel funny thanks to the anxiety, in order to focus through the very loud distractions.

I find what I need. I buy a little more than I need, because when you have paralyzing anxiety about grocery shopping, you stock up when you go so that you don't have to go more often than necessary. I often find myself buying (non-perishable) things in twos at the grocery store.

At this point I start to feel the slightest twinge of relief. At the moment I head for the cash register, it means I'm almost done with my shopping trip. I get there quickly if possible, preferably the self checkout so I don't have to worry that another person will notice I am breathless and panicky and think I'm crazy. I go through the motions, and head for the exit. I feel a tiny bit better as soon as I step outside. Thankfully it's light outside - this means I have the added bonus of feeling safer in the parking lot. I don't feel truly safe - in the sense that I can actually let my guard down - in many places or situations at all.

I beeline to my car - my safe haven on wheels. I get in quickly, set my stuff down, and lock the doors. Since the anxiety has been particularly bad, I put the sun visors down in hopes no one will see me trying to recover. I lay my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. I take deeper breaths - but at this point I still can't take belly breaths. I focus on relaxing. I talk to myself (silently) like a little kid. "You're fine, it's all fine, it's okay. Nothing bad happened. No one noticed you were freaking out."

When it feels like my heart is beating properly again and my breathing is calmed down and the "OH NO I'M GOING TO FAINT" passes, I drive back to work to continue my day. Unfortunately, my work environment is somewhat anxiety-inducing as well, so full relief doesn't come for many hours yet. But it's definitely better than the grocery store. My energy is drained. I yawn a lot for the next few hours and wish for a nap. I struggle to focus at work at times for the rest of the day.

Finally, after work and after-work commitments and getting a youngster into bed, I collapse into my own bed. I notice my heart rate finally coming the rest of the way down. I stare out at the dark sky and feel grateful to finally be in my sanctuary. I'd like to say I peacefully drift off to sleep, but let's be realistic, I fiddle with my phone and tablet for far too long and don't get as much sleep as I could have.

Hey, I'm working on one issue at a time here!

So, that's what a typical anxiety attack type scenario looks like for me. I don't always feel this way in grocery stores, not at all. But it is not that unusual either. Other circumstances that seem to be common settings for this to play out are parties, social gatherings of pretty much any kind, business lunches/dinners, carnivals/fairs, airplanes (oh my gosh airplanes, that's also a whole other post), pretty much any place where I feel out of control or where there are large amounts of people, especially in a confined area.

I have had to stop writing so many times since I started this post. It is so scary to me to admit all of this. I feel like I'm pretty good at putting up a decent front and hiding my anxiety monster. However, my therapist insists that shining a light on him takes away his power. And with the previous exercises we have done, she has proven that she is right about that. So, here's a new phase we are working on called 'stop hiding it.'  I definitely don't plan to scream it from the rooftops or announce it when I answer the phone at work, but this post represents a HUGE HUGE step for me in learning to combat my anxiety without drugs.

There, I did it. Whew. This is hard. Did I already say that?

I'm hoping that at least one person who reads this will feel less alone in their own anxiety because of what I wrote. I hope that people who know me personally will understand me better after reading this and won't run away from me screaming (literally or metaphorically!). I hope that quirks that I have will make more sense to others now and they will understand that I don't ever mean to be rude or malicious to people I care about. Ever.

One thing that has occurred to me a few times since starting this (novella of a) post is that there have been times that people have accused me of thinking I'm better than them, or better than other people in general. I'm guessing whatever they are seeing in terms of my behavior that makes them think this, is rooted in my anxiety. I've only heard this a few times, but it's been from friends and relatives, not strangers. It's both extremely insulting to me and totally laughable because it could not possibly be further from the truth.

Remember that stuff up above about not wanting people to know about my anxiety because they'll think I'm crazy or unlovable? Yes. That. I can't recall ever thinking I was better than another person in my entire life. Well, maybe Dallas Cowboy fans... KIDDING.

If I bump into you in public and I seem like I don't want to talk to you, it's not you. Actually, it's not me either. It's probably just that I'm already engaged in a bitter battle with the anxiety monster and I can't let go of half my attention in order to handle a social interaction on top of that. I promise I'm not trying to be rude. And I certainly am not being sanctimonious. I promise. I don't feel superior to anyone on the planet. I mean that.

Please forgive me for my faults and try to understand that I'm doing my best. I'm working hard - really hard - on learning how to deal with this so it doesn't have such a grip on me. This process is pretty darn difficult and uncomfortable, but I'm determined to keep going, so I can be a better friend, a better wife and mom, and a happier person.