Bite the bullet.

With each scheduled appointment, I felt like my anxiety was at an all time high. I refused to admit that along with the little scenarios I was sorting out in my head, a trail of depression was also trying to make up for missed time. There I was again, shuffling between the tight rows of stained chairs – trying to pretend like I had my shit together. My fingers created an uncontrollable sweat, making it that much harder to conceal my agitation. In the short time it took to make my way into her office, my armpits had already discolored my shirt and made it extremely noticeable that yes… I very well was floundering about into the shallow hallways, but NO – I did not want any help.

Our session began at 11:00 – sharp – every other day. “What’s on your mind today?” An awkward silence thrusted into my chest and put a stop to the words that were pouring out of my mind. There was so much that needed to be expressed but I feared the opinions she was beginning to form, even when she swore that she understood why I was struggling. The effort she made to compare our situations was an uncontrollable clutter of distraction. With every concern I communicated, she backed it up using a story of her own. I KNEW that what I was going through was normal. I KNOW you’ve been through the same things. But what she DIDN’T know was what I craved the most – for her to just listen to what I had to say. Just once I wanted someone to allow me to cry, scream, laugh – sometimes all at once – without feeling the need to interrupt me with their own knowledge of the situation. I was allowing myself to be selfish… something that was way past due yet well-deserved. I wasn’t going to put a stop it to – not this time.

I could almost hear the ticking of the clock become louder, as a reminder that our time was almost up. My daughter sat in my lap during the entire session, otherwise she would’ve cried and heightened the intensity of my sweat. Putting her back in the car seat was another strike at my anxieties – one day she loved the calmness of the car ride, another day she’ll flip a switch and scream the whole way home. I begged her, internally, to allow me to drive in the silence of my own breathe. It became routine for me to meditate… something I truly wanted to know more about. But by focusing on the sounds and strength of my breathing, the availability to concentrate on something else was nonexistent. I gathered my things, ready to charge out of that scorching office, until she held me back wanting to shed some light on another topic.

M e d i c a t i o n.

I glanced over my shoulder as if she were talking to someone else – not a soul. I was disappointed in myself. All of the progress I thought I made had quickly vanished without a trace. I couldn’t help but listen to that voice in my head, the one who was an expert in convincing me that I was always wrong. How could I allow myself to settle for something as simple as taking a pill? What did this mean – was I just truly going insane? A list was being made right there in my head, you could see the tension in my eyes. I was officially an unfit mother, at least that’s what I convinced myself of… one that needed an extra push to finish the mile. I felt weak in my knees – so I allowed that wave of heat to push me over to that seat… once again. Within seconds it went from a seat holding a bright future for me, to one that left me feeling lost at sea. I was drowning – again – not sure if I wanted any help.

My therapist shared her concerns with an honest tongue. She became intensely vocal – for she just wanted me to understand the reason for her offers. It was up to me, of course, whether or not I wanted to bite the bait. Majority of me wanted to feel better… wanted to get through one day without crying or forcefully telling myself that I was a failure at this whole motherhood craze. In order for me to achieve that, I needed to learn a new type of convincing – one that would convey the normal ness of this new path.

Eventually I would get there, but it took a lot more convincing than I thought.

Face to face with a new journey – pencil in hand, awaiting to reveal the process at large.

Do I bite the bullet? Should I?

62 thoughts on “Bite the bullet.”

  1. Maybe its about perspective. Where im from around Detroit bad parents are the ones who spend their child support and welfare checks on coach bags but have no food or power at home. I think youre as healthy as the rest of us.

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  2. I honestly don’t know what its like to feel like this but my heart goes out to you & think its so brave & honest they way you write & what you’re sharing… bravo!

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  3. Thank you for sharing this. I’m currently working through severe postpartum anxiety and am too scared to even make the first call. Maybe tomorrow is the day?!

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  4. I applaud you for being so open and honest about this process. It is difficult to go through let alone sharing it openly with everyone. You are being very brave and although the road to recovery is long, I’m sure you can conquer it one day at a time.

    xo Sheree
    Posh Classy Mom

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  5. This is such a beautiful post. So raw and honest. I’m struggling with anxiety myself and if I’m honest, probably have been my whole life. I felt such a huge stigma about taking medication but it is helping.

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  6. You write so well, really letting us catch a glimpse of what this is like for you. I have family members who suffer from extreme anxiety and although I don’t personally know what it’s like, I’m able to see a little bit into what it can be like for them when it’s extra hard. Thank you for opening up.

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  7. I’ve been dealing with anxiety all of my life and I did take something that was suppose to help with it when it teen and in my early 20’s. I felt like it did not help me at all, it only made it worse. For me I felt like taking supplements helped me out more than prescript.

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  8. I have anxiety issues and understand how you feel. I have been been on medication for eight years and it can be trying but I support you to try going with ur doctors suggestion and if it doesn’t work you can alter it. You will have to find the best path for you and what you decide that path is should be respected. It can be hard no doubt but it will get better if you trust the process. That can be very hard tho.

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  9. I have not had this experience myself but have had friends who made their own choices of medication or not to medicate themselves. Everyone needs to find their own path within their comfort to find what works for them.

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  10. Thank you for sharing your struggles with us, for in doing so, you are helping the professionals understand not only you, but others struggling through the same thing better. I know it is tough to make a decision about whether to be medicated or not. I have been medicated since I was ten, and sometimes I wish (like you) that I didn’t have to take anything. I also relate to wanting to be listening to and validated, rather than just be given advice (sometimes unsolicited).

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  11. This is a really brave, vulnerable and raw post! Thank you for sharing. It can be so challenging to accept help and open yourself to others, including a therapist, but you are courageous for allowing this change to occur. Keep on being fabulous!

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  12. You’re an incredible writer and my heart goes out to you! If you ever need a chat, let me know- I might not be able to relate to all problems, but I’m an ear to listen! You’re an amazing person and mother❀️

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