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I suffer from anxiety. I suspect I’ve battled it for most of my life but wasn’t able to put a label on these feelings until well into adulthood. (I have my 3 wildlings to thank for that.)
I have been able to narrow down the circumstances that trigger my anxiety over the years… running late (for ANYTHING - a birthday party, rehearsals, grocery pickup), chaos and mayhem (basically your typical Saturday afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese), and disorder (clutter, things out of place, papers piled up with no specific home). My body has a physical reaction to these triggers: heart racing, shakiness, finding it hard to breathe normally. The inevitable conclusion: ANGER! Screaming, yelling, tears, overall irritability.
As of a few years ago, I blamed my irritability on everyone and everything else - my boys’ rough housing (why must they always be so loud and rough and… BOYISH?!), the size of my home (2500 sq. ft. is simply NOT enough space for all of our stuff!), and Houston traffic (the never-ending construction on Highway 290).
I like a clean home with my pillows perched perfectly on my couch, sunlight pouring in, all papers put where they need to be (we can talk about my obsession with file cabinets later), and nothing out of place. Is that too much to ask?!
“If ever there were a cure for perfectionism, it would be parenthood: babies… and toddlers… and KIDS.”
During my first pregnancy, I was introduced to an entirely new world where preparation is useless and I am not in charge. Besides the fact that it took me 6 months to get pregnant (exactly 5 more months than I was planning on), I did not have a “normal” pregnancy or delivery. I was put on modified bed rest for 2 of the 3 trimesters, went into premature labor around 22 weeks, and ended up in an emergency c-section after trying to labor naturally for 36 hours. (I’m talking midwife, doula, a labor playlist on my iPod, and a big bathtub - NATURAL). After pushing for 5 hours, they finally wheeled me off to surgery where they ended up putting me under general anesthesia, due to a hot spot in my lower abdomen.
Needless to say, that was one of my first introductions to an alternate universe where NOTHING went my way and life gave me the big middle finger.
For the first few years of motherhood, I tried desperately to shove this tiny human into MY normal day-to-day routine and schedule. And was constantly living in the “if only” universe:
“If only he would learn to sleep through the night…”
“If only he could take longer naps…”
“If only he wouldn’t scream in the gym childcare…”
If only. If only. IF ONLY.
And honestly, it wasn’t until the introduction of a second child that I realized that I needed to change my life to accommodate them. (It was also around this time that I developed my complete dependence on coffee. Coincidence? I think not.)
I went through a very challenging stage where anger was my dominant emotion. Anything and everything would set me off. I can’t tell you how many times I organized the playroom - I would literally be right behind my boys as they played, tidying up and putting things back in their places. If I was unable to get both boys down for a nap at the same time during the day, I would consider the entire day a failure. Taking both boys to the grocery store would straight up cause me an anxiety attack - to the point where I had to just leave my cart in the middle of the store and walk out. (Can I get an AMEN for HEB’s curbside pickup?!)
“What an awful shopping experience today. Two full hours of two hungry boys and a whole lot of whining. At one point, both boys were crying and I quickly and carelessly grabbed an item off the shelf, resulting in a Perrier bottle falling to the ground, shattering to a million pieces on top of me. Oh, the life of a mom!” 04.24.13
I even went as far as putting Jackson in occupational therapy for 6 months because I was convinced there was something wrong with him. Why couldn’t he play nicely? Why did he have to be so rough? Why am I so tired?! Y’all, he was 4.
My poor husband would get the brunt of it all. He would walk in the door at the end of his work day to a strung-out wife who was ready to dump-and-run. Bless. His. Heart.
I was sitting at my kitchen table one day, venting about my daily frustrations when my soft-spoken mother interrupted me to say, “I’m worried about you. You always seem to be so ANGRY.”
At first, I got very defensive. Arguing with her that I had every right to be angry (which wasn’t entirely untrue). But the more I spoke, the more I realized that I didn’t like this version of myself.
“I was stretched thin. On the verge of snapping. Lashing out to my husband, my children, and even my friends. The dark monster within me was in complete control.”
I was tired of always “seeing RED.”
I made an appointment with my doctor and she prescribed me Prozac “just to take the edge off.” Let me clarify - it did NOT take my anxiety away. But it did calm me down in the heat of the moment, just long enough to breathe, refocus, and develop a plan of action.
Side note: For those of you who are battling similar anxieties, please talk to your doctor about it. Medication is not for everyone. And not everyone will have the same positive experience as I have. But I pray no one will ever feel ashamed to ask for help. Medication doesn’t have to be permanent. But neither are these stages in our lives.
Finally, there was a shift in my thinking. I realized that no one could convince me to stop, listen, feel, breathe, rest. I needed to firstly “give myself permission to be tired, to be weak, to need.” I needed to allow God to breathe life back into my soul:
““You’ve done enough. It’s okay to be tired. You can take a break. I’ll take care of you. I see how hard you’re trying.””
My chronic illness has saved my life. In the past year, I have stopped striving for perfectionism and order and structure. Because it was all stripped away. I’m not going to lie - this transition has been absolutely terrifying. But so necessary to begin to ENJOY my life again! To enjoy my boys (chaos and all), to enjoy the comfort of my untidy home, to enjoy the relief that comes from canceling plans to watch movies all day because anything else is just not physically possible.
I sit here, in the middle of spring break, and am so damn PROUD of myself. 2 days ago, I loaded all three boys into my mini van (#swaggerwagonforlifeyo), drove 40 minutes away to explore a new park with friends, played, and shopped at Trader Joe’s.
All. By. Myself.
“A day in the life…” 06.06.19
There was definitely a time in my motherhood journey where taking the boys alone anywhere would terrify the hell out of me. Because there will always be at least one child who misbehaves, runs away from me, disrespects me with his words, and gets hurt. One child will always forget his water bottle, get offended by another brother, and want a snack.
And the old-Christine would not handle situations like those very well. I would normally avoid public places or stores for fear of “losing control.”
But the new-Christine knows that true control is not possible and the entire idea of power is completely false. So why should I waste any energy on worry??… at least that’s what I’m working on.
““If I had my life to live over, I would perhaps have more actual troubles but I’d have fewer imaginary ones.””
