#VeryVulnerablePost 😬ðŸ˜
This is me every week both before and after a session of counseling. It's the hardest but best thing I could do for myself. Digging up pain hurts deeply, but my hope is that someday my heart will heal from these pains and I will be thankful that I put in the hard work to get to that place.
Hear me out for this long story, because I have to tell it for my own heart's sake. And I'll just throw this out there now, this is not a pregnancy announcement 😉
In July of 2019, we found out I was pregnant. It was such a sweet surprise. I immediately felt connected to that little baby. A friend of a friend had an Etsy shop, and when I saw this little "Made in Idaho" onesie and booties, I knew I HAD to buy them. I also bought a little hat and mocassins from a separate place too, because I was so excited and happy.
Then at the end of August, I started bleeding. The baby's heart rate was fine, so I was told everything would be okay. I came home from the hospital, and my package of baby things had arrived in the mail that very same day. I was so happy to see these sweet purchases. I snuggled them close and felt relief wash over me that my baby was fine after this scare. We were in the middle of moving into our house, so I packed the outfit on top of my baby box and sealed it up. But then things tragically got worse, and by the end of the next week, our sweet baby was gone.
We moved into our house, and while we were unpacking, I saw a box that wasn't labeled. I opened it, immediately gasped for air, and ran to my room to sob. In that unlabeled box were my baby things, the very things I had saved and bought, sure that this baby would safely join our family the next April. On the top were my purchases I had snuggled close and felt relief. I didn't even think to label the box, because I had no clue when I was packing it up what heartbreaking events would transpire. That tore me to pieces.
Then in July of 2020, I went off birth control to try to have another baby. I immediately plummeted into deep depression, but I knew it was worth it to bring one more baby into our family. One particularly difficult day, I went to Walmart to walk around and pass a little more time. I saw this cute hat on the clearance aisle. I bought it as my motivation to keep going through the depression, because the end result would be worth it. I kept it on my dresser so I could see it each day. We did end up getting pregnant after 3 grueling months, but that pregnancy ended in more heartbreak and tears.
And then I had a complete mental breakdown in 2021 and realized that our baby days were over. I saved my little outfit, booties, and hats, not sure what to do with them. I couldn't get rid of them yet, but I also couldn't bear seeing them sitting there, so I stuffed them away and thought maybe someday I would have the courage to give them to a sweet friend who was expecting.
When I found out that my friend Jessica was pregnant, I just KNEW she was the one I could give these to. I knew she would appreciate and love them and know how much they meant to me. I'm so darn happy for her that it's hard to contain my excitement.
My heart still hurts sometimes, but it is healing, and I know it is healing, because I've found the courage to give away some of my most prized possessions.
According to Charlotte, if I can get to one year of mental stability, then I am considered in "remission." If I can get to five years, then I am basically "cured." The depression is coming up on one month of stability. The anxiety (physical symptoms of anxiety, not the worrying thoughts of anxiety) are still holding on, so that time hasn't started yet. I hope we can get that part under control soon.
Basically, I have to try my very hardest in the next year to avoid any additional stress or certain triggers that could cause a relapse. This means postponing a spring break vacation to Arizona and southern Utah, not having a big family gathering (or really any family gathering) for Brooklyn's baptism, and not pushing myself too hard or committing to too many things.
This is really hard for me. Sometimes I feel like I am ruining my family's life through my struggles, and that hurts me deeply. Sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on such sweet, critical years with my kids, and that hurts me too. More than I can put into words. Sometimes I miss being able to push myself hard and accomplish great things, or being able to commit to a variety of service and social events.
But when I feel the discouragement start to settle in, I remind myself that I am doing all of this BECAUSE I love my family and want to reach my year of stability for them. I remember that my heart is still healing, and that's okay. It's okay to take the time I need to push myself harder. I still wish this could be some other way, but I just have to think how much sweeter all of these things will be when my darkness is finally far behind me.
I think I'm finally ready to talk about this. We'll see if I can have the courage to keep the post up and not take it down.
On August 1st, 2021, I got in my car and drove away from the safety of my home and family with no plan of returning. I felt like I had to escape the relentlessly powerful panic I had been experiencing constantly, and it seemed that there was only one way to do that. I tricked my husband into going to get his shoes on to take a walk, grabbed the keys, and left. The sky was dark and gloomy, but nothing compared to how I felt inside. I got on the highway as my mind was racing about how I was going to proceed. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. But for whatever reason, I kept driving, somehow unable to stop.
Then my phone started to ring. It was my husband. I ignored his call. I was sure that neither him nor anyone else was capable of helping me at that point. All of this had gone too far, and I couldn't bear any of it anymore. My phone rang again. It was my husband again. And once again I ignored him, still thinking that I was beyond saving. Finally on the fourth or fifth call, I hesitantly answered. He begged me to come home. In a voice that I did not recognize coming from myself, I told him that he had to let me go. After a while, he finally convinced me to meet him at a park. He grabbed my completely numb hands and took me to the hospital.
That, my friends, is why my heart and mind are packed to the brim with trauma right now. That is why any semblance of anxiety or depression brings out a response in me like never before.
But that is also why I made this video. Because 190 days later, I've made so many good memories with my family. Maybe less memories than what I would hope if I wasn't still sick much of that time, but little memories and moments nonetheless that I would have missed out on if I wouldn't have stayed, if I wouldn't have trusted in the love of my husband who told me that I was worth saving, if I wouldn't have seen the tiniest glimmer of hope when I realized that maybe there was still an option to live and to not be in so much constant pain.
We have learned in the last 190 days that magic doesn't exist. We're still trying to figure out how to help all of this get better completely, but things are better than they were, and I feel hope that they will continue getting better. I'm so glad now that I didn't give in.
