Heavy stuff

I have almost completed my first four-day work week. The hours are long, but I think that I will like it if things ever pick up. Tuesday seemed to fly by, and I had a steady stream of work. Wednesday started slowing, and Thursday has been abominably sluggish. I’m looking forward to the weekend, but as always, the forecast calls for rain. I beginning to wonder if we’ll ever have a clear weekend to take David to Thomas Town. We desperately need a few soakers, however, so I will content myself with some indoor organizing and a good book if showers prevail.

My writings are generally restricted to the common knowledge aspects of my family and personal life, but I feel like sharing some deeper struggles.

Last weekend, Johnathan came to bed around 1:00 am and woke me from sound sleep. I had been crampy and exhausted all day, so he asked if I was feeling okay. I absently answered “yes”, but then began to overanalyze the situation. Surely something must be wrong for him to have been asking me that question. I have been known to do odd things when sleep is interrupted, so it’s not very surprising that my brain took this turn. I began to feel very strange and quickly got up for a drink of water. I felt sick and dizzy. Panic hit like a wave, and I spent the next twenty minutes shaking uncontrollably. My heart was pounding, and I felt like I couldn’t take a deep breath. Johnathan put his arms around me, and I asked him to please talk about something to distract me. My “episode” finally edged away, and I eventually drifted into a further-undisturbed sleep. It was quite possibly the worst experience I have ever had. I think that the trigger was wacky hormones. I’m just getting back on cycle after two years of absence (due to pregnancy and breast-feeding). It can’t be an easy adjustment for my body. Moving too quickly made me dizzy and my frazzled nerves did the rest. I’m recognizing triggers like caffeine and sugar, but ultimately, I have to admit that I’m struggling with anxiety issues.

I have been much less anxious this week. When I admit that I have no control over the world around me, I feel an ironic calm settle in. God controls my life from second to second, and I am incapable of drawing my next breath without Him allowing it to happen. If I can acknowledge this, why do I persist in thinking that irrational fear can accomplish anything? I am generally happy and often pleased by the simplest aspects of our world. This seems in direct contrast with the woman who gets a cold and vaguely wonders if it’s the beginning of a life=threatening illness. As a therapist, I know how to help others overcome barriers, so why is it so difficult to apply the same knowledge to myself?

A close family friend suggested that perhaps I have tried to keep too many emotions bottled up. I think this is a large part of my problem. I never addressed hurt and anger, but tried to bury them in an attempt to shield those around me. Sure, I’ve had outbursts. I’ve talked on and off to individuals about what I feel, but ultimately hate “burdening others.” As a result, I’m still carrying a lot of crap around that boils over at inopportune moments. I’m not ashamed to admit this because it’s a step in the right direction. I’m here. I’m acknowledging that I need to get things straight, and I’m putting it out there in order to keep me accountable. Part of it is probably genetic predisposition. I have been skittish and easily freaked out for as long as I can remember. Part of it is declining diet and lack of sleep. I stopped being as strict about food when I got married. As a result, I take in too much sugar, caffeine, and carbs and not nearly enough fruits, whole grains, vegetables, and water. Sleep might play the biggest role of all. I drift to sleep well after I should and often wake several times during the night. I’m always tired. Exhaustion and bad food makes me dizzy. Hormones make me a mess. Feeling dizzy and messy makes me panic. Panicking leads to an attack, which continues to feed the fire.

It seems so absurd to see all of this in type, but as illogical as it seems, it is something that I deal with. Anxiety is a roller coaster for me, and I will often go for long stretches without dealing with bouts. It has increased since marriage, babies, debt, and my parent’s divorce. It has increased since a lapse in my spiritual walk. I’m beginning by getting the last aspect back on track. I will devote time to prayer and study. I also hope to become more organized and educate myself about finances. I have to learn to accept things for what they are and make the best of every situation.

My problems are minor compared to starving children or individuals living in war-torn cities. I have been blessed beyond measure and have no excuse for continuing to allow this to have its way in my life. I’m stronger than that. I’m capable and creative. I’m feeling insanely better simply by getting this out in the open. I’m not going to worry about what people might think when they read this. I’m not attention-seeking or overly dramatic. If you don’t understand what it’s like to be here, consider yourself fortunate and enjoy your life. If you do understand, know that you’re not alone.

The idea that life’s purpose centers around God has been a recurring theme lately. We are designed by God and for His purposes. Our happiness is through Him, and trying to discover purpose and fulfillment through ourselves is pointless. I am currently pondering the thought that God intended for me to be just as I am. He has a purpose for my good points, bad points, strengths, and weaknesses. How reassuring.