There is something the Lord has been wanting me to share for awhile… I just really haven’t wanted to.  It’s going to require such a vulnerability about something so very personal.  I’ve shared some before about my life long battle with anxiety, but never extreme in-depth.  The past several weeks,  my eyes have been opened even more to the shame that those of us that battle anxiety (and depression) face.  Disclaimer:  This is MY journey. I’m not an expert on this topic and I don’t pretend to be.  My goal here is to share the darkness I’ve faced on many occasions and some of the judgement I did experience.  However, there were also rays of hope and people that spoke life to me and gave me hope.  I want this to be a post that is hope to someone that might be walking this right now.  So that they know they are not alone.  That they are not failing.  That they don’t have weak faith.  That this is not the end.

First things first, I’m not talking about fear.  Fear and anxiety are totally different things.  While fear CAN trigger an anxiety attack, it’s not the same. Fear is based often on a circumstance. Anxiety is a physical reaction that is essentially impossible to control.  If something scares me, it tends to be very temporary.  Anxiety sends me into a spiral where I feel my life is in danger, sometimes the feeling that I’m actually dying, an unexplainable feeling of doom and I go into fight or flight mode.  Most times I shake uncontrollably and sometimes I’m frozen in place.

When I say this has been a lifelong battle, I’m not exaggerating.  I tended to be known as a “scaredy cat” that was “afraid of her own shadow”.  This battle led to my life long battle with insomnia.  I vividly remember lying in my bed night after night convinced there was an intruder.  Many nights, I was overcome with anxiety to the point that I would sneak into the bathroom and lie in front of the toilet (because I was physically ill).  Somehow I convinced myself that I was safer if I slept in front of my door (and I made a pallet there once everyone went to bed).  Storms were also a trigger. Here in Oklahoma, tornado awareness is drilled into us.  So I would lie in bed with storms convinced I was hearing the sounds of a freight train (i.e. the tell tale sign of a tornado).  I’m sure I drove my parents crazy.  For years I had to walk to school and I bet that was quite a sight. I had extreme stranger danger and I would run from one tree to the  next, hiding behind it until I was sure no one saw me or was looking.  There was a long open space with no trees and I hauled rear, RUNNING to get to the safety of the school.  This was about the degree it was for me back then… always convinced “this was the day” that I was going to be kidnapped and adrenaline that made me sprint as if I was running for my life.  Obviously, I had no idea about anxiety at this age… This continued on all through high school and even college.

After childbirth, the hormone swings spiraled me into a whole new nightmare.  Nightmare is the only way I can describe the beast that is post partum anxiety.  My PPA didn’t really start until about 6 months after Chloe was born.  I experienced some at the beginning, but it swung into a whole new thing when I experienced a hormone shift 6 months in.  This was when I experienced my first (well maybe 2nd) panic attack of my life.  I woke up gasping for air with an intense pressure on my chest.  I couldn’t breathe.  I woke Bobby convinced I was having a heart attack and we rushed to the ER. Of course, all tests were normal.  This started increasing in frequency and I went to the Dr. At the time, I had no idea it was a panic attack.  I just knew I had a heart disorder and that I must be dying.  My Dr ran a battery of tests.  I had an echocardiogram, a test for my gallbladder, an endoscopy, a CAT scan and more… trying to find answers.  Shocker, everything was normal.  But I was getting worse.  The panic attacks were daily and I could not keep any food down.  When I say none, I mean none.  Every meal I ate came back up. My weight dropped to 100 lbs and I looked like a shell of myself.  I felt like a shell of myself.  This led to coworkers being convinced that I had an eating disorder.  I was sleeping 2 hours a night, if that.  My milk production stopped.  I was on so many meds that were leading to other issues, it was a nightmare. In all of that, I never knew it was anxiety.  I was in the ER more times with what I believed was heart attacks (I now know what it was).  Friends witnessed these attacks on a few occasions and those moments were humiliating for me.  I got to where I didn’t want to go anywhere.  I begged God to just heal me.  I spent HOURS in the Word.  Hours praying.  Nothing improved.  Months later, the symptoms eased after hormones shifted again and I felt semi-normal again.

Then I got pregnant again.  My anxiety was always totally in check during pregnancy.  It was a glorious time.  Right on time, 6 months after Landon was born, I was hit with a vengeance. This time it took a different form.  Panic attacks yes.  But I started having crazy thoughts.  You know, the ones you read about.  I was horrified.  I loved and adored my babies, where were these thoughts coming from?  I will still never verbalize what they were.  Then I hit a new low… and I don’t know if I have ever told anyone this.  I believed that my kids and husband would be better off without me.  I loved them so much and thought that I was ruining their lives.  I had thoughts of leaving.  Thankfully I realized those were crazy and that was my low… I knew I needed help.  This was where some judgment started to come from people. They questioned my faith.  Questioned that I wasn’t giving God the chance to heal me.  Questioned that I was taking the “easy way out” by choosing to go to my (new) Dr to get placed on medication.  People, hear this:  if someone tells you they are seeking help, realize that there is NOTHING easy about it.  It’s scary.  It’s showing your broken.  It takes EXTREME bravery.  Going to the Dr and telling him everything was hands down the hardest moment of my life.  I was a broken shell of myself in front of him.  Sobbing.  Telling him everything.  Convinced that he would put me in an institution.  He did none of it. He looked at me with the most gentle eyes and said “Heather, we are going to fix this.” He started me on some medications and I had weekly appointments with him for awhile.  I’m telling you, God used those medications to save my life.  Weeks passed and I felt human.

Through my pregnancy with Sophia I was off the meds during pregnancy and doing good. I had a plan with my OB to start the meds in the hospital immediately after delivery, knowing that typically I was hit 6 months later.  We were being proactive.  Unfortunately, it hit me immediately after delivery, including panic attacks in the hospital.  I refused to let Bobby leave me alone with her until about 2 weeks post partum.  It greatly effected our bonding at first because the crazy thoughts had returned.  I didn’t want to do anything insane. I would not be alone with her, period.  I also knew that would be my last pregnancy.  It has gotten more extreme each time and I refused to do it again. Thankfully the meds did their work and 2 weeks in, I could be a “mom”.

Years passed and I was eventually able to get off of my meds.  I can manage on a daily basis without them, but I do carry one for “situational” anxiety and in the event that I have a panic attack everywhere I go.  I’m not 100% anxiety free.  I still face this beast, but thankfully it is nothing like it used to be.  If I ever feel the need to be back on daily meds, I will in a heartbeat.  What I realize now is that it is fully physical. I  can “feel” when I’m ‘off’. I can’t explain it,  but I just ‘know’.  I’m irrational in those moments and those that love me are pretty good about seeing it for what it is.  I’m also good now at telling people, “I’m sorry, I’m overcome with anxiety at the moment, I realize I’m irrational right now”.  I still have adrenaline surges that make me shake uncontrollably.  I’ve learned how to cope much better.  One thing to realize is that this looks different for everyone.  For some, it’s an issue that can be managed with diet and supplements.  For others (me), it’s flat out a genetic issue that they haven’t gotten to the bottom of just yet. I  see it playing out in two of my children and my goal is to offer them extreme grace.  Extreme grace is what should be offered to anyone battling this.  For those that believers, please know this is not a reflection of your faith.  Would you blame someone getting cancer, epilepsy or autism on their faith???  Heck no!  It’s physical.  I think of Paul who often spoke about the thorn in his side in scripture.  He begged the Lord to take it away, but He didn’t. I’ve also begged the Lord to take this from me.  However, what I’ve learned is that I can cling to Him in the storm and that He does give me ways to cope with this.  I also fully believe this is one of the ministries He’s given me.  If you are a momma or daddy, husband or wife, daughter or son battling this right now, there is HOPE.  This does not define you. Try to not let shame keep you captive in a prison that you did not create.  He wins in the end!