Posted in anxiety, Depression, family, kids, Life, Mental Health, motherhood, parenting, People, relationships, women

Life Explosion!

It’s been almost a week since I have written anything, mostly because I’ve been too busy and too distracted to get any writing done. As I may or may not have mentioned, my eldest daughter, who will be turning 21 at the end of this week, and her boyfriend Dylan, had to move suddenly from their property up in Boulder Creek, so…when you are in your early twenties and life shows up to kick your ass, you go home to mom. At least, that’s what I did in my early 20’s! I guess it’s a family tradition.

Anyway, I have the two of them in Cammy’s room, and Cammy in my room with me, two extra people is a big change after all these months alone with Cam. But you know what? It isn’t so bad.  The downside is that they get up almost as early as I do, which means that my meditation practice and my time to write in the morning is being infringed upon. But other than that (and I’m sure I can figure out a way to resolve that with some effort) I can honestly say I feel better than I have in a while. I’m happier, I have adults to talk to, I don’t get to spend so much time obsessing over why I feel so depressed and anxious all the time. Because now I’m not so depressed and anxious. Maybe I’ve just been a lot more lonely than I thought.

Plus, it doesn’t hurt that with the two of them and Cam here, I feel like my little family is whole again. The three of them are my favorites, honestly. Dylan and I used to have terrible fights, but that was a long time ago, and we are so close now…I can’t imagine him not being around. Aisley and I have had our issues as well- being mother and daughter, and all the stuff we’ve been through…but we seem to be getting along well. She’s been really helping out around here, which is amazing. But the best part is that we have been having so much fun, just talking to each other, telling stories about our lives, and laughing so hard! I definitely need all that laughter. I tend to get a little too serious on my own.

I’m not going to lie, though- knowing this is just temporary makes it a lot more easy to deal with. They are planning on staying through the holidays and then moving into their own place, so I will just enjoy our time together.

In other news, I can finally sit and stand comfortably again after my exercise class a week ago. I’m not even kidding, I REALLY messed myself up last week- in a good way, I guess, but dammit…all movement required serious thought by Tuesday last week, and remained a major issue through at least Friday. The class is tonight and I think I’m going to do it again! The only way to get stronger is to keep going, right?

And finally, my trip to Salem is getting so close! We leave October 19th, and it will be my first time ever on the east coast. I am super, super excited! I’ll make sure to share my Instagram handle with you guys so that you can see my pictures from my trip if you want to. I can’t wait.

All in all, life is looking up- I’m feeling better, mostly because I just haven’t had time to think…and maybe that is a really good thing for me. I’m starting to think that thinking might be my biggest problem of all.

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Posted in Addiction, alcoholism, Depression, fitness, funny, inner peace, Life, Musings, People, random, Weight Loss

The tale of my accidental class at the gym

gym

My attitude about working out has morphed over the past few years. For a good long while, I was really consistent at the gym- I’d hired a personal trainer, I went to Body Pump classes (which I LOVED, and I highly recommend to anyone, really), and I even worked out at home when I couldn’t make it to the gym. I actually got really strong- surprisingly so! For a little while, anyway.

The thing is, I was mostly motivated by hatred of my poor body, and the few extra pounds I’d put on once I got clean. Anything motivated by hatred is probably not going to be a stunning success, if you ask me. For whatever reason, my stint at the gym fizzled out, and I pretty much stopped going. After a time of inactivity, I came to the realization that I felt better mentally when I was exercising, and so I went back, to a different gym, and started there- but I had a pretty weak little routine, and I certainly never pushed myself in any way.

Throughout all of this, my eating habits have fluctuated between strictly healthy- like, WAY too strict to be sustainable, and disappointment that it wasn’t working, followed by periods of “fuck-it-all-anyway” when I would just eat whatever, because what even was the point of all this torture?! Throughout all of this, my weight stayed roughly within the same ten pound range, never getting much lower, but never getting much higher, either. No matter what new program or routine I was following. I never stuck with anything long enough for it to work, I guess. I just thought it was funny that I never really gained much in my long off periods, either.

For the past several months, I’ve been on a kind of “this is just who I am, deal with it” kick. I’m tired of hating myself for being chubby. There are worse things. Plus, by moaning and groaning about my body, what am I teaching my young daughter? That my entire self worth is tied up in the circumference of my waist? No, thank you. Confidence in queen, is it not? And I have plenty of things to be proud of- lets talk about those things to this impressionable young lady. So, I have been more careful of the way I speak, and I am trying to model some good things, but…

I really needed to get back to the gym. I hadn’t been once this month, and seriously? I am battling this low-grade depression every single day, and it sucks. One of the things that really helps is exercise. I’ve come to a place where I understand that I am still within a “normal” weight range, and that my perception of myself isn’t necessarily the truth. I’ve gotten to a point where I just want to be healthy- mentally and physically- and the hardest part is just making myself do the work. So, yesterday, I decided that I would go back to the gym.

By the time I got off work, I really just wanted to lay down and take a nap. That’s how I feel every day when I get off work, to be honest. But, with all the upheaval in my home lately- my older daughter moving back, and all the new pets, and all the new chaos, I knew I had to take care of myself if I wanted to remain sane. So, despite my longing not to, I went to the gym. I got there, and started digging around in my purse for my phone. Guess what? No phone. I’d left my mother-loving phone at home. This has happened maybe twice in my entire life- that thing is like a part of my goddamned arm, for Pete’s sake! And how was I supposed to do ANYTHING without music to listen to?!

I sat there for a good long moment, in my car, staring vacantly at my daughter in the backseat, trying to figure out if it was just not meant to be, and if I should go home. BUT. There was a class starting in ten minutes that I had been thinking about taking for, I don’t know, like a year now? I mean…what’d I have to lose?

You know what I had to lose? Control of my legs, that’s what. I took the class. I made it through the whole stupid thing. Fifteen minutes in, there was a short break and I used it to run to the front counter to desperately purchase a bottle of water. I barely made it through the gym. My thighs were locking up and shaking so badly that I had to be very, very careful. But you know what? I went back! I went back, and I did the kettle-bell squats and the jumping jacks and the goddamned fifteen minute (maybe one minute) planks, and I finished that sucker. I did it. I got dizzy, nearly fainted, made terrible noises, almost barfed, poured sweat and did some of it with very little movement. But I finished it.

I cannot feel my legs today. I will have to trust fall onto the toilet for probably the rest of the week. It’s so bad that it doesn’t even hurt yet, it’s just…numb. But the truth is, it felt really good to push myself for once. I may have gotten in a little over my head yesterday, but I needed to do it, and I didn’t even know it. I’m still proud of myself this morning. I might feel differently tomorrow, but…I can’t wait to do it again!

Posted in Addiction, adventure, alcoholism, anxiety, Blogging, Depression, faith, family, Goals, Life, Mental Health, Musings, recovery, twelve step

Reflecting on After The Party

party's over

Did you know that I have been writing this blog for 6 years now?

Sure, I haven’t been consistent…I mean, this blog is a lot like my real life in that way. As true to form as could be, I have been sporadic, I can’t follow a theme, I don’t stick to the subject at hand. I guess that is the one way I am consistent- by being totally inconsistent. Well, dammit. Now I’ve said the word “consistent” so many times that it’s started to sound weird to me.

Anyway, here it is. I have pretty much laid out my life and my truth here through a lot of shit over the past six years. I struggled mightily with my addiction, and I kept writing through it. I told on myself, sometimes I tried to make it look prettier than it was, sometimes I thought I’d succeeded, and then…looking back, the truth is pretty clear to me, what a mess I was. I don’t know if I had anyone else fooled. It doesn’t really matter.

What matters is that I kept going. That, throughout all of those years, I never stopped trying and I never lost hope. I was scared sometimes…I lost my mind many times, and lost myself, but I somehow never totally lost hope. I knew that I could do it, I just knew that I could. And look at me now…three years and some change into this latest foray into recovery, here I sit, still clean, still hanging in there.

It looks nothing like I thought that it would. In some ways, it is so much better, and in other ways, it’s just…underwhelming. It’s just life. I don’t wake up every single day ecstatic that I am not using drugs anymore, over the moon that I get to be sober another day. I wake up and wonder why I can’t seem to get my laundry folded, or why “other people” (whoever they may be) have their shit together so much more completely than I do. This is REAL life…and real life is not an Instagram feed or the things we post on Facebook, it’s not even the happy face we put on for the world. Real life is not the highlight reel, it is the piles of shit on the kitchen table, the lost keys, the sitting on the toilet and realizing there is no toilet paper and there’s no one home to yell to for help. Real life is what is happening to everyone, all the time, around and through all the beautiful moments. Because I am clean, I get to be a part of that.

But because I wasn’t clean for so long, I am still, even at 43, even with all this time clean now, adjusting to this reality. I am also dealing with the weird personality tics- such as: low self-esteem, poor coping skills, boundary issues, people pleasing, isolating tendencies, anxiety and probably a little depression thrown in to spice up the pot- that most likely led me to going all in with my addiction in the first place.

Basically, I thought that getting clean would be the solution to all of my problems. What I have learned is that getting clean was the first major obstacle I had to clear to start dealing with a bunch of other problems. My addiction is just a symptom of other, much more deeply rooted bullshit. And now I am trying to fix myself.

This past few years have been HARD. But, on the flip side of that, they have also been, hands down, the best years of my adult life. Easily. I mean, I could just cry thinking about it. I have healed so many relationships that were deeply wounded. I am so close with my mom, and so incredibly close with my daughters. I can look anyone in the eye, at any time, and not feel ashamed of who I am. I have stopped being so angry. I have learned how to hear myself, sometimes even before I speak, and my words don’t have to hurt people anymore. Because I am not in pain on a deep, soul-level anymore, I don’t have to lash out and make sure everyone around me is hurting, too. On the contrary, I spend a lot of my time trying to show the people I love that I love them. I think about ways I can make their lives better. And if you understand addiction at all, if you’ve been there yourself or if you’ve witnessed the destruction wrought by an addict that you love, you understand how monumental that is. I no longer hurt or destroy everything that I touch.

I no longer hurt or destroy everything that I touch…I needed to say that again. Because I don’t ever want to be that person again, and yet, even knowing what I know, I have been STRUGGLING lately. I have wanted to give up. To quit being in recovery, to quit going to meetings, to just have one fucking little drink. Because I want to relax. Because I feel like I need something outside of myself to help me let go a little bit. Because alcohol was never a problem for me, so why can’t I just have a glass of wine? Or a beer? Or maybe a shot of tequila for old times sake? I just want to be NORMAL.

But you know what? I am not “normal” in the way I think of normal being, and I know this. I know that if I have a drink, it might be just a drink for now…but eventually, it would turn into something far bigger than I could even try to control. And you know, next time, I might not be so lucky. I might not make it back. So, here I am, reminding myself of one of the overused but oh-so-appropriate NA sayings…just for today. Just for today, I can not drink, right? I don’t have to think about forever, or even tomorrow. Just today. I know I can do that.

I started this blog because I wanted to write something funny and relate-able and real that other people in my position could find themselves in. I wanted it to be a success story, and an inspiration, and most of all, I wanted to be honest. I think I have done that. I’m not about to stop now, whether 500 people are reading, or only two. My life isn’t always pretty or fun, but I can promise you that it has been much, much more meaningful after the party ended. And let’s be honest- the party was over long before I ever found my way home.

 

Posted in Addiction, alcoholism, anxiety, Depression, health, inner peace, Life, Mental Health, misinformation, People, recovery, twelve step

Fear, Shame, & the Stigma of Addiction

stigma

Something I am really riled up about right now is the stigma and shame around drug addiction. SO MANY people do not understand what it really is, what it is really like, and how it feels when you are in the grips of it. They get upset that it is classified as a disease, and they say that it is a choice…which…I mean, even drug addicts themselves feel guilt and shame around this. Trust me, I was one of them. For a long time, I thought it really was my fault, and I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just quit, why I insisted on making my life so much harder than it had to be.

Well, news flash! It might start off as a choice- a BAD choice, obviously- but lots and lots of young people experiment with drugs. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that a really healthy chunk of the population has, at one time or another, tried drugs. Lets not forget that alcohol is prevalent almost everywhere, and it is one of the most highly addictive and destructive drugs that exist- why do you think AA started WAY back when? It wasn’t just a friendly, old-timey social club. Anyway, not everyone gets addicted. But for some of us, for whatever reason, our brains get a little hit of that euphoria, and from that moment on, we just want MORE. To our detriment. As our lives crumble, as our dreams wither up, as our families cry and beg for us to change. And we promise to try, we promise to pull it together, we want to get better, but…

It’s not a choice anymore. Something has us in a grip so massive that we can’t stop killing ourselves. So maybe it isn’t a disease the way that cancer is. I will give you that, if it hurts you to think of it that way. But what about OCD? Bipolar disorder, or other mental illnesses? Would you judge someone harshly for having something like that? Because to me, addiction is a mental illness (and usually not a stand-alone one, either) and it’s no more my fault than it would be if I had…say, an ulcer. Or maybe diabetes that I controlled with my diet and lifestyle. Other people might do the same things that I did, and be okay. But some people aren’t, because something inside of them is different.

Sure, now that I know better and I have it under control, I can manage it by avoiding the things that would make me sick again, and by taking my “medicine” (meetings, therapy, watching what I eat and how I behave and paying attention to my thoughts and feelings). Just the way someone with diabetes has to monitor their diet and their glucose and all of that. I know that if I don’t do those things, I am putting myself in danger of a relapse. I am now responsible for my continuing health. But I was not responsible for the way my particular body reacted to the substances I foolishly tried.

Here’s the thing, though: People get sick and they aren’t afraid to go to the doctor and ask for help. They are not judged by their doctor when they show up sick. They don’t generally fear repercussions from their employer if they are ill. But do you know how many people walk around every single day, desperate for help with their substance abuse problems, but terrified to reach out because of what might happen to their lives? Not all addicts are the people you see on the streets, acting crazy. It isn’t always that obvious. Many of us are high functioning professionals with a LOT to lose. And asking for help is terrifying.

I stayed sick for a really long time because I was afraid to tell the truth, afraid of what would happen to me, and to my family. I was lucky.  I got the help I needed and I got to keep my job, I got to tell the truth to my boss, and she was compassionate and concerned. That is not everyone’s story.

But I really think it should be. We don’t throw people away like garbage because they aren’t working correctly. You don’t KNOW…you don’t know what kind of beautiful human being is there, underneath that illness. The addicts I have known in my lifetime, and there have been LOTS of them, are not garbage. Not even when they were using. Even the worst people I have known had redeeming qualities, and intelligence, and loyalty, and very, very few of them did not dream of getting better. I can’t think of one person out of hundreds that didn’t want to lead a better life.

We should be able to ask for help when we need it. When someone asks for help, we should help them. When someone is sick, even if it makes us uncomfortable and afraid, we should help them find their way to help. Addiction is stealing the lives of our friends, our family members, and our children, many times over, every day. Addiction is destroying the lives of not only the addict, but the addicts parents, and the addicts children. It is a disease of loneliness and disconnection. It might help a lot to end the stigma and remove the shame. It’s a terrible life to be stuck in. When someone is reaching out, we have to reach out, too.

And that’s what I am thinking about this morning.

1-800-662-HELP is the number for SAMHSA, Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration. Call someone if you need help, or even if you just want to know how to help someone you love.

Posted in anxiety, Depression, inner peace, Life, Mental Health, mindfulness, Musings, People

Changing Your Mind

change your mind

Yesterday, I had a little breakthrough. It all started because I made up my mind on Sunday (statistically, the day I am most likely to make up my mind about things because, as you may know by now, I am the one person on earth who loves Monday’s, since they are the start of a fresh, shiny new week) night that I was going to have a good week this week. Anyway, I woke up yesterday feeling groggy but hopeful, and within an hour or so of waking, I had worked up a little enthusiasm for the week.

Would I allow my anxiety to get started? NO. Would I be enthusiastic and engaged in my life? YES. There is a little cheerleader who secretly lives in my brain (don’t tell anyone, please) and she comes out when I let her, to get me all excited about the possibilities. Yesterday was a good day for her. Which usually means it will be a good day for me, too. Obviously, we are one and the same, it’s just that I have a hard time identifying with a cheerleader, so I like to compartmentalize. Anyway…

Some things that have been troubling me were examined and re-framed. One of them was this whole worry about my kid thing- I talked to the principal last week and found out that there are at least two teachers present during pick-up, one of whom is usually him, and the fact that he knows Cam, and is aware that she is being picked up after school, and who is picking her up- that went a long way towards soothing my worries. Plus, this is the second week now, so it has become more routine. You know how I love my routines. So, that is under control for now.

Another thing has been work. Since we have gone to a new computer system, work has been chaotic and so very different. What I thought would be an easy transition has actually been like starting a brand new job, and after ten years of doing the same thing every day, it has been a major disruption to my routine (there’s that word again). But you know what I realized yesterday? There has never been a task set before me that I could not master- not ever, not once, at least not at work. I can’t think of anything outside of work, either, to be honest. I’m not saying I am great at everything, but I am teachable. I am smart enough to figure things out. This will be no different. So my goal now is to learn this system and become proficient at it, and I think that will come with time. Knowing that, I can relax a little bit.

Finally, yesterday was the one year anniversary of my friend Joe’s death- I’ve written plenty about him, but in case you missed it, his death shook me pretty hard. I’ve made peace with it- what else is there to do? But it occurred to me how blessed I am to be alive, to have all of these opportunities to evolve and change and get better. Rather than sit in my shit and expend all of my limited energy being upset, worried, and critical of myself, I should probably find a way to celebrate my very life, reflect on all those blessings, and be attentive to the things that I get right. Doesn’t that sound so much better? Yes, I thought so, too.

Which brings me, finally, to the point of this post. I am not naive enough to believe that simply making up your mind to be happy will solve all of your problems, believe me. Mental illness, to whatever degree you may suffer it (and seriously, we all have our shit) is REAL. But the mind IS a powerful thing, and on a good day, we can get ahead of the game a little bit if we set ourselves up in the right way. I do believe that is possible. I have gotten really good, over the years, at noticing the ways in which my thoughts go wrong and lead me to trouble. I used to think the most awful things about myself until I really started paying attention, and now I am much less likely to go off the rails thanks to my inner mean-girl insulting me- but it took time, lots of time, and lots of noticing it.

Well, yesterday, I noticed that my mind tends to focus on all of the things that I couldn’t get to in a day, or forgot to do, or could have done better. The thing is, I have unnaturally high expectations of myself, and of other people, if I’m being totally honest. Which makes it hard for me to like and accept myself, and doesn’t make it easy to be my friend, either. Passing acquaintance, yes. Good friend? Not so much. But that is a blog for another day. Right now, I want to tell you how, once I started noticing my tendency to fixate on what hadn’t gone right in my day,  it was super easy to change my mind to focus on what I HAD done, and what HAD gone right. I simply changed my focus. Again, and again, and again. I congratulated myself on everything that I had accomplished. I said out loud how proud I was of myself. I called myself a good mom. I’m really glad no one could hear me, because I probably sounded crazy.

The thing is, by the time I threw my happy ass into bed, I was all aglow with my own praise. I know, I know- this sounds weird as hell. But you know what? Who cares? It worked for me. It felt good. And honestly, there is no one else around to give me the positive reinforcement that I crave as a human being, so why not provide it for myself? It’s certainly not hurting anyone.

Replacing a negative thought with a positive one. Noticing an achievement rather than a “failure”. Giving yourself props instead of tearing yourself down. Exercising your power to change your mind, to choose your thoughts and perspective. What a concept, huh? Maybe all this mindfulness bullshit isn’t bullshit at all.

Have a wonderful day!

 

 

Posted in Addiction, anxiety, Depression, health, Life, Mental Health, Musings

Realization Dawns

anxiety

Recently, I was wrapping things up with my therapist, and just before we were done with our session she said something like- “Oh, well you have anxiety anyway, so that makes sense.”, and she said it so matter of factly, and I was a little bit offended for some reason, like, pssshh- I get a little nervous sometimes, but I wouldn’t say I have anxiety! Which is so funny, now that I think about it, because…I obviously HAVE anxiety. I must have been in a really good phase or something, because her words kind of wounded me. I just don’t think of myself that way.

That’s the tricky thing about MY particular set of mental peculiarities. I am not anxious all of the time. It comes and goes with me. There are certain situations which trigger massive anxiety, and once my thoughts start spiraling out of control, it is very hard for me to pull myself back into logic and reality. One of those is, clearly, my children. There have been times when it was worry about my health. Occasionally, I will obsess over losing my job or having to move. But all of these are pretty manageable except for the one about my kids. That is my big-ticket item, the one that I can make myself physically ill over.

So, when things are going along nicely, and our routine is well established, and nothing weird happens, I forget that I even have anxiety. Because, technically, when I have nothing to be anxious about, I kind of DON’T have anxiety. But that’s the thing- there will always be times when things don’t go as planned. I can’t control every single situation so that it works for me, and I really shouldn’t have to. Sometimes people’s phones die. Sometimes they are running late, or they lose track of time. These little tiny things, innocent, average, every day things, can make me lose my mind. When I can’t reach my little one’s dad because his phone is on the charger, or she is at the fair with a family friend who lost track of time, I don’t think “Oh, they’re fine.”, I think “Well, I better get in my car and go look for the wreck they were in”, only in a more screamy voice.

Anyway, I am in a lot of private groups on Facebook, and the other day I joined several more- groups for people with anxiety. After I had my meltdown on Tuesday, I just thought maybe an anxiety support group might help. So I joined three. Last night, a girl posted that she had been obsessing about a pretty unlikely health worry, and that she knew it was silly, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it, and she couldn’t stop pacing, and she was exhausted, and I reached out to her, and so did a lot of other people, with stories of their own, and with…well, support. Here’s the thing: Not one single person said “Oh, come on, that is so ridiculous! Of all the things to worry about, you think you have THAT?” Which, if it were any other group I am in, that would have been said. Instead, at least three other people confided that they had shared the exact same fear at one point, and others shared similarly unlikely worries. Everyone got it.

And I woke up this morning still thinking about that. That not only did I totally get where she was coming from, but everyone in the group that spoke up did, too. And that is when it hit me- I TOTALLY have anxiety. These people are my people, because they get it. When I am freaking out, even when I know I am being crazy, I just can’t stop being scared. Fear literally takes over my body, and will not listen to reason.

And here’s the deal- this is not a new thing, not at all. I started having full blown panic attacks at the age of 17, sometimes as many as five, six, or seven every single day. I didn’t know what they were, so I thought I was either going crazy or someone was poisoning me. The only problem with the poisoning theory was that I was around different people all the time. So instead of realizing that this was improbable, my poor, sick brain assumed that everyone was trying to kill me, and I just stopped eating food that anyone else had touched. Do you know how difficult this is? I lost a ton of weight, and my mom said something like “My god, you look like you are dying of cancer.” Which, of course, gave me a whole new set of worries to obsess about.  Honestly, the only reason I pulled myself out of that mess was because I got so sick of worrying all the time that I just said “Fuck it, I can’t live like this anymore- if I’m going to die, so be it, but I have got to eat.” And I just threw all caution to the wind and ate at Denny’s. From that day on, I stopped having panic attacks, and thought I was cured.

But…here I am, at 43, realizing that it never really went away. I masked it for many many years with drug abuse, and now I am discovering that it has been here all along. It was just covered up. I am so lucky that I can talk about it to the people around me- my boss knows that I get weird, sometimes, and she is super supportive. And I am sort of the quirky friend, the crazy co-worker, the funny-but-super-high-strung one. Being the oddball is kind of my thing. I’ve made it into a bit of a joke, I guess. Because it make it more tolerable, for me and for everyone else, too. Which made me forget, or not notice, that it is real. The moments when I want to cry because I’m so scared, when I can’t sit still, when I can’t breathe, when I can’t slow down my fucking insane thoughts- that’s not funny at all.

My point is, I guess, that I woke up this morning and realized that I really, really have anxiety. And that it’s been part of my life since early adulthood- this is NOT a new thing. It might look a little different, my fears might have changed a little bit, but the feelings? They are exactly the same. And now I get to figure out what happens next. But I have found some people just like me, and I am much less afraid.

Posted in anxiety, Depression, health, kids, Life, Mental Health, motherhood, women

My Terrible Thoughts

 

99problemsI don’t have a ton of time this morning, so this will get right to the point- I need to share about it before it fades away completely. Yesterday was a disaster. Not because a single bad thing happened, but because I spent the entire day worrying-no, obsessing- about what MIGHT happen.

And do you want to know what caused all of this obsessive worry? Well, I’ll tell you, but you better not fucking laugh at me (go ahead, I can’t see you anyway.). Okay, ready? Here it is: My daughter walked from her classroom down to the pickup area, with three other kids, and got a ride home from the lady who babysat her all summer. Yes, you read that correctly. No, nothing is missing from the story. That is what made my day into a living hell yesterday. We changed our routine.

For a “normal” person, this would have been a non-event. Or maybe even a big relief, right? No running across town on my lunch hour to pick up a kid and then trying to rush back within the 30 minutes allotted to me? Sounds great!

For me, unfortunately, every new situation, everything slightly outside of what I am used to, turns into this other thing. I imagine a plethora of things that might go wrong, and at least as many things that are extremely unlikely to go wrong, but still so scary. What if she gets lost? What if the teacher doesn’t get my note and won’t let her go? What if she gets lost and an adult offers to help her, only it’s really a serial killer and he lures her into his car? What if…what if I NEVER SEE MY CHILD AGAIN?! I know this sounds so silly that it’s comical, but when these thoughts are going through my head, they are terrifying. I get sick to my stomach, and my hands get clammy. No matter what I do, the thoughts keep building and growing more and more awful, and I honestly lose control of them. I don’t really know how to make them stop.

But here’s the thing- there is also a rational part of my brain that absolutely knows that I am being crazy. That none of these things are (probably) going to happen, and that I am ruining my day for NO REASON.

I just wish I knew how to stop being this way. Honestly, there isn’t enough CBD in the world to tackle thoughts that big.

Of course, my daughter made it home just fine. But I wasn’t fine. Do you know what panic like that does to your body? I could cry right now because I am still feeling the effects of that stress on me, 15 hours later. I went to bed at 7 last night, drained from all the worry.

This is just not okay. I have got to fix this before I start making her terrified of everything. Because that is where this is headed- not only will I be miserable, but I’ll have a child who is scared of the world. I guess I’m not done with therapy yet, huh?

Here’s to an easier day today.