I think most of us have heard that saying before. And it's true.

Anxiety.

Such a small word for such a big, horrible thing.

I wanted to share my story about my journey with anxiety in the hopes that maybe it will help at least one person out there.

I never really felt like an anxious person growing up, but looking back now I realize I probably dealt with anxiety on some level, even as a child. I handle really tough situations very well, but everyday struggles seem to be my downfall.

My first anxiety attack landed me in the ER at the age of 22 over what I thought was a heart attack. I know this is all too common, and I've read countless posts online of other people that have gone through the same thing. It's comforting to know I'm not alone. Or crazy.

At the time, I was married to my first husband (yes I've been married twice *gasp* I'll fill you guys in on that story in another blog post ;) He was in the Army and I was in school to be a Registered Medical Assistant. I LOVED going to school for this and was not bothered by blood or any other bodily fluids, this was my calling. But there was this particular day where we were learning how to use certain medical machines. And as with every student in the healthcare field, we practiced on each other.

The first machine we practiced with was the EKG machine. It was my turn to play patient and my report was abnormal: myocardial infarct. My professor laughed it off and joked that I was about to die. I too tried to laugh it off. Later that evening I was home alone, my ex (Mark) was at work, and I was bored. I decided to rearrange my living room furniture (something I still do a lot to this day). After heaving and pulling our heavy sectional around the room several times, I was finally finished and plopped down to rest. That's when it started. Racing pulse, pounding heart, numb tingling limbs, numb face. I called my mom in a panic who tried to calm me down, nothing worked. All I kept hearing in my head was "myocardial infarct, you're about to die." I called Mark, who came home and took me to the ER. Mind you, this was the Army hospital. So after 7 hours and an a-hole doctor making me feel like a crazy person, I was sent home with muscle relaxers and a bruised ego. I was embarrassed.

That was the last time I'd have a panic attack for over a year. Shortly after that episode, I found out I was pregnant. My pregnancy with my daughter was so wonderful. I wasn't stressed, I had graduated school, and was able to stay home for my full 41 weeks of pregnancy. I felt great. No more anxiety and no more panic.

But then she was born. Don't get me wrong, that was the most amazing experience of my life, but what happened after sent me into a downward spiral. I wrote about my trauma after my daughter was born in my blog post titled "My Twins Premature Birth Story". Go check it out to get the details on what happened to me.

After my emergency surgery, I assumed all would go back to normal. I was wrong. I was miserable. Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, cried all of the time, worried about every little ache or pain I felt. I went to see my OB/GYN who diagnosed me with Postpartum Anxiety and sent me home on two different types of meds. It was official, I was crazy. Or so I felt.

Little did I know, I would rely on one of those medications for 3 more years to feel like a normal person. I tried coming off several times, only to relapse and go right back on them. Even on the medicine, I would still have the occasional anxiety attack, just not as severe as they were without them.

I was obsessed with my health (or lack thereof). I was constantly thinking there was something wrong with my heart and I was going to kick the bucket any day. And it was much worse because I had this beautiful, new, perfect baby girl to live for. What would she do without me? I wasn't ready to die. These are the thoughts that would pulse through my mind, and the anxiety would be in full swing.

This is a miserable way to live, it's not living. Going minute by minute worrying about living is not living at all. 

People would tell me "just stop worrying" or "ya know, in the Bible it says you shouldn't be anxious about anything". As a Christian, this would really bother me. No one with anxiety wants it and would do just about anything to stop it. You even tell yourself, "this is just anxiety, I'm fine, God is in control". But once in an anxiety attack, it's impossible to just "snap" out of it. It takes time.

Flash forward 3 years. I had divorced and was in a new relationship with a wonderful man. We had moved in together and were planning our wedding. That's about the time I found out I was pregnant with my twins. If any of you out there know anything about anxiety medicines, then you know you can't take them while pregnant (or it's highly recommended that you not). I had a friend that continued to take hers while pregnant and her son was born with pulmonary hypertension. So scary.

I stopped my medicine cold turkey and never looked back. I was in a much better relationship with a man that actually loved me. I was more stable than I'd ever been in my life. I was loved. It was time I take back control of my life.

I will be so honest here, it was one of the hardest things I've done to date. Anxiety is no joke and no laughing matter. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. It's a loss of control, an overwhelming sense of doom. But I promise there is light at the end of the tunnel.

It's been almost two years since I stopped taking those medicines. I've never felt better, or stronger. Or more in control. YOU can do it too. Yes, I've had some anxious moments here and there since. I mean, I'm a young mother of 3 and two of them are twin boys. I'm allowed some anxious moments from time to time ;) But I promise it's like a ton of bricks being lifted. I can breath easier, I can enjoy all the moments of life a little more. When I feel anxiety creeping up, I stop and take three deep breaths and say to myself "this is anxiety, and you are better than it." May sound silly, but it works!

I feel regret for missing a lot of my daughter's infancy. I mean, I was there, but I wasn't there too. I was physically there, but mentally, it's all a blur. And that breaks my heart. Good thing is, her and I have made lots of memories since then. I'm pretty sure I've made up for it :) And I'm a much stronger person for having gone through it. I didn't let it define me and I'm proud for that.

I will be praying for and thinking of all of you out there that are fighting this monster. Persevere, keep fighting. You will get through it.

Hugs and Love,