Medicine Cabinets

For the past 4 days I have been dealing with a killer a cold. I forgot how awful they can be. You see, I don't get sick very often, and this cold really threw me off my game. Luckily I have an incredible husband who handled everything and allowed me the time I needed to recover. I'm finally feeling better, so you know what that means? Someone else in our family is getting sick. That is the way it seems to go with families. No matter how hard we try to not spread our germs around, they tend to get out. Sadly it is our 2.5 year old who is feeling the wrath of the cold now, only hers is accompanied by a fever.

Harper herself doesn't get sick often. In fact this is only the second time I can remember. And last night I found myself digging through our cupboards to try and find some infant tylenol to help with her fever. As I dug through my cabinets I found an old pill bottle. One that belonged to me. It was full of pills for my anxiety. As I scanned the bottle with my finger I read a date of October 14, 2014, and it stopped me. I realized then and there that I surpassed those terrifying feelings. It was a little bit more than four months ago-- the last time I filled that bottle full of pills just in case. Today, I am happy to say that it has been over four months since I touched them. The bottle remains full.

As proud of myself as I am for getting through my postpartum anxiety a bit of pain still lingers. Holding that bottle brought tears to my eyes, quickly followed by feelings of anger. I am angry I was so scared, yet in those moments I couldn't convince myself otherwise. I'm am angry that I suffered from post-partum anxiety, not once, but twice. If I'm being honest sometimes I feel robbed of some of the first crucial moments with both my daughters. I can still remember all the pain. I remember just laying on the floor, multiple times thinking I was dying. I remember being afraid to fall asleep, and afraid to drive. I was afraid of everything. I thought the beauty, that was my life was going to end and I thought these things for no reason at all. In these moments I clung to my husband, my family, and my closet friends. They were my village. They got me through it.

Four months later I think clearly, and it is strange to me that I ever felt that way at all, and that I couldn't get myself through it. But that is anxiety, and depression. And for me it is so hard to explain to people haven't felt it. You just long to feel normal--not plagued by your emotions, and downward spirals. It is the worst.

Four months ago I decided to lead my life, not let life lead me. I decided to stop being so negative. I have my parents to thank for that. They are not negative and I don't think I have said thank you to them enough. They are some of the most positive people I know, even in the hard times. And If they weren't this way they would have given up on me, and I then may have given up on myself. They taught me that through faith and time I can get through  this. That I will indeed heal, and grow. I am forever grateful for them, and for their wisdom. It is because of them that I'm the person I am. A person who looks for the best in everyone. A person who doesn't give up, even when things get tough. It is their values I want my daughters to see in me. It is those values that I want to pass on.

Inside that medicine cabinet was a reminder. A reminder of where I was just a few short months ago and where I am today. Proof that it is ok to accept help. Proof that things indeed do get better.

Four months later I am content with my life. Not fearful. I'm in a place I was afraid I would never get back to. I'm so grateful for that, and my husband, family, friends, and my two beautiful daughters. Thank you for seeing me through, and for continuing to love me, just as I am. In return I promise to always do the same for you.