It's been far too long since I left words here in this space. Far too long since I sat and looked inside those places that have stories to offer and experience to share; and, I think far too long that I have been ragged and running and fearful and overwhelmed.
I had an experience this week that I feel compelled to write about- it may polarize some of you, and that's ok as I sometimes think some of the best writing does.
It's about a subject in which everyone has an opinion and many people have personal experience and those who might not have personal experience have opinions anyways. Life is muddy like that.
This past weekend was a beautiful weekend. A precious friend I've treasured since high school came for a visit and our time together is always rich, refreshing and restoring. We swing from swimming in the deep end of existentialism to splashing in the shallow while we watch stupid videos on youtube and laugh until we fall out of our chairs. She is safe for me, and I for her, and I can say things without censoring and trust that she will dig through the dross to find the silver beneath my careless words.
I had a tough week last week. There are many big changes happening again with my family- and it looks as though we will be moving within the next few months again. This will be our fourth house in two years, and the thought of uprooting my kids another time does a lot to me emotionally- from the sheer weight of another huge life change, to the basic reality of the work that comes with moving- which I will have to balance on my back that is packed high to the sky with more work than I can get through in each 24 hour block.
Sunday morning I awoke with the familiar sensation of having clenched my teeth as I slept. My teeth were sore, and it was like a fairly mild toothache. I noticed it, but assumed it would fade into the day and laughter and fun with my girlfriend. She left that afternoon, and while I knew I was anxious about my future and so many weighty things that I'm carrying, I had no idea how badly my body would revolt. Monday morning I woke up and the pain was stronger. I was frustrated that while I know my circumstances are beyond me, that in the waking hours I was fairly functional but the truth was revealed in the dark. It made me sad to begin to realize just how worried I was. I took tylenol and went about my day, aware but not in awful pain. And then Tuesday morning came. I woke up in the middle of the night crying before I was awake. I became aware of the searing pain my jaw and face and wanted nothing more than to squirm out of my own skin in order to escape it. I took tylenol immediately and got my ice pack to try and get back into sleep where I could ignore it, but sleep eluded me. I managed to get through the morning at work, and by the afternoon I was in tears. I was tired from the pain, and beginning to be anxious about heading to sleep yet again where I knew my body would betray me.
When I woke up on Wednesday, I felt pain I haven't experienced in years. I managed to get kids off to school, and my only thought was to see my doctor. At this level of pain, I was ready to do anything to stop it- from running on the street corners begging for narcotics, to smashing my head in the front door. It was some of the worst pain I've lived through in my entire life. In the foggy state of pain I was in, I was able to really begin to see how anxious I had become. The physical pain was a mega phone to the heart and emotional pain i was carrying without even knowing. While I'm in no way depressed, the reality of the intense level of stress in my life became very clear, and I came around to the decision that I needed to talk to my doctor and ask for some help about managing my stress and anxiety. In the hours before my appointment it was all I could do to stay sane. I wanted to race to the urgent care office and beg for anesthesia. If they could knock me out, then I would get relief. I was in tears, and even vomited several times from the overwhelming intensity of the pain.
Finally it was appointment time, and I wearily sat on the tiny bed encased in crinkly paper waiting for the angel face of my doctor to open the door to relief.
When he came in, he asked what was wrong and I promptly burst into tears. I tried to tell him in ragged, breathless words, what was happening. I explained that I was under more stress than usual, and that I knew it was based in anxiety but I needed immediate help to get through the pounding pain that was taking over all of my head-space (literally). I've never asked for pain medication before, and was hoping that the 'in your face reality' of my pain would let him know how desperately I needed something. I knew he might also give me steroids for inflammation, and I was going to try and push out the
words to ask for medical help with anxiety.
Nothing went the way I planned.
I love my doctor. I've been seeing him for about a year for my thyroid and other various minor issues. I trust him. He's compassionate.
But when I began to speak of pain, and then to try and broach the subject of anxiety, I felt patronized. Not heard. Brushed aside as an overly emotional woman.
He told me he'd give me steroids for the inflammation and to use a heating pad. I sucked in all the air around me and worked to get enough courage to ask for stronger pain medication than tylenol. I didn't need much, just a few tablets to help me be able to rest, and not see stars. He said no. Told me the steroids would help in a couple of days. I was embarrassed. I felt as though I seemed dramatic and like a drug user. I had never asked for anything stronger than thyroid medication, but his response made me feel like my record had just been flagged for asking for pain relief.
I managed to get past that blow and tried to tell him of my anxiety. I have lost tons of hair over the last months- to the degree that I have balding places in my formerly thick, full head of hair. I had chalked it up to my thyroid being off, and while that certainly may be some of it, I believe much of it is worry and anxiety based too. I didn't quite know what I was asking for, but I knew I was at the place where I needed intervention. The anxiety of sleep, the worry of not having housing, my ever running towards making ends meet, being the only involved parent and often the only provider for four children.. the list goes on.. I needed medical help. Even if only temporarily.
He recommended three supplements. I told him that on his recommendation long before, I had bought and tried each one.. for months at a time.. with no measurable results. He told me I could be on daily medication, and I began to cry again. I told him I didn't want to have to be on something every day, and that depression isn't my struggle; anxiety is.
He said that there were faster acting meds that I could take as needed but they were habit forming and he wouldn't suggest them. Somehow I managed to get the courage to say that I wanted to try anyway. He told me again they were habit forming. I said back, through tears and embarrassment, that I didn't need much, but could use the immediate relief now, to get through this physical and emotional crisis.
He wrote the script in annoyance, asked me no questions about my life or lifestyle, and then told me I needed to get rid of some of the extraneous stressors in my life. I laughed through my pain.
When I got to my car, the anger began to build.
I had just done something very hard, very courageous, and I was treated with disdain. I had bravely asked for help for the very first time and my request was met with suspicion.
I began formulating an email to him in my mind, and as I was cataloging my stress, I wanted to to shout from the rooftops that not only was I
not a weak woman, I was one of the strongest women I've ever known.
I've never done this, never written out or shared the 'list' because I don't want pity- but I want all of you to see just how serious this was for me:
In the last two years-
My husband reveled an entire other life I knew nothing about- that has lasted for our whole relationship starting before we were even engaged. Throughout the year after he moved out, more and more information came to light and each revelation was more shocking than the last. The things he had done to me and to our family were no less than hideous. He then chose to do nothing towards reconciliation except ask me to try again. No apology, no counseling, no redemption. Just rejection and shock, and pain.
In the less than 6 weeks after he moved out, we had to move off of the Marine corps base from our 2000 sq ft house into a 800 sq foot house and we had to give away our family dog. I lost my community, my intact family, my home, any shred of security I had formerly had.
He lost his job in the Marine Corps, money dried up, and I began driving kids back to the base daily so that they could stay in their schools for the remainder of the school year.
We moved again just 7 months later into the basement of friends and lived for a year in 1000sq ft with no functional kitchen. I cooked with a large toaster oven, a microwave, and a small camping-like stove.
The kids started a new school, I tried to figure out how to care for them and work and juggle it all.
I got divorced, had court dates, and wrestled through the revelation that my marriage had been rough the entire time, with lots of treatment towards me that take my breath away to this day. The reality was dawning that it was never good, nor was it safe. I look back on the scared and weary woman and weep for her lost youth where she never felt cherished, or safe, or truly loved.
My best friend's mother died from cancer, we got two flocks of chickens that were promptly eaten by one of the dogs we were living with (traumatic for my already hurting children), we left our church and began going to a new one, we lost friends, we sold lots of our possessions, and learned to live with far less than ever before. Extended family stopped speaking to us, and rejection piled on top of rejection.
One of my sons was diagnosed with a chromosomal deficit and that began the addition of many more specialists visits who are all located in a town two hours away.
Now, I'm going to have to move houses yet again, I'm working multiple jobs in order to piece together provision for my family without having to pay for childcare, and some months I get no support from their father.
Nothing in our lives is secure other than the love I have for God and my children, and some days the reality of what I hold is so far beyond me that I wonder where my next breath will be drawn from.
My heart is just beginning to thaw and to open again and the fear of hurt and the heaviness of looking ahead at doing this alone for decades to come sometimes feels crushing.
To say that my heart and mind and life are full- and filled with lots of hard things is the understatement of the decade. There has been incredible beauty, and provision, and I'm growing and changing and healing and learning, and really am loving myself fully for the first time since early childhood… but I'm one woman. One woman with no safe place at night to rest my head and relax under the protection of another adult. I'm all of it. Protector, provider, comforter, parent, friend, disciplinarian. God is so incredibly merciful to me, and yet my back bends and sways under the burden I carry around, and I was beginning to break.
To be brushed aside by a doctor when I finally had the strength to eek out the words "Please help me" was crushing. I was given a prescription for an anti-depressant last year by one of his colleagues and I never filled it. I wasn't ready for meds, and truly don't believe I needed anything at that point. I've been proud of myself that I haven't stayed in bed one single day, I get up daily and do what needs to be done. I'm raising my children, and trying to process each huge change with grace and expectation knowing that my kids look to me for my response to heartache. I know this is the only childhood they get and I want to make it the best I can even in horrible circumstances.
There are lots of conversations happening in our culture about mental health… and I am sad to report that my experience in being brave enough to ask for help was not a positive one. I don't know what the answer is, and I surely believe there are plenty of people walking around who are abusing the system and making it hard for the rest of us. I wish I had been received well, and given direction, but once again, I was on my own. I am the model patient for doing everything right before asking- I've been in counseling, support groups, I have close friends, I eat well, I sleep well, I do yoga, I spend time daily in prayer and mediation, I find times of quiet, I get outside, I take the vitamins and avoid the junk. But the stark reality is that sometimes, all of the good is still not good enough. And it's ok to need help. It IS. There is no shame in it, and there should be no stigma. My brain and heart are weary. And rightfully so.
I'm going to email that Doctor. He can still choose to ignore my words, but I pray that as he reads through my story he will begin to see just how much courage it took for me to ask for help in a way I wish I didn't have to. I pray that the next crying woman who needs someone to look in her eyes and tell her it is going to be ok will be given that gift. And I will keep asking, until someone hears me.
