Where The Spiral Started

After my son was born I started to struggle with postpartum anxiety but it really made itself known when I was about 6 months postpartum. I had been breastfeeding for 6 months, had no period, was on Mirena (never again) and had been seeking help (for what I believed to be anxiety) every time I met with my doctor to no avail. I know I’ve always had a little anxiety here and there, sometimes for periods of time it was worse than others. It took a turn for the worst and truthfully I have never been the same.

In therapy, I’ve been asked to try and pinpoint when I really noticed it. I really think in the first few months you are so overwhelmed with being a new mom, struggling with feeling alone and dealing with changing hormones that you just start to go through the motions. If I have to really think about when it all unfolded, it would be when my son was 6 months old and we went to Florida for a family vacation.

It was towards the end of the week and we had 2 days left. We went to a late lunch at a restaurant that we would frequent often when we were on vacation. We sat down like normal, ordered food we would normally eat and were enjoying our time. As we were heading out I started to notice my mouth was feeling dry. I really just thought it was hot, I had had a beer and maybe not enough water, maybe my food was too salty. As we got in the car to drive back to the house I started to have trouble swallowing. I noticed I was suddenly short of breath and in between trying to not panic and trying to swallow I was begging my husband to get me water. We happened to be on a desolate beach road with water miles away. Normally I surrounded myself with water because I was breastfeeding and was always thirsty. With my luck, today as the day all my water bottles were empty. I knew something wasn’t right and so did my husband. All I could think about was my son being in the backseat and that this wasn’t going to end well.

We finally got water, raced to the house and I begged my husband to let me lay down. I just needed to rest I thought. Really I needed medical attention. My throat started to get tighter and I started to have a panic attack. I was hysterical, begging my husband through gasps that he tell Joseph how much I loved him. That is truly the first time I experienced a panic attack, I truly thought without a doubt that was the day I was going to die. Luckily, minutes later raced to the hospital (40 minutes away, *cue more panic*).

When I got there they informed me I had histamine toxicity which often resembles a allergic reaction to the fish I ate. They knew right away judging from my symptoms and the state I was in. The fish I had eaten, mahi mahi, which I had eaten my whole life and I’m sure I never will again, had presumably been left out too long in the heat. When that happens, because of the kind of fish it is, it releases toxins which causes a mild and sometimes severe reaction. I was given medication and told to carry around the medication and Benadryl going forward should I come into that same problem or should I start to feel like I has having trouble swallowing. I still carry Benadryl to this day, it’s actually the same packet I bought in the airport on my way home. I know it sounds crazy but knowing it is there keeps me calm.

After that took place, I had to stop going out to eat for a while because I couldn’t sit in a restaurant without remembering what happened, without being too afraid to eat anything. I would start to get dizzy when my food would be brought out and I would have to leave. This went on for what felt like months until I started to get a better handle on my anxiety, thanks to medication. I pretty much kept a low profile because I was truly afraid to going out to eat, I didn’t trust anyone to prepare my food. Eventually I just started becoming even more of a homebody because I didn’t want to go anywhere, eating or not. That experience sparked the fear of something happening to me. The thought of something happening to me and leaving Joseph behind. The thought of not being there to raise him cripples me. I truly have never been the same since that trip and the fear has only gotten worse, never better. More manageable, never non-existent.

Two months later we took a trip to Colorado. I was nervous and felt extremely cautious but it was something we had planned for awhile and I just wanted to feel normal again. I have another blog post coming out in a few weeks that talks about this trip because it pinpoints where my need for medication came into play. This trip shows the connection to the trauma of what happened in Florida and how the fear only escalated as time went on, no matter how much time had passed since the original incident. We went for 5 days and left after 2. The first night we went to dinner and it brought back memories from Florida immediate upon us sitting down. Unable to eat and dizzy with anxiety, I took Joseph back to the hotel. The entire walk I was begging my brain to stay alert, begging my heart to slow down so I could make it back to the safety of the hotel. Again, feeling crippled with fear I would pass out and then what would happen to Joseph? I just knew I had to make it back to our room.

The next day was no better. I was barely able to get up out of my bed. It was my birthday and we had plans to take Joseph to the Denver Zoo because he loves animals. Being that it was outside I thought I would be able to handle it better, especially because having fresh air is a huge help in relieving my anxiety. We went and moved through quickly. I knew I wasn’t okay. My throat was tight and my heart was racing. I spent so much time drinking water and trying to breathe I sometimes feel like I wasn’t present. I made sure to take pictures with Joseph as often as I could because I was truly afraid Something was wrong, that again I wasn’t going to survive this. When I look back at the pictures, I can actually see the pain behind my eyes. I wanted to bad to hold it together for Joseph but I was struggling so bad inside.

The only place I wanted be was back in the safety of my hotel room. I spent the rest of the day and night laying in my room, in the dark, hysterical. I truly thought I was going to have a heart attack my chest hurt so bad from what I know recognize and understand as anxiety. Always in the back of my mind wondering what would happen to Joseph because I knew I couldn’t survive this. That night we decided we had to leave. I had to get home and get the help I needed.

We changed our flights an left the next afternoon. I could barely make it through the airport. The next day I called my doctor and from the tone in my voice, from the urgency of my messages they knew I needed to be seen right away. They got me into a appointment and I broke down like I never had in my life. I told her my about the last 2 months, my crippling fear of dying, of leaving my son behind.

I truly felt like if I didn’t get help I wouldn’t survive this. The pain I was feeling was excruciating. The fear was something I could barely put into words without breaking down. I needed help. I wanted help. Thankfully, I have the most wonderful PCP who not for one second tried to devalue my feelings or my fears. She put me on 2 medications, Zoloft daily and Xanax as needed for the panic attacks. Thank God she did. I needed the help badly because I knew this wasn’t something I could handle on my own and I understood that.

While the medication helped tremendously, I wouldn’t be where I am without therapy and without my support system. I finally know my triggers, I know the signs to look out for. I always speak up when I’m not okay and when I need help but most importantly I am never ashamed. For me, getting a hold of my physical symptoms makes mentally and emotionally dealing with the anxiety and panic so much more manageable. Some days it is easier than others but I’m always trying.

I used to be so embarrassed about what I was going through, needing to be so medicated to feel normal, needing my therapist. I now wouldn’t change anything because I wouldn’t be where I am without all of it. I am so thankful for the help I received and continue to receive. I will always have good and bad days, I’m just thankful I get to still have days, to be here with my son.

The more we talk about mental health and we normalize getting help, the more available and the less stigmatized it becomes. The more we talk about mental health, the better chance we have of helping someone who is going through the same thing as we are. I won’t stop talking about my struggles with mental health because I know someone out there needs it, just like I did at my lowest. I just needed to know I wasn’t alone, that I shouldn’t be ashamed for what I was feeling. To know that I wasn’t a bad mom for feeling what I was feeling. Now I know I’m not a bad mom, I’m the best mom for taking care of myself because it allows me to take care of my son. That is all I’ve ever wanted, to be the best mom for him.

Mental health awareness is self awareness, Jules

#mentalhealthmatters #mentalhealth #momblogger #therapy #mom #help #anxiety #mentalhealthawareness #anxietydisorder #postpartum #momoftwo #selfcare