Turning Things Around

The last 15 months have been challenging in ways I was not prepared for and helped me grow in ways I never expected. I certainly don’t want to repeat what it was but I am, in some ways, grateful for it.

I’m going to backtrack a bit more than the last 15 months to start. After our oldest was born, I struggled. And did not recognize it for quite some time. I also did not realize just how much I was actually struggling until much later. It was a lot. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, I went to therapy. Someone that specialized with postpartum anxiety and depression. I fit neatly into the postpartum anxiety box and worked hard to be able to identify what my triggers were and took baby steps every day to feel better. Despite my efforts, this continued for years. Far longer than I thought possible.

At some point, those baby steps felt more like I was working to claw myself out of a hole deeper than I was capable out of ever getting out of. But little by little the light came back into my life. When our oldest was 5 and our youngest 3, I finally took them out of the house for the first time by myself. We went to a town wide yard sale and bought goofy toys and trinkets that the boys could not take their eyes off of. From that point, those adventures with the boys happened more frequently. With a level of comfort I had not felt up to that point. It was incredible. Like I was actually becoming the mom I had always thought I was capable of but was never convinced I would achieve.

Those positive strides continued until the fall of 2023. And that’s where the I pick up the original thread on this post. Without realizing it, my job was quickly dragging me back down into that deep, dark, pit I had worked so hard to get out of. I have always poured myself into my job and taken pride in the work that I do and the team I was able to build. For years, I spoke highly of the company and the partners and the transparency within the organization. And that was true. Until it wasn’t. And it wasn’t very quickly and in a very devastating way. I just didn’t see it. Like it didn’t see the postpartum anxiety that hit so quickly.

In December of that year, my parents had flown into town to spend Christmas with us. After the kids were in bed one night, we were all relaxing in the living room with a cocktail. One cocktail. About halfway through said cocktail I became physically ill and went to bed convinced that I was getting sick. The thing is I wasn’t getting sick. At least not in the traditional cough, stuffy nose, where’s my box of Kleenex and cup of tea kind of sick. Over the next few weeks and after I felt better, I would have a glass of wine or maybe a cocktail. Twice more, I ended up physically ill. It was not a cold or the flu. But it was my body exposing a different kind of sickness. I quit drinking because even the glass of wine here or there was too much for my system to handle.

It was at that same point that the panic attacks started. The result here was the same. I did not categorize those moments as panic attacks. My heart would start racing. I felt like I could not take full deep breaths. But I did not know to call it a panic attack yet. At my annual physical, my heart rate was so elevated that my doctor put me on a heart monitor. I expressed my concerns with how I was feeling and the stress at work and the negative environment it had become and when the results came back that my heart was healthy, I breathed a sigh of relief. After my doctor discussed this all being a result of stress, I really started to recognize what was happening.

I would lie in bed at night and was convinced I was not going to wake up in the morning. Every night felt like I was dying because I was not able to breath comfortably and like an elephant was sitting on my chest. The next morning I would wake up nearly in tears, for no reason.

There came a day, after talking with my husband, that I finally got up the nerve to leave. So I did a thing and called my boss and quit. It felt like the least thought out decision I’d ever made. Like I was letting my family down by stepping away from work. What were we going to do and what was I thinking?! It took some time, but I eventually settled nicely into my decision to leave and the nerves about my departure dissipated. I knew I made that right choice.

The Monday after my last day was thrilling and terrifying and not filled with meetings. I didn’t know what to do with myself. My husband convinced me to take a few days to slow down and do nothing because he knows me well enough to know that otherwise I would make a list of 100 projects that needed to be done immediately (at least in my mind) and then attack the list. So I did just that. Sat in bed. Watched different shows. Doom scrolled. All the things to be as still as I could be.

And it was nice for a few days but then of course I needed to do more. I fell into a routine where I would go to the gym, come home and make breakfast and relax for a bit. But then I would do all the things I never had time to do recently. There were big projects like painting our deck. And little ones like reorganizing the playroom closet.

Most importantly there was job searching. Lots of applications. Too many to count in fact. Of course there was rejection. Different interviews. Lots of questions trying to discern company culture so I didn’t land myself back into a similar situation with the last company. (Eventually, and very thankfully, the right job came along.)

But beyond the chores and the many, many, many job applications, there was time with my boys that I had never had before. We would go to the library after school and take part in the amazing programs there. Check out the local museums. Lunches out. Movie nights in. Just time together. My husband and I had normal conversations again that were not overtaken by the stress related to the next day at work.

Every day got better. Again, baby steps. But baby steps are still steps forward. Now, there is a lightness and a joy to my life that I’m not sure I’ve ever felt. A feeling that I’m solidly where I’m supposed to be and with the people I should be with. I have always loved my children and husband, but healing myself this last year has given me such an incredibly positive outlook on life. All of which has trickled down to them as well.

I’m not a therapist or doctor or psychologist. I’m a mom that took a leap I never anticipated being able to make. One that was so far outside my comfort zone, that the day I gave my notice felt a bit surreal. But I can say, I will never regret taking that leap. Pushing myself beyond what I thought I was capable of. Turning to things I love to do like spending time with my family and writing and reading and finding the joy in the day-to-day again. If you can, take the little leap. Or the big leap. But take it.