I hesitated to write this post as it’s deeply personal and can be triggering for people suffering with a mental health diagnosis. The topic has been swirling in my mind for the past week and I ultimately decided to write this because if it helps one person then I think it’s worth the vulnerability of sharing my personal experience with mental health. 

I’ve always considered myself a worrier. From the earliest of ages I can remember feeling deeply concerned about things. As a young child it was mostly about bad guys somehow climbing into my window at night and stealing me from my bed. I struggled to be separated from my mother and she recounts me crying daily at the preschool door for months on end. I craved feeling safe but my intrusive thoughts made it a real struggle. 

The worry grew larger as I became acutely aware that my parents did not seem to like each other. I observed the distance grow as they began to sleep in different beds and the arguing grew more frequent. At the height of the turmoil there were screaming matches and threats to call the cops. This was the first time my worrying resulted in a physical manifestation of a stomach ulcer. I was physically becoming sick from the constant mental worry. 

As I grew older the thoughts continued with different scenarios. My car getting broken into, a headache that was signaling a brain aneurysm,  being shot in a movie theatre or classroom (post Columbine), a house fire, someone following me while driving or walking – the list goes on and on. 

However, I learned to live with the worry and in high school surrounded myself with a great group of friends that made life a lot easier. I will still known as the worrier in the group but I was happy and able to live a pretty “normal” life. 

When I went away to college, I remember the worry amplifying. Being faced with leaving home and being surrounded by a bunch of strangers was terrifying. The first semester I was fairly miserable. Nothing felt safe or familiar and I needed a group of friends to make things a bit easier. I thankfully found a great group of girls that I moved in with and joined a sorority. I was able to again calm my worry a bit and live a joyful life. 

Then I made the choice to move to New York City the summer of my sophomore year, alone. I was determined to pursue my acting career and wanted to know if I could actually make it on my own. I cried most of the time and quickly determined this was not the career path for me. I returned to college shaken up and experienced my first panic attack. This was when I was honest with my doctor about what I was experiencing and was diagnosed with anxiety. 

I did a ton of research on the condition and things started to make sense. Ok, so I have anxiety. Now what? This was the beginning of my journey of getting to understand my brain and learn tactics to cope with the way my brain works. 

I was able to get on medicine that made life a lot easier and started exploring different ways to move my body that allowed for my brain to calm down naturally. During this time I got married, bought a first home, found a career I enjoyed, made great friends and started to have a desire to become a mom. 

Once my husband & I decided to start a family, I was so excited. It was the first time in my life that my anxiety seemed non-existent. However, after month’s of negative pregnancy tests my anxiety started to roar. What if there is something wrong with my body? What if I cannot have a baby? What will my life look like? It was during this time that I saw a therapist for the first time. 

This would be a good time to explain that while I have always had anxiety, I’m also a type A perfectionist. When a problem presented itself, it was so uncomfortable for me that I had to figure out a way to fix it. That was a big part of how I learned to “manage” my anxiety. So I marched into the therapist with a clear goal in mind. The conversation went something like this – “Hi, I’m Emily.  I have anxiety and I’m here for you to tell me how to get rid of it. Thanks!” I could see the therapist calmly settle in and I’m guessing thought – man she’s in for a rude awakening. She explained to me that the goal is not to get rid of the anxiety, that’s just how my brain is. Just like someone is tall or short or has blue eyes or green. The goal is to find ways to manage it so that I can live a healthy and fulfilled life. 

I felt sucker punched. I wanted my damn money back. This is not what I wanted to hear. I wanted a quick fix. I didn’t want to face the fact that I indeed had anxiety and that it is something I will always have to manage. DAMNIT!! 

I started to ease into the idea and started incorporating breathing techniques, meditation, yoga, exercise and understanding my triggers. It was during this time that I was able to take the appropriate steps to face my infertility and become pregnant. This period of time was the calmest and most overjoyed I have ever felt. This lasted exactly 16 weeks. It was at 16 weeks that I had my first bleed during my pregnancy. BOOM, anxiety was back in full force. 

The next few months proved to be some of the hardest in my life. Constant doctors appointments, tough conversations, a hospital stay for two months and then the early delivery of my daughter and almost the end of my life. 

Following the birth of Juliette, I experienced anxiety but also a new feeling which I now understand is depression. This diagnosis was unfamiliar to me. I have always been on the high anxiety, no depression side of the spectrum so I knew this felt different. I made the thirty minute drive to and from the hospital daily to care for my baby but to be honest many days I wish I could have just closed the blinds and slept for 6 months. My body and mind were completely exhausted. I was sad, overwhelmed, confused, scared and mostly lost. And while I was surrounded by family, friends, neighbors and nurses – I felt utterly alone. 

I felt like no one understood what I had just gone through. All I saw were social media posts of mother’s seemingly thriving and I was definitely not. This loneliness, depression and anxiety grew. Then a breaking point. I wrote in my journal, Daniel Tiger broke me today. I was watching an episode with my daughter and this episode’s lesson was about asking for help and not being ok. I was definitely not ok. 

This started my search for a new therapist who was qualified to deal with my unique circumstances. At my first appointment, I was diagnosed with PTSD. I remember feeling like someone had put a warm blanket around my shoulders and said, you are not crazy. You are not a bad mom. You are someone who has PTSD and we are going to help you manage this. 

I engaged in EMDR therapy which is specifically designed for people with PTSD and trauma. I now engage in somatic therapy weekly which has been immensely helpful in reconnecting with my body and rewiring unhelpful pathways in my brain. I’m constantly seeking new modalities that might be helpful for my type of brain. This will be a lifelong journey for me as I seek to create a life that I can enjoy. 

Last weekend I was scrolling through Facebook after putting my daughter down for bed and I came across an article of a mom of three who killed her three children and then attempted to kill herself. She was a nurse and a loving mother who was suffering from postpartum psychosis. As I read the article and her husband’s social media post, I began to weep. Weep for her children, her family, and for her. 

Mental health is real. Postpartum health is real. I do not believe the appropriate resources are in place to support women and mother’s. I believe the shame is so big around these topics that we instead choose to post the cute picture on instagram and return to suffering in silence.

I will not suffer in silence and I do not want you to either.

I’m currently reading “Your Brain is Always Listening” by Dr. Daniel Amen. He writes “asking for help is a sign of strength”. Let’s have the strength to ask for help if we need it. We have to stick together to support one another. You are amazing. 

Sending you love today and always