Anxiety with a Side of Depression: How I Cope

I’m in my thirties, and I think I've finally learned how to handle my anxiety and depression.

I haven’t been myself lately. There’s no specific reason for this, and it’s rare that it happens anymore. When it does, I assume it’s my thyroid (thanks a lot, Hashimoto’s), lack of sleep, or a combination of things. Some of my triggers include reading a sad story or news article, terrorist attacks, too much social media and comparison, winter, January, Tuesdays, health problems, feeling like I'm not doing enough, or doing way too much. Either way, I have to resolve the negativity, or it can completely exhaust my body and mind. 

Below are some of the symptoms of anxiety and depression I've had over the years. Now that I have help, I only experience a few of these, but they can still bring me down, so it's healthy to be able to recognize symptoms.

• racing thoughts
• anger
• uptightness
• fear of sickness (especially with my children)
• low self-esteem
• fear of speaking up
• assuming friends don't want me around
• excessive worry
• exhaustion
• loss of interest
• apathy
• stomach problems 
• a feeling of impending doom
• palpitations
• social isolation
• fear of death

I could feel myself getting exhausted easily and avoiding household responsibilities a few days ago. I also wasn't interested in socializing, and I had insecure thoughts. For starters, it’s May, and this used to be the best month, but now it also carries the reminder of the loss of a baby who was due May 31 three years ago. Come May first every year (among other days throughout the year), I’m reminded of that deeply painful and lonely experience. Every day in May, I think about that baby. This is juxtaposed with the joy of my son’s birthday, along with Justin's and mine. It is an incredible thing to watch a child growing into a young boy, and that emotion is something my heart sometimes can’t contain.

When I feel down, or extra anxious, I’ve learned a process that helps me. It’s not scientific, but it helps me get out of my funk a lot faster than I used to, and it might help you.

Firstly, I allow myself to be sad. I used to fight sadness so much because it made me vulnerable, but now I know to really let it sink in before I attempt a solution. With that said, I don’t let myself sit around for days. I make myself get up after a day or two (or a few hours).  I then try to figure out where the feeling is coming from. This time around, I came up with the following: lack of social interaction (thanks a lot, COVID), financial stress, never-ending dishes and laundry, teacher-turned-stay-at-home-mom exhaustion, cleaning and cleaning and cleaning again, kids’ lack of giving a sh** for keeping the house clean, guilt from so many online orders, and feeling fat from weight gain. This last one can send me spiraling quickly if I’m not careful.

For me, this phase of figuring things out and sitting in my feelings looks like me on the couch in my pajamas all day, without beating myself up. I am also typically more antisocial or lethargic. I'm less energetic as a mom. When I am like this, I know I need a pick-me-up, so I’ll text a friend who understands depression. This time my friend selflessly offered to drive over an hour to just hang out. This is what we anxiety-prone people need: non-judgmental companionship. This kindness led me to cry joyfully about having that kind of friendship, but then I was eventually crying about the day’s challenges. Ah, the gates eventually open, and the carried tension of tears is released.

When that’s out of the way, I move to phase two: me time. I started by taking a long, hot bath. Lavender is my scent of choice, and it really helps calm me down. After that, I make sure to rest. I read a book, or I watch trash TV (Bachelorette, anyone?). I might also force myself to sit outside for a while. This helps me start to get out of the depression and move toward feeling like myself again. 

Once I’ve worked on freeing my mind from its fears and worries, I get out by myself. This time around, I wore a mask and went to Target. We needed some food, and I used this time to walk freely around the store while it was quiet. I went through the line at Starbucks for a coffee, and I took a drive. I called a friend on the way home to say hi.

Once I got home, I mostly felt like myself again.

Other than getting out, here are some things that help me feel better:

• love from someone who doesn't judge (my sweet, sweet husband)
• verbal processing 
• prayer 
• long baths 
• reading a book 
• playing outside with my kids
• sitting in the sun 
• going on a long drive
• listening to music
• getting some coffee
• taking a walk with a friend 
• resting my body 
• writing and sharing it with others
• talking with others who have mental illness
• getting out with friends

I’m not saying that these are answers to all of my down days. I’ve had multiple days like this in the past with no relief, but that was mostly before I had help. Now that I have the help I need, the rare episodes of depression don’t have to bring me down for very long.

I share this because I hope you’re getting the help you need. If you feel yourself falling into depression (mine is a side-effect of anxiety) for any reason, the first step is realizing it’s affecting your life. It's realizing that you don't have to live with the fatigue that can consume your life. It's not healthy to live with constant fear and stress. The next step is getting help. This could be therapy or medication or some other method of choice. Then, if you're feeling up to it, you should share your journey. It may seem scary, but I promise it will help someone else's life. 

How Anti-Depressants Changed My Life

I’m a full-time English teacher-mom, and I take anti-depressants. And no, you’re not going to convince me I shouldn’t.

I remember it clearly: I was an awkward sixth-grader trying to be confident. I was on the school news team, and it was my birthday. I was excited because I had the job of reading the names, but when I got to them, mine wasn’t listed. I was too insecure to add it in, so I kept going, pretending nothing happened. That day, I felt invisible, and my anxiety and depression started to take over.

Many will say their childhood was filled with magic and imagination, or birthday parties and friends. I had moments like this, but my brain was not built to see the positive in everything. I was driven by fear, and that’s what I remember: fear of my parents dying, fear of losing my friends, fear of my classmates. Although I had many wonderful childhood experiences, my brain didn’t let me see those as often. The bad memories are at the forefront, and I know that’s because of anxiety and depression.

In elementary school, my mind got in the way of anything good, and I didn’t believe in myself. My insecurities were evident when I won an award for my fifth grade class and could barely comprehend my name when it was called. I was also in the talent show that year, but could only compare myself negatively to other performers. I was athletic and strong, but I felt insecure in my tall frame.

By sixth grade, I was split from some of my best friends, due to a zoning change that year. For someone with anxiety, that was nerve-wrecking. I tried to fit in by staying active and doing well in school, but awkward middle school situations made it worse, and I started hitting a wall of self-doubt and fear.

So, I stopped going to school. My stomach would hurt, and I would feel sick, so I convinced my mom to let me stay home. Day after day, I refused to go to school, and even when I tried, I would start sobbing in the parking lot from fear. I couldn’t make myself go. It was a physical and emotional reaction that was out of my control.

Thankfully, I transferred schools, and things got better from that point on, but later, as an adult, I would feel my mental health decline.

With my first teaching job, I lived with constant anxiety. Deadlines, terrible behavior from my students, and an overwhelmingly large work load meant I was always stressed out. I carried my work home every night. I would feel sick all weekend if a parent emailed me on a Friday afternoon. If a student said something negative to me, I agonized about it for days. People don’t realize the all-encompassing stress of teaching, and how, especially for someone who is genetically prone to anxiety, teaching can take over physically. Every day my stomach was upset. It wasn’t until years later that I realized this was anxiety-induced IBS.

When I had my first child, I had postpartum anxiety and depression. I was constantly afraid of something happening to my baby, and I found myself crying often. I experienced rage that I’d never felt before, and I would blame my husband for anything that went wrong. I kept blaming these behaviors on exhaustion and stress.

Almost four years later, I had a miscarriage, and I fell into a depression that took over for months. Because of that loss, when I got pregnant with my daughter, I was scared and anxious through my entire pregnancy. I had horrible thoughts every day about losing her. I was almost sure it would happen.

The last straw was when there were multiple mass shootings in California. I obsessively read the stories and looked at the pictures. There’s nothing wrong with being aware, but I was letting the terrible news consume my day, which brought me to a yet another few months of depression. At this point, I was exhausted. I was internally spinning with fear and what-ifs. I wasn’t allowing myself to live in the present.

The problem with anxiety and depression is that they show up in other ways. Anger was a big symptom of mine. I thought I had a terrible temper, but looking back, it was all related to my mental health. Anxiety makes you nervous and uptight, which makes you angry and irritated. Depression makes you feel worthless, sad, and lonely, which makes you angry and irritated. Anger was probably the biggest problem I had, and only the people who loved me the most had to deal with it.

I eventually had a more serious talk with my husband about how I was feeling, and as he listened to what was going on inside my mind, he said that he didn’t know how I coped with my own thoughts. He didn’t understand how I obsessed about things so much that it depressed me. It’s not that he was judging me; he was just trying to understand, and he couldn’t. This is common when you try to talk about your mental health with someone who has never experienced the same symptoms. He softly suggested that it might be time for me to get some help so that I could feel better. He had suggested this before, but I had put it off.

I went to the doctor. And right after I had my daughter, at age 30, I started prescription ant-depressants. I’ll never look back.

I no longer have a sick stomach every day.

I no longer experience unnecessary rage.

I no longer have severe heart palpations.

I no longer feel sick with nerves if I get an accusatory email.

I no longer shake every time I sing in anticipation of making of mistake.

I no longer think about negative things constantly.

I no longer worry about death all the time.

I no longer have depression every few weeks that stops me in my tracks.

I no longer spin in my own thoughts.

I no longer feel guilty about being a mom.

I no longer hold so much invisible weight.

Many people can work through depression and anxiety by reading self-help books or going to therapy, but that isn’t the solution for everyone. It’s not realistic. My brain is broken, and it’s a combination of family genetics: a bipolar grandmother, ADD and OCD, and rampant anxiety and depression.

Here’s the deal: I see kids—16-year-olds—struggling to find a reason to live. They are depressed. They need help. I recently spent an hour listening to a student filled with hopelessness. I told him about the day in sixth grade when I felt invisible, like he felt that day we talked, and then I told him about getting help. It gave him hope that I waited until I was 30 years old and was still doing okay—and even more hope that he could choose to get help now.

Help could mean a variety of options, but for some it might mean medication, and that shouldn’t be frowned upon. If I could go back and re-wire my brain to not feel so fearful all the time, I would, and it would have changed many aspects of my teens and twenties.

I’ve heard so many people say that they worry medicine would make them feel numb or emotionless. Yes, some medicines will have adverse effects. You have to play around and find the one that will best fit your body. The first type I tried was great, but it made me sweat heavily as a side effect. The second one made me feel more anxious, and I was always shaking my leg. The third is a happy place. I still have some side-effects, but those are far more manageable than the symptoms of depression.

I’m sharing this on the chance that there’s someone else struggling who can use my words to find the confidence to get the help they need. Most people who knew me during these years wouldn’t have guessed how much I was struggling. High-functioning anxiety is a talented liar. An anxious brain will also lie to its owner, convincing them that they’re just not worthy of being happy, or that it’s normal to feel unhappy. That’s just life. Everyone is exhausted with out-of-control thoughts. But that’s not true. To change that belief, more people need to open up about the joy help can bring, whether that be through therapy or medication.

I’m writing this for my elementary years of nervousness, my middle school years of panic and anxiety, my high school years of passivity, and my college years of pushing aside my need for help. I’m writing this for the 30-year-old mom who finally said, Yes, I want to feel different. I’m writing this in hopes that others who struggle will find their peace.


This article was published on Scary Mommy: https://www.scarymommy.com/how-anti-depressants-changed-my-life/

My Aria

Dearest Aria,

It's hard to believe it's been almost 16 months since I met you. I'm sorry I haven't written before now, but it's been a busy year with two kids! You may understand one day. 

It hasn't been the easiest year with only six weeks off for maternity leave, but I can say that I spent as many minutes with you as possible every evening and morning--along with every break at work to pump. I loved time with you--and still do. 

At only 1.5 weeks old, you had that pesky fever. I checked your temperature, and it was 100.7, from what I can remember. This is a big deal for a one-week-old baby! As I gathered my items, unshowered and crying, we drove to the doctor's office, only to be told to go to UVA. You and I drove together to the large ER that reminded me of a city, and I kept you close and covered as we made our way to the pediatric unit. Before I knew it, they were running all kinds of tests--blood tests, urine tests, spinal taps (they had to try three times, all unsuccessful), and somehow I remained calm. I sang and whispered in your ear, hoping to calm your cries, but I knew it was the right thing to do. After three days in the hospital with you, I was exhausted, but I was thankful for the time I had with just you and me. It was strangely special.

When you were about six or seven months, you did a weird movement at the sitter's house while sitting in her lap. I think you were just cold, so you jolted a little, but this unknown movement sent us into another wave of concerned doctors. They wanted to make sure you weren't having seizures, so they ordered an EEG. They also started noticing that you were a little behind with sitting up, so they assumed it was all related, and once again, they were concerned. 

Turns out, after a developmental evaluation, you are perfectly normal, you sweet girl! You're just laid back like your daddy, doing your own thing in your own time. But man, what a year of concern! I'm hopeful for a year of less concerning ailments. :)

You had us worried a few times, but look at you now, thriving. 

Other than the worries, we have had a beautiful year. You have been the "chillest baby" as people say, and your smile has changed my life. God gave me children with big, beautiful smiles, and I am blown away by His sweet gift. You were a cuddly baby, and you and I sat and cuddled for hours on the couch together. You nursed so perfectly, and I didn't even have to wear a shield like I did with your brother. We made it to eight months before you decided nursing wasn't your thing, and I'm so thankful for those months that we had!

Now that you're older, you've really started getting a personality. You point at what you want with that little finger, and you make whatever noise is needed to get our attention. You love your doll and your stuffed animals, and man, you adore your older brother. You definitely seem to favor daddy, but I'm okay with that. He loves you so, so much. You're his little girl.

Your first words have been hi, tree, dada, ta-lee (Charlie), ar (star), and nana (banana). You've said mama a couple of times, but today was the first time it seemed to be very intentional.

You're also starting to walk, and your excitement is undeniable. We practice with you every night, which is why I think you've been putting up such a fight when we get you dressed: you're exhausted, and you want to stay on the move. Life is getting exciting! I don't blame you.

Aria, thank you for changing my life and continuing to make me the happiest I've ever been. You and your brother are gifts that I would take over any material item any day. 

My Little Girl

This girl.

I’m posting about loss again—but also life. After a miscarriage, fear does not leave. Fear lived in my soul so deeply that I almost didn’t want to try again. Fear enveloped me in the first 12 weeks. It suppressed excitement for the next 28 weeks, and until the very moment Aria took a breath, I was terrified to lose her. Fear then ate at my being the second week when we were in the hospital together. I had lived through pain, but fear told me there could be something worse ahead. Fear hovered next to me every night until Aria was one, making me think I was not going to be able to keep her.

This girl. She is my JOY. She is my heart. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t thank God for her. We sat together tonight, watching her brother run in the field. She looked up at me with her brown eyes and smiled. I think of her sibling tonight, and I have unanswered questions. But I can honestly say that I have given this girl every ounce of love I had for that baby—and for her. We’re in the here and now, and fear has been pushed into the shadows.

“For this child, I have prayed.”