I hurt my husband regularly. It’s never intentional or malicious, but it’s true. Well, I guess it’s not really me – but my sickness. I have anxiety. Not the ‘butterflies in the stomach’ kind, either. More like the ‘sometimes I only sleep a couple hours for days on end’ kind.
Continue reading “Anxiety in Relationships Can Be Devastating — But It’s Worth It”Tag: Mental Health
Mentally Ill Does Not Mean Incompetent
Mentally ill does not mean incompetent, so can we please stop acting like it does?
Mental ill does not mean incompetent, so can we please stop acting like it does?
Continue reading “Mentally Ill Does Not Mean Incompetent”How to Sleep with Anxiety
Of all the lessons I’ve learned, how to sleep with anxiety is definitely one of the most difficult. For me, most nights are filled with tossing, turning and stifling panic attacks to avoid waking my husband. In fact, almost every panic attack I endure is at night, when I should be sleeping. However, after years of learning how to sleep with anxiety, here’s some things that work for me:
Continue reading “How to Sleep with Anxiety”Breaking Free- Give Yourself Permission to be Unwell
Give yourself permission to be unwell. It’s a lesson I’m learning every day, but not always succeeding at accomplishing. Maybe because it’s so difficult to accept that I’m sick sometimes. Just recently though, life gave me the opportunity to learn a lesson.
Continue reading “Breaking Free- Give Yourself Permission to be Unwell”Hypochondria Disorder- It’s Funny Until It’s Not
Hypochondria Disorder in History
Hypochondria Disorder and hypochondriacs have been the subject of ridicule and laughter dating all the way back to the 1700’s. French Playwriter, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, known by his stage name, Molière, enjoyed the premier of his last play, Le Malade Imaginaire, in the year 1673, before dying of Turberculosis just hours after his performance in the play.
Continue reading “Hypochondria Disorder- It’s Funny Until It’s Not”Childhood Abuse Victims are Not Irreparable
Unveiling the Secret of My Abuse
The first person I ever told about my childhood sexual abuse experience was my husband. We had only been married a few months when I finally revealed the secret I’d been keeping to myself since I was a child. I never told him (or anyone frankly) because I always felt a sense of shame and guilt. My anxieties told me that he might think of me as a broken person. I feared he would think of me as damaged beyond repair. Additionally, a small part of me thought that he might not love me anymore.
Continue reading “Childhood Abuse Victims are Not Irreparable”Let Me Grieve: A Plea for Understanding After Loss
In my opinion, one of the greatest title sequences of all time is the beginning of “Bridget Jones’s Diary.” This hilarious comedy is about an early thirty-something woman trying to take control of her unstable life by beginning a diary. In the title sequence, Bridget (protagonist and ensuing comedic goddess) is seen lounging about on her couch in cartoonish penguin pajamas while simultaneously smoking a cigarette, guzzling wine and drunkenly, but enthusiastically singing, “All by Myself” by Celine Dion. I think what makes this sequence so brilliant is the immediate relatability between the audience and Bridget. Everyone has, at some point, felt the immense weight of their problems on their shoulders. A weight and grief so heavy, you don’t want to see anyone or do anything. You just want to tell people, “Let me grieve! Please!”
Continue reading “Let Me Grieve: A Plea for Understanding After Loss”How it Feels to Dance with Shame
Last night was bad. My eyes feel heavy and the strain of staring into the computer screen adds to the nagging headache I currently possess. It seems like a strange time to sit down and try to pluck the thoughts rummaging around in my head and place them into a word document, but it’s times like this that I need it most. Writing helps me compartmentalize the chaos in my brain, to organize the things that keep me up at night. A release of the thoughts that are gnawing on my insides. Just like they were last night, and a thousand nights before that.
Continue reading “How it Feels to Dance with Shame”