Anxiety

Anxiety

A Ramble About Insomnia, Because Coffee

via

First, I would like to announce that I am at this very moment sitting in heaven. It's a place called Whimsy located a few towns over from me, and it's a half-cafe half-play space where you can hang out and drink coffee and use the free WiFi while your children get their organic toy on (in Northern California, apparently, toys are not toys unless they are Melissa & Doug toys). Your children are watched by a bunch of lovely young women who will come get you if they need something, but basically:

You are alone. In relative silence. With coffee.

Anxiety

Anxious

medication

It's been awhile since I published my post Someone With Problems, about my decade-long struggle with anxiety and my decision to finally, despite a deep-rooted discomfort with the idea of seeking outside help, try medication (Zoloft, if you're wondering).

Now it's a year later, and so I wanted to talk about how it's going.

It's better. So much better, most of the time. But not always.

Anxiety

The Reader

truth or consequences new mexico family vacation

Late night lights in Truth Or Consequences, NM

We needed this trip. So, so badly.

I knew it when we decided to drive out here, how good it would be for us to just spend time together, as a couple and as a family, in a way we haven't in a really, really long time. It's mostly the hours in the car that have done it: we talk, sing along to music, run around gas station convenience stores picking out terrible, horrible things to eat, and mostly just hang out together.

Anxiety

Someone With Problems

I wrote a few weeks ago how, in the days following Goldie's birth - when I feared a relapse of the postpartum depression that I'd suffered from after Indy arrived - I was prescribed a low-dose medication to combat the chronic insomnia and anxiety that I've been dealing with for a good decade (and hopefully make PPD more unlikely). It's been two months, and I figure now is as good of a time as any to write about how it's been going.

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Growing up, my parents taught me that no one would handle my problems for me; it was on me to face them, and then fix them. If I had an issue with a teacher, a fight with a friend, an essay that I just couldn't seem to get right, they were there to listen and offer suggestions, of course, but they were not going to storm the gates and take over; finding a solution was my job. And I'm grateful for that.


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