Note: It took me a day to write this. It started off with excitement that I suddenly had time to write! Then Maeve woke up half way through. Luckily, she fell back asleep. Then I dropped my jar of fine salt. Then Maeve insisted on a snack of only rice. Just rice which she used her hands to pick up kernel by kernel. Evening has come and as I get ready to hit publish, I'm in the pits of pits. I mistimed baking cookies and it overlapped with Rosie's extracurricular activity. Maeve cried the whole time I hurriedly baked. Dana came home and reached for a hug. I snapped at him, "Go get that devil child!" Now I'm alone, one glass of wine in hand, cookies baked, supper in the instant pot and I feel completely stupid for having tried to accomplish more than one thing a day. I should've known better. How many times will I have to learn this lesson? Still, the family agrees these cookies are worth a million of my meltdowns.
Ironically, after hitting the publish button on my last blog post, I wandered into my living room and spiralled into a major panic attack. This was my second ever panic attack and though I knew what to expect, it was still absolutely debilitating.
My attacks involve inescapable grips of paralysis, hyperventilation and uncontrollable wailing. Not sobbing or crying, I mean wailing at the top of my lungs and I have absolutely no control. It's like my body gets separated from my mind and I watch this madwoman fall apart. My last attack landed me in the hospital because we all assumed I had eaten a peanut and was going into anaphylactic shock. No one, not even me, thought it could be anxiety related.
These experiences are terrifying and this time I was home alone with Maeve. With a bit of foresight, I was able to place a napping Maeve in my arms. That child can sleep through anything as long as she is being held.
My older girls weren't so protected. They arrived home with grandpa to find me shaking on the sofa unable to move and get my meds. Thea took Maeve and rushed upstairs with fear plastered over her face. Rosie scrambled to find the medicine bin and helped me take those precious emergency-only anxiety pills. She looked utterly shocked.
Within 10 mins, the panic released me and I was depleted. The girls didn't say much. I left it to Grandpa to explain what happened as I crawled to my bed.
From that day on, I promised myself I would never let my kids see that again. Self care and healing was now a job I had to take as seriously as parenting.
Instead of seeing my therapist ad-hoc, I asked to be put on a 6 month program with biweekly sessions. I needed a tight container to hold myself accountable. I knew I'd use the excuse of exhaustion to further ignore or procrastinate the deep sorrow and grief I was repressing. There's this fabulous book called 'The Body Keeps the Score' and my body wasn't giving me an inch anymore.
My therapist gently gave me another label for my current state - PTSD. My reaction was of denial. PTSD is for soldiers and people who have witnessed horrible things. My small life didn't count, right? I couldn't deny that last panic attack though. I couldn't deny that my stress reaction to normal things were wayyyyy beyond what was needed.
Ok, I'm a person living with chronic stress and PTSD. Now what?
As fate would have it, I googled "yoga retreats nearby" and found a wellness centre 45 mins away that specialized in trauma victims. I signed up for a weeklong retreat and, with a heart heavy in "mom-guilt", I packed my bags and started the path to healing.
I've quite possibly changed my life forever with the help of this retreat and my therapy. I'm only 2 months into this process but the hints of lightness are like nothing I've experienced before. The pits of pits still happen but I am finally tuning into their lessons. I feel uncomfortably exposed and vulnerable in writing all this but deep deep down, I feel called to share. More to come and I hope it is received with an open mind because this healing journey so far has been surreal.