moments captured while jay walking.

This morning I was on my way back from getting coffee and was crossing the street, arms full of things I shouldn't have bought. (But I did because food, amirite?)

I should preface this by saying that I'm feeling like my senses are returning or something, which is pretty bizarre.

Anyhow, I'm crossing the street and I smell the bagel shop down the street. They're making cinnamon raisin. And I can smell it.

And it made me smile.

So here's to all the bagels. Thank you for reminding me that things can be good.

And cinnamony. 

<3 S

ok.

This is long. Brace yourselves.

Two days ago at school, my brain had had enough.

I distinctly remember my co-worker turning to me and asking if I was ok, to which I replied, "I'm done."

I then walked down the hall, called my doctor, and told my principal was wasn't ok. Then I made some plans and left the building.

And I really, really wasn't ok.

To most people, I don't seem like someone this would happen to. Something I get a lot from people I eventually befriend is, "When I first met you I thought you were annoyingly perky," or "How are you even so happy all the time?" Those people often find it hard to believe that I suffer from intense anxiety and it's super fun friend, depression.

The thing with anxiety and all that goes along with it, is that it often doesn't manifest the way most people think it does. When I was a teen and into my early twenties, I dealt with (what I had no idea was) my anxiety through over-exercising and eating as little as possible. This was my way of feeling in control and taking charge of my life. It got to such a point where I was so thin that my period stopped, I shut out some of my closest friends and family, and started having stroke-like symptoms. It took the ladies at my hometown gym literally surrounding me and telling me that I was unhealthy to realize that I wasn't ok. And I still didn't know that I had anxiety.

Like most people with anxiety, my family members have it too. Both sides of my family deal with many of the same things I do, but they don't really label it as "anxiety." This is part of the reason why I had no idea what was happening to me and how to deal with it.

Throughout my twenties I got a hold of it in some ways. That day at the gym was a wakeup call, and I started to treat my body with a little more care. As a result, my anxiety symptoms eased, and I was able to go on with life. But there was always an extreme need for control, and a very clear difference between me being ok, and really not ok. That is to say, I regularly went off the rails and shut down.

When I started to teach, my world got bigger and more stressful, as tends to happen. I was balancing two jobs, and bad relationship, and money issues. My way of dealing was to become deeply immersed in running. It wasn't just a pastime or fitness, it was my world. If I couldn't run, I felt like I was crawling out of my skin. I felt like I was going to explode. I felt completely out of control. I would run even if my body ached or I was running a fever. I would run in storms, in the extreme heat, and during one particularly difficult holiday at my parents, in an extreme ice storm. But I truly felt that I was managing myself, and that I was doing something good for my body.

When teaching started to become my one focus (yea! one job!), that's when I started to really feel that something still wasn't quite right. I would run my heart out and pour myself into my work, and I still felt uneasy. I had been seeing an amazing man - the man I'd eventually marry - who was so understanding and supportive, but I still felt so alone.

I shared a teeny office with two lovely women at that time, and we basically poured our hearts out to one another. It was an extremely vulnerable time for a few of us in there, and we were just trying to hold it all together and do our best for our kids. 

I was literally disintegrating from the inside during one of the best times of my life and I was perplexed and felt extremely helpless. I felt short of breath, perpetually close to tears, like my brain was racing. I wasn't sleeping. I was a mess.

Sometimes I really think things happen for a reason. 

The woman who sat directly to my left had been noticing me falling apart (how could she not?). She was very frank and open with me about her own mental health struggles, and suggested I see my doctor about what I was going through. I had just gotten a new doctor, and at the persistence of my boyfriend, I decided to make an appointment.

I can't even express the weight that was lifted when I told my doctor how I was feeling. She basically told me that it wasn't ok that I was feeling this way. She told me I was doing everything in my power to deal with this and that without help I wouldn't be able to. Prior to this I'd been prescribed sleeping pills from my hometown doctor (yep. really.) and been told to relax. This woman was the first person who actually helped me put a name on what I was experiencing, and helped me begin to deal with it. 

For many years I had my anxiety under control. Now knowing what it actually was, I could take steps toward living with it and staying healthy. I started to listen to my body more, listen to my head more. I became very vocal about my own mental health with my family and friends, and even at school. I became better at dealing with it. Not perfect, but better.

Then this past year really threw me for a loop. 

My boyfriend and I had planned an amazing wedding and gotten married. I had finally achieved that unicorn of a dream for teachers in my board that is the full time contract. Things were looking wonderful, and my life was pretty sweet. But then, things started to slide. I'd entered into a very difficult work situation, and suddenly my school environment - my happy place to all those who know me - had become my greatest source of stress. After five months of dealing, and using all the strategies and positivity I had in me, I crashed. 

All those articles that say anxiety and depression go hand in hand must be inside my brain poking around or something, because it all started to happen. I wasn't sleeping, or all I was doing was sleeping. My heart was racing constantly; I was literally shaking. Every evening seemed to begin and end with me in tears, leaving my poor husband to try and deal with the after effects of chemical depression and all it brings with it during panic attacks. 

Telling my principal that I wasn't ok was literally the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Teaching is my world. I feel grateful everyday that I get to do what I do, and it makes up such a large part of who I am as a person. Without it I feel like I'm missing a limb. 

My doctor agreed that I was under extreme stress and to continue on like this was to basically risk running myself into the ground, and going back to that dark place I'd been before. The hardest decision ever was agreeing with her and stepping away from my classroom, and my children, one month before the end of the school year. My heart has literally been aching since I made that decision, and I'm not sure I can even cry about it anymore.

Putting yourself first isn't easy. I was trained to think that it was selfish and weak to do so. Awareness about mental health wasn't always as it is now, clearly, and because of that there's still some residual misinformation out there, even for those of us who are dealing with it. Those thought will always be in the back of my head, and I will always struggle to push them out.

My amazing doctor told me that it was strong to put my health first, not weak. So did my amazing principal. As did my amazing husband. I so appreciate this, and I'll never be able to tell them how much.

Making this decision isn't the end of my stress. I know things will get harder before they get better. I know people will talk, and think that I'm selfish and lazy for bailing out. Some days I wake up and feel like this. 

I wonder if there will ever be a day when I don't wake up feeling like a cloud is resting on my shoulders. I deal with my anxiety and depression through mild medication, practicing mindfulness, and talking about it with people who know me and care. There is no one way to deal with this type of illness. In education, we know that every child is uniquely different. We know that there's no one strategy that works for everyone, and that it takes effort and time to figure out what makes each child tick. That's what I know to be true about dealing with mental illness.

I know that by taking time to heal myself, I'm ensuring that I can be the best teacher I can be for many years to come. Running ourselves into the ground does no one any good.

This won't be the last time I talk about this, for sure. There's no "off" button for my brain (someone should get on making that, ok?). But I hope that someone reads this and benefits from it. It has really helped me to put this here so I can remind myself that it's ok not to be ok.

<3 S

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