Throughout my life, I’ve needed anti-anxiety medication at three distinct intervals. The first instance was following the birth of my first child, the second after my second child, and currently, I find myself in the same situation once more.
Anxiety has always been a part of my life. As a child, I felt overwhelmed by my parents’ spontaneous decisions. I craved predictability and often found myself anxiously anticipating our next outing. Surprises were not my forte, despite being raised by two adventurous parents who thrived on spontaneity.
At the age of 6, I began to chew my fingernails, and by 9, I was pulling out my hair. I marveled at the different colored strands that glimmered in the sunlight—blonde, brown, red. One day, after stepping out of the shower, I was shocked to discover a noticeable bald patch down the middle of my head. My mother reassured me that it was manageable, and she could hide it with a side part. Fortunately, being home-schooled that year shielded me from the judgment of peers, and my hair eventually grew back, forcing me to switch to chewing my cuticles.
By age 12, I turned to food as a coping mechanism. During a particularly stressful Christmas vacation, I consumed cheese sandwiches and homemade fudge at my grandmother’s house, eating until I felt ill. I thought it might make me feel better, but it didn’t.
Growing up, I was not accustomed to taking medication. My mother preferred making natural remedies and avoided doctors unless absolutely necessary. Until I had my first child, I held a judgmental view towards those who relied on medication. I believed they were weak—but I was mistaken.
Interestingly, the thought of obtaining a prescription for anxiety medication was itself a source of anxiety. What if the doctor doubted my honesty? What if she thought I was one of those individuals who would misuse the medication? I worried about how I should present myself at the appointment, attempting to balance looking responsible without appearing overly polished.
My mind raced with fears about an impending apocalypse, where not only would I be unable to access my contact lenses, but I would also be without the anti-anxiety medication I clearly needed in such a dire situation. I was also consumed with concerns about my children accidentally ingesting my pills and whether taking medication would strip away my emotions. I found myself questioning which was more socially acceptable: slipping into alcoholism or using medication for anxiety.
For a long time, I resisted seeking help. I tried exercising and managing my stress, but eventually, everything became overwhelming, and I realized it was time to reach out for assistance.
When I met with my doctor, she treated me with compassion and validation. She assured me that my feelings were legitimate and that seeking help was not a sign of weakness. To my surprise, I accepted her words as truth.
Despite my initial apprehensions about potential side effects from the prescribed medication, I discovered that the tightness in my chest had dissipated. With medication, I was able to breathe freely again.
It’s often said that it takes courage to ask for help, but I believe it takes even more courage to recognize when you need it in the first place. For more information on pregnancy and home insemination, visit this excellent resource: Women’s Health Pregnancy. Additionally, if you’re interested in learning more about the best tools for home insemination, check out BabyMaker’s Intracervical Insemination Kit.
In conclusion, taking medication for anxiety is not an indication of weakness, but rather a step towards better mental health and well-being.