Throughout my life, I’ve found myself turning to anti-anxiety medication on three occasions. The first time was after I welcomed my first child into the world. The second time came after my second child arrived, and now, here I am again, navigating this journey.
Anxiety has always been a part of who I am. As a child, the unpredictability of my parents’ plans would leave me feeling uneasy. Each time we stepped out, I felt the need to mentally prepare for what lay ahead. I wasn’t a fan of surprises, which was quite amusing given that I was raised by two free spirits who thrived on spontaneity.
At just six years old, I started biting my nails, and by nine, I found myself pulling out my hair. I would often gaze at the strands, fascinated by their varying colors—blonde, brown, red—each glinting in the sunlight. One day, I stepped out of the shower and was met with an alarming realization: a conspicuous bald patch down the middle of my head. My mom assured me it was alright and that she could hide it with a side part. Thankfully, being home-schooled that year spared me from the teasing that could have ensued in the third grade. It took nearly a year for my hair to grow back, and in the meantime, I switched to gnawing on my cuticles.
When I turned twelve, I discovered food as another coping mechanism. During one particularly stressful holiday break, I spent my days at my Grandma’s house indulging in cheese sandwiches and homemade fudge, eating until I felt nauseous. I used food as a comfort, but it didn’t work.
I’ve never been one to embrace medication; my mother preferred natural remedies, concocting tea bag poultices for whatever ailed me. We only sought medical help when absolutely necessary. Until I became a mother myself and was thrust into a whirlwind of irrational thoughts—like wanting to drive my car into a building just to make the pain stop—I held a judgmental view of those who turned to medication. I thought they were weak.
I was mistaken.
Ironically, just the thought of getting a prescription was enough to send my anxiety into overdrive. What if the doctor thought I was faking? What if she assumed I was one of those people who fills prescriptions just to sell them? I would dress appropriately for my appointment—enough to look respectable but not too polished, as if to avoid being mistaken for an underworld figure.
Other fears swirled around in my mind. What if the world ended and I couldn’t get my contact lenses or my much-needed medication? What if one of my kids accidentally ingested my pills? Would I turn into an emotionless robot? Or worse, would I slide into alcoholism instead? Which would carry more stigma if anyone found out? Why did I even care?
For a long time, I fought against seeking help. I tried exercising and coping in various ways, but eventually, life’s burdens piled up until I could no longer manage on my own.
It was time to reach out.
When I finally met with my doctor, I was met with compassion instead of judgment. She didn’t treat me like a fraud; she validated my emotions and reassured me that what I was feeling was entirely valid. With a gentle pat on my arm, she told me I wasn’t weak. To my surprise, I started to believe her.
Even though I read the entire warning label of the prescribed medication—worrying I might be the rare one to experience numbness or pain—I found solace in the fact that the tightness in my chest was finally easing.
Medication became my breath of fresh air. I could finally inhale deeply again, savoring the freedom it provided.
People often say it takes courage to ask for help, but I believe true courage lies in the ability to acknowledge that you need it in the first place. If you’re on a similar journey, consider exploring more about intracervical insemination and how it can fit into your life. Resources like Make a Mom can be invaluable, as well as Kindbody, which offers excellent insights for anyone navigating pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, medication doesn’t signify weakness; it’s a step toward healing and reclaiming your life. Embracing help can be one of the bravest things you do.