I have recently been battling a few things that have crept up to the emotional surface.  I made out their forms beneath the murky waters of obsessiveness and doubt, I saw their heads rise and I was ready with my harpoon.  I tried to conquer them. But the battles were exhausting, and kept compromising my sleep. Until I realized that those forms in the water would always be there, would always keep rising to the surface.  And they weren't mine to battle.

***

I went through a very low time this past summer.  I scared my daughter.  I scared my husband.  I scared myself.  My fears about our finances and the what-ifs of placing Baby Girl in day care absolutely consumed me.  I slept very little in the month of June, and even less in July.  I would lash out about everything.  By early August, I had to take a four-hour roundtrip flight with Baby Girl and on the way home, I remember thinking that if the plane went down, I would actually be relieved because then I wouldn't have to deal with everything that was burdening me at that time.  I came home and cried and cried {I am not a big crier} and felt terrified of what I was capable.  Loverpants asked me pointblank if I thought I needed to be hospitalized. He was ready to take me that night. ***

It's hard to think back to that time.  It seems like it happened a long, long time ago, to another woman, in another season of life. ***

I started therapy.  I started an anti-anxiety medication.  It turns out that it's not normal, it's not just the parasitic stress of new motherhood that prompts a total-body panic - about nothing in particular - while driving in the car, on roads you've driven before, on perfectly sunny days with no place to be in a hurry.

*** I won't say the healing was instantaneous, but it was expedited by the meds, a visit from my mother, and by the encouragement I received from Baby Girl's childcare provider that all would be well.  These forces, along with my employment going exceptionally well, seemed to fast-track me on the path to mental wellness again.

*** The other souvenir that I take from this time is something that my therapist {and believe me when I say, I know how v. pretentious starting anything with "My Therapist says..." sounds} is that I do a lot of judging of myself, judging my thoughts, judging my reactions, judging my own judgment. Therapist said I should try to acknowledge...and move on.  I should say, "Ah, I'm having a moment of irrational fear about this.  I'm acknowledging it, and ...I'm over it."  Corny, but helpful.

***

I tear a page out of Dooce's playbook in saying that I know many who read this will think I am being a complete First World Ween about this whole thing, that I should have prayed more or done more yoga or gone pescatarian and all of my problems would have melted away.  And that's fine.  They can think that.

But I have found something that works and I feel happy most days and capable of taking care of my family and myself.  If anything, my faith has been strengthened in the last six months because the excessive doubt and fear no longer plagues my every thought; I can concentrate on Him, His goodness and care. My prayer is that anyone who is feeling in the pits of despair might also receive the same good care as I have received.  And that no one would worry about any judgment.  You can be sure it's not coming from me; I'm too busy trying not to judge myself.