As I mentioned before, there’s a new little life in our household. Baby Liana is healthy as can be, though she’d already suffered through her first cold before she was 2 months old.
Our 4-year-old son, however, has been sick more times than I can count. If you have little kids, you know. It’s ridiculous. The first few years are just a total snotfest.
In fact, one of my nicknames for Z is Boogie. Not because he loves to dance (that’s what my sweet, innocent mom thought), but because, until he was about 3, he almost always had a nose full of boogers. Guuuuuhross.
Anyway, Liana is still pretty little. If she gets really sick, I’m going to be a wreck. I have anxiety, and anytime something is wrong with the girl I go all worst-case-scenario and freak the heck out.
The other day I took her to the doctor because one of her hands was randomly turning red and looked puffy, and then it would go away and come back. I was imagining that she had some kind of crazy blood clot that was slowly making its way to her brain.
I’ve always been the kind of person whose motto is “expect the worst, but hope for the best.” I know, that’s totally not positive and seems counter to the general vibe of this blog.
But that’s me, in reality.
I really try to avoid getting my hopes up, because I would rather be joyful at an unexpectedly good outcome than bummed at an unexpectedly bad one. I believe this is what we call “self-preservation.” Here’s why:
Ever since I was in fifth grade, I’ve suffered from moderate anxiety and depression. (Interestingly, the National Institute of Mental Health notes that the average age at which people begin to suffer from anxiety is eleven years old.) In my case, the depression usually follows an episode of high anxiety.
In this post, I’m going to delve into my own struggles and explain why I (and others) think it’s worthwhile to talk about them. I’ve noticed that there’s been a movement lately to get people talking about mental illnesses, to bring individual experiences out into the light in an effort to remove the stigma. I think that sharing our internal struggles with others is a kindness to ourselves, but is also a kindness to those who may feel alone.