A while ago my intense anxiety exploded into a full blown panic disorder. I would wake up with my chest aching, my heart pounding. Any decision or stress would send me spiraling into panic: numbness, hot flashes, sweat, rash, jitters, and the sense that something terrible was about to happen. My chest felt like it would explode. Every morning I would say to Beau, “I can’t shake it, I can’t shake it, Beau. I’m really not well.”
But I was still saying to myself and others, “I’m just overwhelmed. I just need to cut some things out, stop seeing so many people.”
But deep down I knew it was more. And cutting things out became everything. And seeing less people became everyone. And the boys became a burden instead of the treasure that they are. And I knew it would only get worse.
I painted this painting the day I finally went in to get help.
I felt like I was accepting defeat, but I kept hearing God say I was only sprouting wings. Accepting and allowing change.
“And the day came when the risk to remain right in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
On the first day without any chest pain I found this little Geometer moth. And the sunset had wings.
That was only a couple of days ago, and my heart is pounding and my face is going numb writing this, but I wanted to make a truthful declaration here. My life is not all beauty, though there is beauty in darkness…it is real, and a journey, and much of the light that is to come is cocooned waiting to come out. I want to try my best to let it, and I want to encourage others to be brave and do the same.