I saw Scott's perfect little hand print on the
window this morning while
pouring cereal for the kids and my first instinct was, "arg, I just
cleaned that window yesterday!", and the OCD in me wanted to immediately
wash the window. (Two years ago I would wash fingerprints off windows
and mirrors, and vacuum floors every single day.) But then I paused,
and felt nudged to take a picture of that perfect, little, sweet, hand
print. I
want Scott to stay 4 forever. :( My phone camera wouldn't capture the
hand print so I decided we would recreate it using finger paint this
evening.
I started taking anxiety meds for my
anxiety that had developed toward walking on concrete and in public, a
new fear of falling down. The medication, and I tried several at
various dosages, didn't address the anxiety of falling down and I
eventually had to get a walker to use out in public, which I had to come
to terms with and accept, but anxiety medication did help with my OCD.
Ever since I was a kid I've liked organization, things planned out in
advanced, vacuum lines on rugs.... lol. I remember having anxiety every
morning before school afraid I was going to miss the bus. Now, I'm
more relaxed. I have less anxiety over getting to places on time, I
don't have to stick to a ridged cleaning schedule, I can go weeks
without washing the windows or mirrors, I'm a little more easy on the
kids about allowing them to leave toys in the living room, I snap at
them less for messes they have made, my morning mood isn't ruined if I
wake up to dishes on the counter from the night before, etc., etc. Sure,
I still have triggers, and I have my days of high anxiety and OCD
cleaning and organization. I am more at peace in my home when it is
clutter-free, but the grip of anxiety has less of a hold on me.
Praise
God I've never suffered from an anxiety attack. Prior to seeking
professional help for my walking (physical and mental, which I've talked
about in previous blog posts), for 2 years I was consumed with this
frustration that I could no longer walk like I used to. I woke up every
morning and that was the first thought in my head. I started getting
depressed. I tried to tackle it with God, through prayer, and on my own
with exercise. After 2 years I had had enough and gave in to needing
professional help. The physical therapy and taking meds to help my
muscles relax didn't bother me, but I was a little more resistant to
getting mental help. There's this stigma in society toward mental health. But anxiety and
depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain (and I'd also like to add that anxiety/depression can also be triggered by past trauma for other people), and God gave us
doctors, counselors, and medications to help. After seeking advice from
Christian mentors and reading on anxiety by Christian authors, I am open to sharing.
I praise God for the help He has given me. I
am thankful for the power of prayer, for doctors, for medication, for
my walker, for the transparency of friends and other women, and for
sweet-little-4 year old boy- hand prints on windows. What
transformation, freedom, and joy those handprints brought me today.
