Bravery.

Hey y’all. How are you?

Listen, today is about mental health, just FYI. And while you’re reading, you may be asking yourself, “Why does she share this personal information on here?” Here’s why, because we still seem to live in a world where mental illness is viewed as something to keep quiet about. I have always been very loud about my issues. Why? Because if it makes one person…just ONE... feel like they aren’t alone, then I’m happy and it was worth it. It was so worth putting myself out there saying, “HEY. I’M CRAZY TOO, IT’S TOTALLY FINE.”

So let’s talk about bravery. I like to think of myself as a pretty brave person. I have a whole testimony of being brave, at least I think so. (Maybe when I write that book one day you’ll hear it all. Or you know, just ask me.) Heck, I even have the word “courage” tattooed on my left foot. Not trying to toot my own horn here, y’all, but I’m still alive today… so I count that as brave. I love those people who get the semicolon tattoo, that’s my favorite. I need one of those. (Don’t know why people get those? Click here.) I could have ended my life with so many obstacles life threw at me, but I didn’t. And that’s brave. I’m not saying I didn’t try, I did. Thank the Lord I didn’t succeed. Failure is a good thing in some moments.

At 15 I started seeing a therapist. At 16 I tried to commit suicide, failed, and checked MYSELF into a mental facility. (I’m super open about this, obviously.) I took a thousand different combinations of depression/anxiety meds for 10 years and saw a variety of different therapists that never quite fit. And then I quit.

I just… quit. I was so over it. I was so done not feeling things, not dealing with life. I could never find that “sweet spot” of meds that would work. I had horrible reactions to a lot of them. One heightened my anxiety more than ever and I had a giant panic attack in my friend’s car on the way home from school, then in my front yard to the point of completely passing out. (I’m still friends with her today, Hi Stef! Thanks for loving me through all that.) Another made me break out in a rash, another made me so sick even after the point of time your body is supposed to be passed that, another made me physically unable to cry. I COULDN’T CRY, YOU GUYS. SERIOUSLY. I’d feel that lump in my throat, I’d think horrible things… still nothing. I COULDN’T CRY. It was awful. I did finally get on one that was okay enough and I just dealt with it.

Then I got married and we wanted to have a baby. I didn’t want to be on meds while pregnant, that can be so dangerous, so I stopped. (You all know how that story goes… no pregnancy.) But I stayed off. I stayed off of meds through that entire infertility season of my life (you know, the one I’m still in.) We adopted. I stayed off. I had surgery, causing my eating disorder and anxiety to get worse. I stayed off. My mom died. I stayed off. I dealt with picking my kid up from school every day and breaking into tears with every pick up because I had to find out what horrible behavior my child decided to conduct that day. I stayed off.

I just… can’t anymore.

You see, I stayed off because I thought I was being brave. I was dealing with it and I was being so brave doing it all on my own. But then I realized…. That’s not bravery. Bravery is admitting that I can’t do this on my own. (Oh hey, story of my life.) Bravery is saying that the world feels like it’s closing in on me and OMG PLEASE JUST GIVE ME THE GOOD MEDS. Right? Right. At least to me that’s bravery.

So this isn’t to pat myself on the back and tell you all what an amazing person I am (even though I am, duh), but instead for someone who needs to see this to realize that they don’t have to be the other kind of brave anymore. You can be another kind of brave. You can be my kind of brave and it’s totally okay. And if that isn’t your definition of brave, then that’s okay too. And if you aren’t dealing with any of this, but wanted a real glimpse into who I am, well then there you go. Hope you love me through it.

And please forgive me. Forgive me for not answering your phone calls because it was just too hard that day, forgive me for cancelling plans on you, forgive me for making a thousand excuses, forgive me for being a flake. Forgive me for not answering “I’m great!” to “How are you?”, Forgive me for just being tired all the time, and please forgive me for the journey I’m about to embark on as all my emotions get out of whack. And if you’re a praying person, pray that I finally find that sweet spot. The one that still lets me be me, but also lets me deal with all of y’all a little better… y’all are awful. (just kidding… kind of.)

xo

Tabitha

(Feel free to share this if you feel compelled, seriously. Maybe someone who needs to will see it. J)