The TML Blog
When the Work Pays Off
“Shape yourself before the world shapes you.”
I was taking a morning stroll through my neighborhood last fall, my mind racing with chaotic thoughts surrounding my new life circumstances (which were equally chaotic), when I stopped for a moment to take a much-needed *deep breath*. As I stood there, feeling the warmth of the sunshine on my face, I opened my eyes and took in this massive tree towering over me and noticed something… It was adorned with several large nests that I had never noticed before. Fall had just made its way to us, so the tree had only very recently shed its leaves—of course I hadn’t noticed the nests. How could I?
As I continued to stand there gazing up at this now barren tree, I started to wonder how long it had taken the birds to build their nests. I imagined them scouring the nearby yards and fields, thoughtfully selecting every twig and crafting them with the greatest care and intentionality. All that preparation being done under the cover and protection of the spring leaves and blooms with no one able to witness it. All that hard work in anticipation of the moment when it would finally be needed. And then I realized…
Here I was, facing one of the most world-rocking seasons of my life, and…managing it. Not perfectly, of course, but pretty damn well. I thought about everything that had been thrown my way these past few months like a never-ending hurricane, and I was surviving and—dare I say—thriving? That’s when I made the connection…like the birds, I, too, had been putting in the work.
Four years ago I made one of the greatest decisions of my life—I started therapy. When I made that decision, it wasn’t because something tragic had just happened or I had suffered a mental breakdown (not yet, anyway). I went because I knew I didn’t have all the tips and tools to help me navigate this world when things inevitably get hard. For four years I put in the work. I showed up for myself. I dug deep and grew up and stretched beyond (what I thought were) my limits. I was intentional. I had taken so much care in my own preparation, and now in this wintry season, I was casting off my metaphorical leaves and bringing to light all the hard work I had been diligently and privately doing that had equipped me for this moment. The work was paying off.
In life, the universe gives and the universe takes away. I know I’m not special in that way. None of us escape this life without pain or trauma or hardship. But just as that doesn’t make life any less beautiful, it also doesn’t mean it has to be so arduous. We can put in the work to ease those tough moments and challenging seasons—I’m proof of that.
So if you aren’t doing so already, I hope you take this as an encouragement to do something for your present self that your future self will thank you for. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture or done with an audience, because it’s not for anyone else. It’s for you—and you deserve that. Be intentional. Take care. Build something so strong that it will be able to withstand any stress or storm or season. Know that the fruits of your labor will be so very worth it…and I cannot wait to see the magnificent “nest” you build.
Growing Pains & Making Gains
They tell you when you hit your 30’s, something changes within you—you really start figuring things out, learning your true self, and a sense of self-acceptance begins to settle in. But here I find myself (rapidly) approaching the midpoint of this decade of my life, constantly checking my watch, waiting for this cosmic shift to take place and … *tick tock tick tock* … nothing.
The truth is…the past two years I’ve been struggling. The grief over the loss of my pregnancy and of my furry soulmate, the year-long anxiety of doing a TV show (that I still feel I had no business doing), the depression over our ongoing infertility struggle—not to mention the trauma from this goddamn global pandemic—all have taken a toll on me mentally, emotionally, spiritually…and physically. Now, I should preface this by saying that being thin has never really been a goal at any point in my life (which is good, because tbh it’s just not in the genetic cards for me). My weight and size have fluctuated since middle school, and I’ve just ridden that wave and accepted every version that my body has presented over the years. But lately…I’ve felt like a stranger in my own skin, finding it nearly impossible to recognize my reflection or feel good in anything I put on my body.
“So I checked my bullshit with the bouncer, got myself a drink, and hit the dance floor with my friends.”
So you can imagine when the idea was proposed that we go out clubbing one night while we were in Vegas recently, I immediately dove headfirst into my private pool of self-pity. But I poked my head up out of the water long enough to feign an excitable “OK, let’s do it!” and proceeded to painstakingly pick something (anything) to wear that I would feel remotely good in. When we arrived at the club, I was quickly made aware of the key demographic—it was impossible to not notice the abundance of 22-year-olds in their tiny, sparkly dresses, 6-inch heels, and Insta-Influencer-level faces. Did I look cute? Sure. Was I still a tad (read: super) self-conscious at this point? Definitely. But…I made the decision right then that I was going to let all that go and just enjoy myself. So I checked my bullshit with the bouncer, got myself a drink, and hit the dance floor with my friends. And then, something amazing happened…
“I remember the days of my earlier years where I constantly felt like I had something to prove—like I had to be the prettiest or funniest or smartest or some combination of those things in order to stand out in a crowd.”
All of a sudden I found myself dancing…and laughing…and having the time of my life. And then I started to look around at these young women that had initially triggered my own insecurities and began to almost feel sorry for them. I watched as they teetered around in those ridiculous heels, pulling at their dresses, fussing with their hair, eyes shifting from one woman to the next as if they were taking some kind of hot-girl-inventory and doing the impossible math in their heads to determine how they stacked up against them. I recognized it because I used to be them.
“…not only is life better when you let go of your insecurities and allow yourself to fully and shamelessly experience the joys life has to offer but also when you do that, other people can see it and feel it.”
I remember the days of my earlier years where I constantly felt like I had something to prove—like I had to be the prettiest or funniest or smartest or some combination of those things in order to stand out in a crowd. And in that moment—as I sweatily twerked to Megan Thee Stallion—I realized that none of that mattered. In fact, we had several people approach us wanting to dance with us and buy us drinks with one man literally saying, “You are giving off a vibe that none of these young gals could even touch” (which he later followed up with a highly inappropriate and awkward marriage proposal, but that’s neither here nor there). But this isn’t about throwing shade at all the 20-somethings of the world (y’all continue living your best young-folx’ lives!) nor is it about seeking validation from strange men in a club (although words of affirmation are my love language, ijs). That night didn’t necessarily affect how I felt about myself, rather it validated the idea that not only is life better when you let go of your insecurities and allow yourself to fully and shamelessly experience the joys life has to offer but also when you do that, other people can see it and feel it.
It was also that night I realized that sure, maybe I’ve recently gained (ahem) a few pounds, but in the past two years I’ve also gained: emotional stability through consistent therapy, a stronger marriage and closer relationships, my own business and a passion for what I do, a great deal of wisdom and several life lessons, and 10 whole inches of hair (I mean, I’m allowed at least one frivolous gain, right?). Not to mention a body that has carried me through all the trials and tribulations I mentioned earlier along with countless others. Can I say that I have “officially arrived”? I wouldn’t just yet. But…I can certainly feel the c o s m o s s h i f t i n g, inching me closer to the next best version of myself—a version who fully accepts herself as-is, who experiences joy unabashedly, and who can still drop it like it’s hot…in sensible shoes…and I can’t wait to meet her.
The Breaking Point
“2020 has been my best and most favorite year yet!”
— No one, EVER
I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that 2020 has been an absolute dumpster fire for most of us—I know it certainly has been for me.
Even putting aside my own personal issues, it feels like each day is worse than the one before. It's like as soon as we catch our breath from one catastrophe, another one comes along and knocks the wind right back out of us. I think that's part of what has made this year so hard—the relentlessness of it all. We have far surpassed #thestruggleisreal and seem to have advanced to a level I'm now referring to as #SWEETBABYJESUSWHENWILLTHISNIGHTMAREEND. I've had several people over the past few months ask me, "How do you do it? How are you keeping it together?!" The truth is...I'm not. I've had bouts of anxiety-induced sleep paralysis. I've had days where I hardly moved from one spot. I've cried and cursed more this year than I have the past five years combined—and for anyone who knows me, you know that's saying something. Real talk: when I got the news of RBG's passing, I legitimately laid on my living room floor for three hours and sobbed. A tad dramatic? Sure. But that's because—unbeknownst to me—I was just about to arrive to this week's final destination...my breaking point.
As most of you know, I co-host a weekly show called Alabama Politics This Week. On the show, we obviously discuss topics involving politics and current events, which you can imagine in this god-forsaken year has been an absolute treat. Normally I'm able to keep it together through the hour'ish it takes to film the show. But yesterday...yesterday was the first day where the topics we discussed fully triggered my (already elevated) anxiety. Thinking and talking about the loss of RBG and Breonna Taylor and 200,000+ Americans dead from COVID and the pure chaos that will undoubtedly ensue in November and the wannabe-dictator megalomaniac in the White House just...honestly broke me. It was as if each thought was causing a small spark inside my brain and I could feel myself imploding right there in slow motion and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I had finally succumbed to the weight of everything that 2020 had thrown my way and just let is wash over me like a tidal wave. But also like a tidal wave, that initial sense of drowning was immediately followed by a sense of calm. And I realized that—just like you—I'm still here.
So whether you're angry, cynical, frustrated, somber, scared, or any combination of those things, that's okay. We are all in survival mode at this point and sometimes just getting through the day is a victory. So if you've made it through this day and you're reading this right now, please let me be the first to remind you that YOU ARE DOING A FUCKING GREAT JOB.
And if you need to, take break. Feel those feelings. Take care of yourself. But then come back. Because we have to keep pushing forward. We have to keep fighting the good fight. There's too much at stake to give up now.
I always want to be honest and transparent here. Most days are tough, and nine times out of ten I'm driving the Hot Mess Express. So I promise you are not alone in your feelings, whatever they may be. It's crazy out there, and we still have three more months of this shitshow of a year. But we will make it through. So far we've survived 100% of our worst days...and I like those odds.
Why I'm Choosing to Be Grateful
I’m not here to sugarcoat what’s going on right now…times are tough and things are scary. Regardless of who or where we are, we are all feeling the effects of what is happening in our world. And if any of you suffer from anxiety like I do (G.A.D. 🙋🏻♀️), it can definitely exacerbate the fear and stress of it all.
But in spite of all of this—and because I have no control over these outside forces—I am choosing to shift my focus to one of the few things I do have control over: my perspective. And with that said, I am going to spend some time every day for the next week highlighting the things I am most grateful for…an #AttitudeOfGratitude, if you will.
So I have created this template with the intention to share 5 things that I’m grateful for over the next 7 days, and I’m challenging you to do the same. Because in a time of adversity and uncertainty, it’s important to remember the positive things life still brings us.
Today I am grateful for:
My baby brother. (Happy Birthday, Tobe!)
Being back in Alabama and closer to family. (Fun fact: Today is my 4 year anniversary of moving from LA to AL!)
COFFEE. (I think we can all be grateful for that)
My ability to work from home. (And because of this have been unknowingly honing my "social distancing" skills for the past 4 years...who knew?!)
Cozy pajamas. (That I, fortunately, get to work in from home!)
So whether it's big or small, we all have things in our lives that we can be grateful for...even in these bizarre times. Let me know what you're grateful for by posting and sharing this template and tagging me (and a friend or two!) on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter!
Piercing the Echo Chamber
"The civil discourse we need will not come from watching our tongues. It will come from valuing our differences and the creative possibilities inherent in them."
— Parker J. Palmer
It's no secret that we are living in a politically polarizing and divisive time. Facebook friend lists are dwindling, more people are migrating to the silos (and news stations) that best fit their ideals, and those who aren't battling it out with others on the internet refuse to even broach the subject of politics. Our country has essentially drawn a line in the sand, crossed its arms, and said, "Not today (or ever), Satan." And I get it...because I'm guilty of all of that, too. After the 2016 election, I was rolling back my friends list like Walmart pricing on Black Friday. I've made the snarky comments online, I've avoided people in real life, and I sought sanctuary in my little blue bubbles.
And honestly, it was what I needed at the time. But just like anything in life, you have to make the choice—to stay dormant or to move forward. I was presented with this choice a month and a half ago when a friend of mine offered me up as a suggested guest on the show Guerrilla Politics. For those who aren't familiar, it's a local, weekly show hosted by Dale Jackson and Dr. Waymon Burke where they discuss all sides of local, statewide, and national political topics. I was terrified not only of the thought of being on television (hellooo anxiety), but also the idea of having to discuss—nay, debate—politics with someone who has strong opposing views (ahem, Dale) on said television. But with some encouragement from friends and family, I said yes. And...I survived. And not only did I survive, but I was then asked by Dale if I would be interested in trying out a guest spot on his daily morning radio show: The Dale Jackson Show.
Now I'm a firm believer in transparency, so I should have prefaced all of this by saying: I was not a huge fan of Dale's. I had never known him personally, but his on-air personality to me was—to put it kindly—off-putting. Before all of this, I had literally zero desire to listen to/watch his shows, much less meet the man. It was clear to me where he stood on most issues and who his main demographic was, and I could safely say I was not in that camp. But I thought if he was willing to have someone like me on his show, who was I to not afford him that same respect. So again, I said yes. And now I'm not only a weekly guest on The Dale Jackson Show (Wednesdays from 8-9 AM ;) ), but I had the opportunity to serve as Dale's guest co-host on this week's episode of Guerrilla Politics. Do we align perfectly on all things political? Not at all. But through doing the shows, I have found that we have way more commonalities and shared opinions than I ever would've imagined. We've had some interesting debates (#TeamDragQueens), but we've always remained respectful of one another. And he'll probably hate that I'm saying this (so don't tell him I said it), but...he's actually kind of a nice guy.
There's nothing wrong with finding "your people" and getting connected to issues and causes you to care deeply about, but try to maintain respect and empathy in your heart for those who may not fall into those same silos. I still believe it's perfectly acceptable to remove people from your life who you feel are toxic and/or don't add value to your life, but try to be mindful of whether you're purging people because they're truly toxic or just because they may not agree with you. And let's be real...I'm all for an occasional snarky comment when appropriate, but try to make sure it's not hurting your overall cause. Because let's face it, it's easy to sit in a room (or a Facebook group) where all of your ideals and opinions are echoed back to you—that's where the community and organizing happens. But if you want to change hearts and minds—and moreover the narrative of what others may have written for you and your beliefs—then you have to step outside of your comfort zone and into the unknown. You may be surprised to find a different perspective, a deeper understanding, and a more positive outlook for the future of politics and humanity in America. I know that I certainly have.
"Fight for the things you care about, but do it in a way that will lead others to join you."
— Ruth Bader Ginsburg
What I Knew And What I Know
I've heard women say so many times, "I knew...I just knew!"...and I remember thinking, "How do you just know?" Well, one day in mid-September I finally understood what they meant: I just knew I was pregnant.
After a week of feeling all of the feelings—excitement, anxiety, fear, hope—I finally took a test... "PREGNANT". Those same feelings instantly amplified and washed over me like a terrifyingly glorious wave. This was real...this was happening...I was actually going to be a mom! It was a high I was sure I would never come down from, nor did I ever want to. But what I didn't know is just how quickly that high would end...
A few days (and several more positive tests) later, I started experiencing some minor pain. I had read that was normal and tried to focus on how I was going to surprise Alex with the news. Our six year wedding anniversary would be that Saturday, and I thought what better way to celebrate than with this incredible news! But a few days before, the pain started to intensify, as well as the bleeding, and it became almost unbearable. I called my doctor and made an appointment to have some blood work done, but I knew...I just knew...
I have experienced the loss of loved ones and dear relationships...I have suffered heartbreak and tragedy...but nothing—none of it—could have prepared me for the level of pain I felt in that moment. I cried til my eyes were swollen shut...I screamed til my throat was raw...I cursed and threw things and prayed and laid in the fetal position in the floor of my bathroom. I was gutted. I was angry. I was devastated.
“It's an odd dichotomy…feeling as though you—or your body—has failed, while also feeling like something has been stolen from you.”
See, what many people don't know about me is that since I was a young teenager, I have always held this (seemingly irrational) fear that I would never be able to have children. No doctor had told me such—it was just some dark notion that has lingered in the back of my mind for nearly 20 years. And for a little while, those dark dreams had been dashed, and I had proven my anxiety to be wrong. So when it was confirmed that I had in fact miscarried, those dark dreams had now turned into my worst—and very real—nightmare.
I still have a hard time even saying the word: "miscarriage." If you look it up in the dictionary, one of the first synonyms you will find is "failure," and that really resonates with me. It's an odd dichotomy...feeling as though you—or your body—has failed, while also feeling like something has been stolen from you. I feel guilty, yet victimized. I feel self-reproach, yet self-pity. I feel "why not me?", yet "why me?!"
“It's a club that no one wants to join, yet there are so, so many members.”
The first few weeks I went through (what I dubbed) the Triple D Cycle: 1) Depression; 2) Denial; 3) Distraction. Repeat. I've tried my best to keep busy and put on a brave face, but I've also allowed myself to have moments where I feel those hard feelings fully and deeply. The goal is to not suppress those emotions, but also to not become consumed by them. And a month later, I'm still struggling with finding that balance.
One out of every four pregnancies ends in a miscarriage. That is a truly devastating statistic. I have dear friends who have suffered miscarriages and fertility issues, and my heart broke for them. And now being on this side of it, the heaviness somehow feels even heavier. Because you're not just grieving this lost embryo…you're mourning the nursery you had already decorated in your head, the joy on your parents' faces after telling them they're going to be grandparents, the life that will never be. It's a club that no one wants to join, yet there are so, so many members. But I am fortunate in the sense that my friends have been very open with me about their pain and struggles, which has allowed me to be more open and honest about my own experience—and therapy...thank god for therapy.
But keeping with that honesty, I initially didn't want to tell anyone (with the exception of my husband, of course). I mean...how do you casually bring that up in conversation? Why tell people who care about you something that will just make them sad and pity you? Why burden others with your sadness or pain if you don't have to? But then I felt that sadness begin to turn into anger... You see, the world doesn't just stop, even if it feels like it's crashing down on you. I still had projects to complete...laundry to do...relationships to maintain...emails to respond to...meetings to attend... There were days where I sat at my computer and literally screamed at the (obviously unknowing) person on the other side, "Do you have any idea what I'm going through right now?!" And of course, the answer was no.
“...I understand that your gain does not equal my loss...”
That's when I knew I had to write about it. Not for sympathy or pity or to make excuses for being emotionally/physically checked out—but for understanding. I also wanted to write about it, because as an advocate for removing the stigma surrounding mental health and related topics, to not share my personal experience would be hypocritical in my eyes and only perpetuate the stigma. And as I said, I am so lucky to have friends who have shared their experiences with me, as well as an amazing therapist...and I understand everyone is not as fortunate to have both or either of those things. So if my story can help one person out there feel less alone, then it's worth the temporary pain and vulnerability that comes with writing this blog.
To all my mama friends out there—please do not feel like you have to tiptoe around me or handle me with kit gloves. Keep sharing your funny stories and cute pictures of your kiddos. To all my pregnant gal pals—please do not feel like you have to avoid me. Keep posting those baby announcements, ultrasound pictures, bump updates, etc. Will they make me a little sad? Honestly, they most likely will. BUT...please know that I understand that your gain does not equal my loss and that I am genuinely and sincerely happy for you. And to all my ladies who have experienced or are currently experiencing the loss of a pregnancy—please do not feel like you have to bear this burden on your own. Let your family, friends, loved ones help you carry some of the weight. Lean on them, talk to them, confide in them. And if you feel like you can't, then please come lean on me. I will sit with you, cry with you, scream with you, or just quietly hold your hand. Your feelings—whatever they may be—are yours and yours alone, and you are justified in all of them...just don't feel like you have to feel them alone.
I've learned by now that you can't put a time limit, or any parameters, on grief—it ebbs and flows like the tide, with some days giving you space and the appearance of "normal" while others leave you feeling like a tsunami is crashing over you. I still have good days and bad days...moments of complete peace and moments of absolute meltdowns. But along with support, my friends' stories have also given me hope, as many of them now have beautiful, precious rainbow babies that I, too, have the privilege to love on. So it may not be today...tomorrow...or even months from now, but I am confident that I will get through this...that I will be okay...and that one day I will be granted the blessing of being a mother.
I know it...I just know it.
The Lizzo Effect
"If I'm shinin', everybody gonna shine // I was born like this, don't even gotta try // I'm like chardonnay, get better over time // Heard you say I'm not the baddest, bitch, you lied..."
— Lizzo
I love to dance—I always have. I'm not talking about "So You Think You Can Dance"-formally-trained dancing (although I did take one "acrobatic jazz" class when I was eight years old where I gave an epic recital performance dressed in all the neon-colored polyester and set to the tune of "Joy to the World"). <insert hair flip> I'm talking about out on a dance floor with my best girlfriends...in the aisles of the grocery store...all up in my car (safely ((ish)), of course)...I just love. to. dance.
And a few months ago (after falling down yet another rabbit hole of dance videos on YouTube), I was feeling inspired to research adult hip-hop classes in the area. Now mind you I am certainly not the greatest of dancers, but ya girl has some rhythm and was known to drop down and get her eagle on from time to time back in the day. (You're welcome for the visual) There was nothing I could find at the time that was what I was looking for, so I just went back to twirling with my vacuum in the privacy of my living room a la Mrs. Doubtfire.
Fast forward to a week ago when—lo and behold—I received an email from a local dance studio advertising their new adult hip hop class! And not only that, it is reasonably priced, happening on a day/time of the week that I can easily attend, and literally located across the street from my neighborhood. It's as if the dance gods were all hitting the Woah whilst smiling upon me in unison.
But then I immediately felt that switch flip. You know the one—insecurity, apprehension, terror. I found myself looking down and taking inventory of my body: I'm not in the greatest of shape. Parts of me move and jiggle that didn't use to before. That knee injury from twelve years ago is starting to take its toll. What if others in the class stare at or judge me? What if I look ridiculous? What if I'm *gasp* the "big girl" among a gaggle of J-Lo backup dancers?!
I felt myself spiraling into this black hole of self-doubt and started to just delete the email from my inbox and my brain. But as luck (or maybe those dance gods I mentioned earlier) would have it, just as I was clicking through the email, Lizzo's Good As Hell came up on my playlist. I suddenly found myself singing along and doing some serious chair-dancing and hair-tossing. The switch had been flipped off...just like that. And it was in that moment I realized that I was about to allow my fears and insecurities to prevent me from doing something I love.
"We cannot allow anything or anyone to steal our joy—especially ourselves."
Am I currently in my "physical prime"? No. But I am still healthy and capable of movement. Am I carrying around more weight than I ever have? Yes. But my body is deserving of love no matter how many imperfections or the number on a scale. I know these things...and I knew these things when I first opened that email. And yet I—like so much of our society—have been conditioned to believe not only that the weight/size of our bodies matters, but also that they must reach a certain standard to be deemed "acceptable". As if there's a specific criterion we must meet in order to wear certain clothing, move on a dance floor, or just exist in the world.
And the craziest part for me is that if someone else were to talk to me that way—tell me I'm too big or too old or too inexperienced—I would be 100% that bitch and tell them all the way the hell off. So why would I allow myself to speak about myself in that way? Life is too short and the world is, at times, too ugly to not enjoy every pleasure it can bring. We cannot allow anything or anyone to steal our joy—especially ourselves.
"The hardest type of love is and will always be self-love—but it's also the best kind of love."
We are all deserving of love and the opportunity to pursue our passions. Full stop. Should being healthy and taking care of our bodies be a priority? Of course. But instead of taking physical inventory of myself—whether it be my pants size or that new roll that seemingly appeared overnight—at the end of the day, I'm going to take inventory of the things that actually matter: was I kind to someone today...did I accomplish a goal...am I allowing myself enough self-care mentally, physically, emotionally...did I learn something new...did I do something today that brought myself or someone else joy.
The hardest type of love is and will always be self-love—but it's also the best kind of love. We can speak about it, write about it, and even sing about it til we're blue in the face, but until we practice it—consistently—every day, we won't ever fully achieve it. That is why at the end of each day I am challenging myself to start writing down 3-5 things that I accomplished, that I'm grateful for, and/or that I love about myself in an attempt to shift my perspective. And when those icky thoughts start to creep in, I will reject those words as if they were being spoken by my greatest of haters. And I challenge you to do the same—because we are smart and kind and strong and hard-working and funny and loving and giving and so many wonderful things that actually matter.
And if you're wondering if I signed up for that hip hop class or not...the answer is not only did I sign up for it, but I also pre-registered and committed to taking the entire multi-week session. I'm still nervous and have some insecurities to work through, but I'm excited to step out of my comfort zone and do something that brings me joy. I owe myself that—nay—I deserve that. Because in the words of our Lord and Savior Lizzo: "I don't need a crown to know that I'm a queen." And neither do you.
It's Okay Not to Be Okay
"If we start being honest about our pain, our anger, and our shortcomings instead of pretending they don’t exist, then maybe we’ll leave the world a better place than we found it."
— Russell Wilson
Nervous. Anxious. Unsure. Scared. Embarrassed.
The waiting room had the sounds and smells like that of a spa, but I was anything but relaxed. In the few minutes I sat waiting, I contemplated jumping up and running out of there as fast as I could so many times.
"Do I really need to be here? Is this truly necessary? I mean, no one's making me be here, so I should just go."
At that moment, a lovely woman with the warmest expression opened the door and gently called my name. I somehow managed to gather myself up and cross the hall into her office and onto the couch.
You see, I had been contemplating therapy for years but had always come to the conclusion that all-in-all, I was okay. In my mind, there was no super-traumatic experience...no devastating loss...no abuse...which I interpreted as "okay." It almost felt silly to me the idea of seeing a therapist—not because I haven't had my fair share of sadness and loss (I have) or that I don't think mental health is incredibly important (I do), but because I never saw my problems or issues or feelings as "that bad." I essentially had what I like to call the "Kourtney Kardashian mentality"—as in when it comes to the rest of the world's problems, mine sort of pale in comparison.
But after years of encouragement from one of my best friends and some recent "ah-ha" moments, I decided to finally take the leap, and here I was.
I had no idea what to expect. We started out making small talk—standard get-to-know-you chitchat and comments about the weather. Then it started to get real: she asked me about my goals and what I wanted to achieve through our time together, and I started to feel the panic set in.
I had filled out a form previous to our meeting that asked that question, and I had written down some fairly vague answers: "Better my relationships" ... "Process my feelings in a healthier way"...etc. But I hadn't really considered why I was going or what I was wanting to get out of it in the end. Again, I thought I was "okay" and my life was "okay" and everything was pretty much "okay," but then I opened my mouth to answer, and it happened...word vomit. I honestly couldn't even tell you what I said if I wanted to. It felt almost like an out-of-body experience, spewing all of these feelings and tears onto this poor woman. It was like a switch had been flipped inside of me, and I couldn't turn it off.
After rambling on for what seemed like hours, she kindly informed me that our time was up, but that she would like to see me again...once a week for the next few months. I stood there half-stunned, half-confused. I smiled and nodded as she discussed available dates, but in my head, I kept repeating, "But I'm okay...I'm okay...I'm okay...??"
I stood up, gave her a half-hearted "thank you", and walked out of the door to my car. I sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened when I suddenly felt this wave come over me—and I let out the most guttural, cathartic scream I have ever heard, much less produced, followed by uncontrollable sobbing. And that's when I knew...
I. was. not. o. kay.
So I went back, and week after week—slowly but surely—I could feel things shifting. And then, just a few weeks ago, I had a major breakthrough: it turns out the awful thoughts and feelings I had been experiencing most of my life that I had chalked up to as "normal" were in fact quite the opposite. Stress, work, politics, #life—albeit contributors—were actually not the cause of the moderate/severe progression of these thoughts and feelings in recent years.
Turns out I have severe anxiety.
Now, younger Lisa would have immediately thrown her defenses up, argued her case, and found every excuse to explain away the notion that there may be something "wrong" with her...that she wasn't "okay." But not now. In that moment, I felt this enormous weight lift, and I cried at its release—but these tears were different. These were tears of relief...relief in finally putting a name to the cause of the negative thoughts and feelings that I had accumulated and which had plagued me for so, so long. In a sense, it felt...freeing...
Because it's only when you can identify an issue—whether it be with your physical health, a relationship, or your mental health—that you can truly begin the process of healing it.
It has now been 120 days since I started my journey to better mental health, and I still have such a long way to go. It has been hard and, at times, downright painful. But my only regret thus far is that I didn't seek help sooner. I write this not only as a way to externally process my feelings or because it is #MentalHealthAwarenessMonth, but also as an encouragement to anyone out there to not suffer in silence. Your feelings and experiences are valid. Full stop.
It's okay not to be okay...but it's not okay to not live your life as fully, beautifully, and freely as you deserve. And I wish nothing less than that for myself...and for you.