its 2019. and i, always a resolutionist, have scoured and wracked my brain for what i want. what i want to do, to accomplish, to be this year. and to be honest, i haven't come up with much yet.
1. run our local towns race in June
2. a night away with Christian (havent done this yet in our two years of being together)
3. slow down
and maybe that's why i haven't tacked things on, maybe i don't want to look at a long list of things i didn't accomplish or didn't get to, things i failed at again.
i'm on a break from instagram. i am terrible with instagram, for some reason i can see past so many social media platforms- i don't use snapchat anymore, facebook is a rarity, but man that instagram gets me.
the beauty, the hilarity, the poignant. it's all there. inspiration and life tips, cardi b, it's all so accessible. and i spent a lot of time on it.
then christmas season started. and my feed was suddenly 50 trees all lit with garlands, families posing and smiling, and so in a moment of "if i see one more freaking gingerbread house before christmas comes, i will lose it! NO ONE EVEN LIKES MAKING GINGERBREAD HOUSES AND THEY TASTE LIKE TRASH" i deleted the app and it's not reinstalled yet. although in all honesty, i hopped on after christmas via safari and scrolled, caught up on kulture, you know the important things.
but my break from instagram went deeper than just a break from other peoples highlight reels. because something embarrassing happened when we moved into this house and i have just realized it in the past month or so.
when we moved, i paid for our bedroom walls to be painted white, because everyone i follow on instagram had white walls and they are the BEST, right boo? the best, so clean and pristine.
guys - i hate my white walls. hate them. i can't rest, they feel sterile, like my eyes are constantly bouncing because it's so reflective. and because i have lofted ceilings, it's not really like a paint it yourself kind of deal. so here i am 31 years old and painting my house to be like someone else, to emulate someone else. and that's embarrassing, and messed up.
and i need a break, i need to know who i am, at my core. without the distraction of looking at everyone else's capsule wardrobe, toddler meals, wall colors (LOL), book list to read.
what does bria weigle barber want? because somewhere along the way in this journey, i started censoring myself again. i came out of my pain a little bit and honestly, just desperately wanted to return to normal. i wanted to be normal. i let what i think other people think about me LIMIT my own actions.
are you getting that? i let what i think other people think limit me. i spend more time thinking about what other people will think about what i post, like, follow, or write than i do actually posting, liking, following, or writing.
i didn't want to be the girl whose first husband passed away from suicide. i didn't want to be the girl whose ex-father in law writes her emails about how her children suffer under her care. i didn't want to live all these uncomfortable and painful truths that somehow i found myself living. i didn't want to be the prodigal girl that returned to the church. i didn't want to be the girl that still drinks to much even though she always regrets it. i didn't want to be the girl who hasn't seen half her family for most of her life, whose mom passed away, the girl who felt unlovable, who still feels that way, the girl who wished not to be here, the girl who sometimes feels like she can't move because of depression.
who i don't want to be can go on and on. but i have to own my truth. and for whatever reason (i like to think it's because God works through suffering and he is going to work through me) this is my story.
pain is still pain, and sometimes when it becomes manageable pain. when you aren't drowning in pain, it becomes easier to stifle, to ignore, to pretend. in the beginning, i had no choice but to be raw, to be vulnerable, to be real. and sometimes when you have been in really deep pain, going back into it seems scary, like there is anything else i would rather do than sit in my pain and be okay with it and then come tell you about sitting in it via blog and public platform where people can pick it apart and ask me questions about it.
and so this is my resolution. in 2019, i'm not going to be afraid of pain. i'm not going to limit myself by what i think others will think (that phrase gets me every time), i'm going to hit publish on my raw and on my real, and i am going to stay the fuck off instagram.
here's to 2019!
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
my experience with anxiety, PTSD, and managing symptoms
Saturday, January 27, 2018
i have struggled with anxiety for a long time. in high school and college, it manifested itself through an eating disorder. i remember my senior year of college, i would literally spend hours and hours filling out every online application available. not even taking the time to fill them properly, or check if the job was a good fit, but rather just throw my name out into the universe as if a blanketed approach of my name would guarantee safety and security.
i was in therapy my senior year, i got a roommate to help manage my availability of purging, and eventually i found a job. anxiety continued to be beneath the surface for me. many times while we were married, jim would comment on how miserable i could make an entire weekend just by having an issue and not being willing to confront it due to my fear.
throughout the three years of being a stay at home mom, i started learning about alternative methods to handle it, meditation, running, essential oils. my life seemed to be going pretty well, and i finally let go of the fear of waiting for the other shoe to fall.
after they died, i most definitely slipped into a state of PTSD. the sounds of sirens or people screaming would undo me. i remember Addy would have these screaming fits and i would just be unable to cope. several times, we would be in the car, she'd be screaming, and i would just count down the minutes till we made it home. i would run inside the house and start screaming and punching pillows until exhausted and i felt i could safely and effectively parent them again.
i would regularly have anxiety attacks, crying to the point of hyperventilation, feelings of absolute hopelessness. but eventually, they subsided... it took probably close to a year for regular ones to stop popping up. a lot of it, i credit to the stability and calming presence Christian brought to my life, i also stopped drinking for thirty days last may which seemed to help and i continued with self-discovery, internal healing (chiropractic and supplements) and braintap (which i can't recommend enough).
typing all that to say, when i got pregnant. i knew that i would eventually have a breakdown. i didn't know when, i thought maybe it would wait until after i brought the baby home, but i've been waiting, watching the clock tick by on the weeks... 12 weeks and no panic attack, 20 weeks and no panic attack.
this past week, i've been off, i've felt it. this wave that was building and building. i've felt like crying most days for no reason, i've been panicky and short. thursday on my way to work, i drove past a house that was in a crisis. ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars parked on the lawn - lights blazing, officers in heavy black boots and serious faces stomping in and out of the house. it almost happened then, but i managed it, texted christian, it took a couple hours but it subsided.
last night i was laying in bed, kids, dogs, and christian all sleeping soundly. and the reel started playing. the reel of reality of watching my daughter die, of going to a fire station with her broken body, of never bringing her home, of my husband dying. and it happened, this overwhelming feeling of "i can't i can't i can't" i can't bring a baby home, what if something happens, what if i make a mistake, what if i can't be a good mom, christian would hate me, our relationship would fall apart. i can't i can't i can't.
the fear is very real. the panic is very real. a lot of people have wondered, how i'm managing this pregnancy, how i am holding up mentally. it is no small feat to lose so much and then go through similar motions. there are so many feelings of not deserving the things i have because i lost so much, an undue feeling of blame and despair.
but i made it through. i let the wave crash as terrible as it was. i eventually slept and eventually woke up today. i don't know if i will ever not have anxiety as part of my life. but i manage it now, i see it clearly for what it is when it comes. it is not a friend, a coping mechanism, or a managing tool. it is a crippling tool of defeat and slavery.
it's ok to be honest about having anxiety or PTSD, it's ok to struggle, to wake up in a cold sweat with racing thoughts. but it's also ok to get better, to seek help when you need it, to be honest about what you need, want or desire in those moments.
i was in therapy my senior year, i got a roommate to help manage my availability of purging, and eventually i found a job. anxiety continued to be beneath the surface for me. many times while we were married, jim would comment on how miserable i could make an entire weekend just by having an issue and not being willing to confront it due to my fear.
throughout the three years of being a stay at home mom, i started learning about alternative methods to handle it, meditation, running, essential oils. my life seemed to be going pretty well, and i finally let go of the fear of waiting for the other shoe to fall.
after they died, i most definitely slipped into a state of PTSD. the sounds of sirens or people screaming would undo me. i remember Addy would have these screaming fits and i would just be unable to cope. several times, we would be in the car, she'd be screaming, and i would just count down the minutes till we made it home. i would run inside the house and start screaming and punching pillows until exhausted and i felt i could safely and effectively parent them again.
i would regularly have anxiety attacks, crying to the point of hyperventilation, feelings of absolute hopelessness. but eventually, they subsided... it took probably close to a year for regular ones to stop popping up. a lot of it, i credit to the stability and calming presence Christian brought to my life, i also stopped drinking for thirty days last may which seemed to help and i continued with self-discovery, internal healing (chiropractic and supplements) and braintap (which i can't recommend enough).
typing all that to say, when i got pregnant. i knew that i would eventually have a breakdown. i didn't know when, i thought maybe it would wait until after i brought the baby home, but i've been waiting, watching the clock tick by on the weeks... 12 weeks and no panic attack, 20 weeks and no panic attack.
this past week, i've been off, i've felt it. this wave that was building and building. i've felt like crying most days for no reason, i've been panicky and short. thursday on my way to work, i drove past a house that was in a crisis. ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars parked on the lawn - lights blazing, officers in heavy black boots and serious faces stomping in and out of the house. it almost happened then, but i managed it, texted christian, it took a couple hours but it subsided.
last night i was laying in bed, kids, dogs, and christian all sleeping soundly. and the reel started playing. the reel of reality of watching my daughter die, of going to a fire station with her broken body, of never bringing her home, of my husband dying. and it happened, this overwhelming feeling of "i can't i can't i can't" i can't bring a baby home, what if something happens, what if i make a mistake, what if i can't be a good mom, christian would hate me, our relationship would fall apart. i can't i can't i can't.
the fear is very real. the panic is very real. a lot of people have wondered, how i'm managing this pregnancy, how i am holding up mentally. it is no small feat to lose so much and then go through similar motions. there are so many feelings of not deserving the things i have because i lost so much, an undue feeling of blame and despair.
but i made it through. i let the wave crash as terrible as it was. i eventually slept and eventually woke up today. i don't know if i will ever not have anxiety as part of my life. but i manage it now, i see it clearly for what it is when it comes. it is not a friend, a coping mechanism, or a managing tool. it is a crippling tool of defeat and slavery.
it's ok to be honest about having anxiety or PTSD, it's ok to struggle, to wake up in a cold sweat with racing thoughts. but it's also ok to get better, to seek help when you need it, to be honest about what you need, want or desire in those moments.
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