Psychotherapy. Anti-anxiety meds. Massage therapy.
Meditation. Guided Imagery. Scripture memorization.
Vitamins and supplements. Chiropractic adjustment. Acupuncture.
Essential Oils. Hypnotherapy. Books & websites.
Journaling. Ignoring. Napping.
Hydrating. Boot camp. Yoga.
Seeing a laryngologist. Seeing a psychiatrist. Seeing a neurologist.
Deep breathing. Bible study. Gardening.
Reading. Denial. Lots and lots of prayer.
These are the avenues I’ve been down in my search for a cure from what ails me.
I’m like the woman in the Bible who bled for 12 years. I’ve spent all I have and seen every doctor/specialist/guru I can afford. I’m spent and exhausted and overwhelmed.
Most days I carry on and try to be brave in this world that has left my voice — and a huge chunk of my identity — behind. But on days when I’m tired and my blood sugar is completely off kilter and my hormones won’t behave, I don’t function quite as well.
On those days I retreat to my closet for a little Jesus and cat therapy, because I can’t keep my eyes from welling with tears. Big, fat tears of regret and disappointment — but mostly fear.
Fear is a big issue, the one that haunts me, the one that lies just below the outer crust of my fragile but mostly happy life. I don’t feel depressed. I am mostly in a good place. But the surface is so thin. I live in a constant state of hypervigilance. The tiniest quake could shatter the whole thing into oblivion. . .
Want to hear more about my journey of trauma and stress as a special needs mom? It’s not ALL doom and gloom, I promise!
I’ve got a guest post up over at Different Dream Parenting about PTSD and special needs parents, and I’d love for you to visit me over there.
To continue reading, please click here.