Written by The Mom
Anxiety does not feel like a mental illness. It feels so very, very physical. Sometimes it is subtle. Sometimes it is so overpowering that it grips your entire body, takes control of your thoughts, and leaves room for nothing else.
Anxiety robs me.
It robs me of my breath. I can’t breathe.
It robs me of my patience. I am so overwhelmed.
It robs me of my children. Leave Mommy alone, she doesn’t feel good. Just go watch a show.
It robs me of my focus. I feel like I’m in a bad dream.
It robs me of my center. I don’t understand why I feel like this.
It robbed me of my son’s first year of life. I don’t remember his first birthday.
I fill the emptiness with what I choose.
And then anxiety gives back to me.
It gives me courage. How can I help you?
It gives me connection. I’ve been there, too.
It gives me relief. I understand what you’re going through.
It gives me joy in the smallest moments. Mommy, I want to snuggle.
It gives me faith. This will pass.
It gives me hope. You will get through this.
It gives me grace. You are strong.
It gives me love. In sickness and in health.
And then it leaves me.
It leaves me humbled.
It leaves me stronger.
It leaves me in awe.
It leaves me thankful.
It leaves me with a gift: the choice to move forward. For them.