Crazy Train

Today was my quarterly doctor appointment for a "med check." If you're unfamiliar with that term, it's a (somewhat) inconspicuous way of saying, "Hey, we need to monitor your pills -- let's touch base." For me, we touch base about my anti-anxiety meds (or anti-depressants, whichever term you prefer...same difference). It struck me when I left that, while it didn't start this way, I've actually reached a point where I enjoy this check-in.

Like I said, it didn't start that way, not any of the times I've started up such medicine. As long as I can remember, I've been prone to anxiety. The doorbell rings? Someone's scoping out the house to break in. I call family and there's no answer? Clearly, they've died a violent and painful death. My husband isn't home at his normal time? There's been an accident, and no one's been able to reach me yet. So, as you can see, my mind is a wild and wooly place that veers into the darkest possibilities and takes just about everything far, far too seriously.

As you'd expect then, it took me a l-o-o-o-n-g time to even go to the doctor for help. Why? Well, I was too worried, of course. Seriously, though I really wish I was exaggerating! Anxiety about anxiety: who knew?

My first foray into pharmaceutical balance was when I was about 16, and I was so scared it meant I was "crazy." I've been fortunate to have great doctors, though, who thoughtfully allow that, based on my life and perceptions of it, I can benefit from "some smoothing out." Apparently, English teachers aren't the only ones with a knack for delicate wording.

Since then, I've bounced on and off a few different medications to help ease the sting that life (and my genetic predisposition) offers. For the longest time, I've been ashamed to acknowledge this need for myself, both with doctors and especially with friends, family, and now, casual Internet acquaintances. Yet somehow, over time, I've come to find an easy comfort in both the medicine itself and the regular check-ins with my awesome doctor. She is a working mom with a toddler, and the majority of each appointment is spent laughing and chatting about our kids and in-laws. At some point, she invariably asks about my thoughts on the medicine, adjusts (or not) according purely based on my input, and then jump back to water-cooler chitchat. 

Today, as I was leaving and laughing with her and the receptionist about the joys of decorating cookies with a little one, I realized that I'm starting to find balance.

Being a teacher?  Stressful and fulfilling.

(Yes, this an actual photo from one of my classes...I love my kiddos!)

Being a wife? Stressful and fulfilling.

(Yeah, I know the picture doesn't match; I don't generally take pictures during our tense moments.)

Being a mom? Stressful and fulfilling.

So, what I'm finding is that life itself is both stressful and fulfilling. (Duh!) I'm also finding that, for various reasons, I need a little outside help at finding that balance, and that's okay. Does the medicine actually help? Hell if I know. What's more important is that I've accepted that I do need help, I sought it out, and it allows me to be better at, well, all of my responsibilities in life. 

Life isn't perfect, and God (and everyone!!!) knows, neither am I. But that doesn't mean that, with a little help from my friends, I can't stop trying.