Growing up, I was always a facetious child. My mother's words. I was an "overachiever," a leader, and ALWAYS had something to say.

I began playing the violin when I was 5 and continued through the age of 12. I was a straight A student, involved in student government, a member of the yearbook and photography clubs, tutored, and was a National Latin Scholar. I won state level creative writing awards and was selected for both the Governor's School for the Arts and the Governor's Honors Academy, an unusual accomplishment as it was rare that someone was chosen for both.

I was in choir, I sang lead vocals in a band, practiced Martial Arts, and volunteered in my community. I took college classes and began acting and singing at the local state college when I was 12, landing lead roles in almost every production, up against people almost twice my age. When I was 17 or 18 I was inducted into Alpha Psi Omega, the collegiate National Theatre Honor Society. From beginning at 12 to when I was able to enroll in college courses, I had accrued enough points through my participation in theatrical and musical productions in order to become the youngest member in local chapter history.

This pattern continued into college where, again, I was a straight A student, worked in the Admissions Office 20+ hours a week, was a Student Ambassador, was in a co-ed service fraternity, sang in choir, was a Shakespeare scholar, and had lead roles in almost every production, in addition to being the first student director at my university.

On the outside I had it all together. But on the inside I was an anxious mess. In high school I would break out in hives; my trapezius muscles would seize up so that I couldn't move my neck from side to side, and I would develop laryngitis. The worst was when I experienced "globus hystericus." Globus hystericus is defined as "a sensation of a lump or foreign body in the throat, often described as a feeling of tightness, pressure, or something stuck."
It felt as if my throat was closing up and I couldn't talk or sing and it always seemed to come at the worst points in time. This began in high school and followed me throughout my college life as well.
I came down with a horrible case of mono my freshman year in college and had a bad relapse my junior year. I was never the same after this and was diagnosed with "chronic fatigue," as they couldn't find anything wrong with me.
Ever since then, I "crash and burn," as my mother calls it. I go, go, go, until I can't anymore and then I get sick.

My family has a long history of addiction and mental health issues. I've always been keenly aware and hypersensitive to these matters, having experienced them or been exposed to them on numerous levels.

That said, I would always think that I had it under control or that I could "handle it." I wasn't opposed to the idea of seeking help and taking medication, but again, I thought I could handle things on my own. I limped along for years in this capacity and it was only having a child of my own that caused a shift in my mindset.

I distinctly remember the moment it happened...
My son was under the age of 1 and we had a bunch of family over. We were on our back porch and my son dropped a bottle of bubbles and the soap went everywhere. Not a big deal, right? For some reason, it was...at least to me.

I remember going inside to the kitchen, washing the suds off my hands, and sobbing. All I could think of was how I would have to clean everything up and how it made a mess and it felt like it ruined everything.

In that moment, I knew that I needed to seek out professional help.

My anxiety was causing me to focus on the most minute and unimportant things and I was missing out on what was truly important...experiencing my child growing up. I didn't want my son to grow up walking on eggshells and wondering if mommy was ok or being afraid to make a mess because I would be upset. I told my husband that I needed help and was struggling and that began my mental health healing journey.

**That was 8 years ago.**
Sometimes it takes something greater than yourself to make you realize that you don't need to struggle by yourself and that you aren't alone.
I have so many friends that struggle. Some that do so quietly and some that are more vocal.
We have hard conversations and support each other. We aren't critical and do not cast judgement. We are there for each other in whatever capacity we can be. We understand.

These days, I focus on things I can control versus things I cannot. I take bubble baths. I walk my dogs. I create spaces that invite calm. I listen to music. I sing. I watch silly videos. I listen to podcasts. I spend time with friends who fill my cup. I go on adventures and create memories with my son. And yes, I still have manic moments where I decide to reorganize the linen closet or purge my closet or clean my house in order to have control over something in my life when another aspect feels as if it is spiraling out of control. The shift has been that I am aware of why I am doing it and in this, I try to focus my energies in a productive and positive fashion. Shout out to my therapist!

Mental health is an ever changing and morphing thing and because of this, you are never "healed." That being said, you learn more about yourself and develop coping strategies. You invest in self care and hopefully self love and self acceptance. You learn to accept you, as imperfectly perfect as you are.

Learn to Accept You, as Imperfectly Perfect as You are

The Protective Power of Positivity in Childhood