Where It All Began: Why I Do What I Do

I did not grow up dreaming about being a mental health therapist one day. In fact, you could have played M*A*S*H (IYKYK) with me every single day for an entire year in middle school, and it would have never shown up under the “jobs” category. Things such as, stay at home mom, teacher, nurse, professional basketball player (haha), ice cream shop owner, would have all been more likely. But here I am. So how did I get here? What made me so passionate about mental health and helping others through hard seasons? Good question. The short answer is….Jesus. The long answer is…. Jesus. 

I struggled with anxiety and panic attacks through high school and college, but just tried my best to ignore it. And for the most part, I could. It followed me into my adult years and it hit a peak shortly after meeting my husband. I started to find safety behaviors to help me in those moments, but what I didn’t realize is that I was setting myself up for failure in the long term. It started to affect my eating habits, my social life, and many more areas. In 2018 my husband and I got married and even though I had talked to him about it some, the depths of it he didn’t know…and honestly I don’t think I did either. 

February of 2020 we licensed our home for foster care and a couple weeks later we met a 2 day old baby boy. While the joy that he brought to Seth and I was indescribable, I struggled to manage my stress and spiraled. There were times I couldn’t eat, I was scared to be alone with him, I had fears that DCF would show up with no warning and take him. I was married to a wonderful man, had great support around me, yet I felt so lonely and as if no one understood me or knew me. 

We were actually able to adopt our son about a year later. Once his adoption was finalized it felt like we could breathe again. We had decided that we were going to take a break from foster care to regroup and just enjoy being a family.

3 months later we get a call. “Hey, I know you guys said you were taking a break, but would you be open to another child?” We said yes. He was 19 months old, just 3 month older than our son, so we figured we could handle that. Then 4 months later we got another call. “ Hey, there is an 8 day old little girl that is in need of a home. Are you guys open to another baby?” We again said yes. 4 months later I called my husband at work one day. “Hey, I just got a positive pregnancy test.” This catapulted us into pure survival mode. I don’t know how we did it. I honestly think the pregnancy hormones, in a weird way, kept me somewhat sane. 

Fast forward a few months and I gave birth to our youngest daughter on our older daughter’s first birthday and our boys were 2. So if you are keeping track, that is 4 kids in 2.5 years, 3 of them newborns, with our oldest son being 2 when our youngest was born. I felt like I was on a sinking ship mentally and physically. I didn’t know where to go for help. I considered medication, but absolutely did not want to take it, so I didn’t. I just kept trying to ignore all the red flags and my body’s check engine light was so bright that it was becoming hard to ignore. 

Then, A year and a half  after our youngest was born, on my 33rd birthday, I woke up at 4:30am on the dot in a full blown panic attack that would last for hours. I felt like I was dying. I had no control over my mind or my body. I couldn’t get out of bed, I couldn’t take care of my kid, I couldn’t eat, I could barely talk without something triggering another attack. This lasted for 2 weeks. Every morning at 4:30am the same thing would happen and last all day. After multiple visits with my provider, a trip to the ER, phone calls to friends, a CT scan, still not being able to get out of bed, and encouragement from my husband, I started medication. I took 2 weeks off work, and family and friends helped us care for our kids, brought us food, and prayed over us. I was embarrassed, I felt vulnerable, misunderstood, judged, ashamed, and alone. I remember just laying in bed praying the same desperate prayers, that He would immediately take the vicious attacks away. And guess what? He didn’t. But what he did do, was bring people to me that I needed. Once I started to talk with others about where I was at, people reached out to tell me they have been in a similar season, that they too have had to take medication, that they have similar fears and anxieties. I had the most real and raw conversations with people as they sat on my couch and saw me in a vulnerable place both physically and mentally.

Eventually things started to get better. The meds started to work and I started to ease my way back into “real life” again. But this is where my passion for helping others in hard seasons began to grow. I want people to know they are not alone, that they are loved, and seen and known. And maybe they don’t feel known by those around them, but they are known and love by the God who created them.