The Masks We Wear.

Recently, my fiancé and I started pre-marital counseling, which has been an odd transition for me after 8-plus years of seeing counselors individually. We are supposed to work through things like "how will you raise your kids" or "what is your approach to money management"; yet, our conversations haven't been able to address those topics quite yet. We have had to talk to death a challenge we are currently facing. While a necessary part of the couples counseling process, it has been painful and unpleasant. But it has also led to some pretty astounding revelations. Last night, my crippling fear of masks was the revelation of the hour.

Not masks like Halloween masks- albeit I will be the first to tell you that I am truly terrified of costumes that cover peoples faces- but the masks that we create and wear to protect ourselves from other people, from hurt, from ourselves. For years, I wore a mask. Every day, I worked tirelessly to make sure that no one would see the real me- the girl struggling with depression and anxiety, who felt like she couldn't keep herself glued together no matter how much primping took place. I wanted to be the perfect daughter, sister, student, sorority woman, employee, friend, sweetheart. Mental illness isn't perfect; it is messy. My mask covered that mess.

Until January 28th, 2016, when I decided to publicly take off my mask and toss it aside. That day, I promised that I would be authentic and real. I committed myself to sharing stories in order to help others see that mental illness is not something to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. I gave up the mask and it was scary and painful, but so worth it. Yet now, over a year later, I have found myself wearing a mask once again... pretending to be someone I am not. I find this mask suffocating and cruel. I want to fight it. Everything in my body is telling me to rip it off and throw it away with spite and anger.

But I can't. Because this mask isn't for me. It is for someone else. Sometimes we are asked to wear a mask in order to help others... like when visiting a sick friend and bringing cheer and smiles when all we want to do is cry. It may sound counterintuitive, but there are times when pretending is the best way to be authentic. Deep, meaningful love and tremendous care for others may mean gently settling into a part, a role, a place, a mask. It may be uncomfortable. It can bring great sadness.

That is the gamble that comes from sharing your life with others. There are days when you must wear a mask for someone else... to ease their suffering or to make their life better. But that doesn't mean that you lose yourself behind that mask. My revelation was that, although I hate wearing a mask, there is so much freedom in being able to decide when and where I will wear it. You have the control to decide the fate of your story, to decide who get to be apart of it and who gets to know it. That freedom is liberating. It is cleansing. While we all must wear masks from time to time, know that the decision to embrace that mask is yours alone.

“No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.” -Nathaniel Hawthorne in The Scarlet Letter

The Day After The Day About Love.

Valentine's Day is weird. Nearly everyone falls into two camps when it comes to feelings about the day- you either adore it and spend all day wrapped in bliss or you hate it and spend all day lamenting about how awful love is. For ten years, I thought that the only boyfriend that would ever stick around would be depression; we had a horribly unhealthy relationship, but he always stuck around even when I tried to date someone else. When I was ready to take (yet another) break from dating, I just happened to match with a smooth talker who convinced me that he deserved a chance. On one of our first dates, I could not stop myself from spilling every detail of my struggle with mental illness with this introverted, quiet man that had no idea what to expect from the loud redhead that he met through online dating. For some insane reason, he asked me out again and again and again- even after that embarrassing lack of constraint on that date.

About three months later, I woke up with high anxiety and knew that I was close to a breakdown. He could tell something was wrong just by looking at my face and soon found himself holding me as wrapped myself in a blanket burrito and sobbed uncontrollably. With a tear streaked face, I asked him if he thought I was crazy and if he still wanted to be with me. I had been through this before- meet a man, start to fall for him, and then the depression and anxiety scares him away. But this time proved to be different; he pushed the hair out of my face and said “I have been waiting for this. I want to see the real you- all of you. The perfectly imperfect you.”

I fell in love with someone who sees my mental illness as just another thing that makes me unique and wonderful. On the days that feel impossibly hard, he encourages me to try to take one step- get out of bed- and then another- make coffee- and another, until I feel confidently enough to take on the day. He reminds me to take my medication every day- he is a pharmacist after all- and tells me to focus on breathing when I feel an anxiety attack creeping in. I brought my mental illness to this relationship, but that doesn’t mean that it has control over us. My mental illness is a challenge that we embrace together, every day.

In October, we are getting married. My anxiety tends to be a party crasher and will probably show up without RSVPing, but we are ready. In life and love, there is nothing that is impossible when you have the hope and fight in you to keep pushing on.

PS Check out Ryan & Alyssa Photography! They took this amazing picture of us.

Love in the Time of High-Functioning Anxiety.

Remember those moments (that we all have) where you think you are going to be forever alone or that no one would ever be crazy enough to want to marry you? Welcome to LITERALLY EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE… until recently.

Somehow, the most amazing, brilliant, hilarious, driven, romantic human being on earth fell in (or was tricked into- still up for debate) love with me and has asked me to be his wife. I’m engaged, y’all. His proposal was such a surprise, but not at all unexpected. In true crazy girlfriend fashion, I told him that I was going to marry him after we had dated for about 3 weeks. A little over a year later, I finally got to say “I told you so”.

With this joyous, exciting time comes a spike in anxiety… I am planning on moving to a new town, searching for the “next step” in my career, and wedding planning all at the same time. I wouldn’t change a thing about the last month but as I reflect back on it, I can’t help but laugh at the predictability of my actions as they have been dictated by my anxiety. On the day that we were engaged, I told my fiancé that I wanted to wait at least 2 weeks before starting wedding planning so that we could just enjoy being engaged. That lasted less than 2 days.

Within a month of getting engaged, we have our date, venue, colors, theme, vendors, and my wedding dress all lined up. Other than a few details, our wedding is about 70% planned and ready. This is the product of my high-functioning anxiety. When I start to get anxious, I feel the need to start attacking what is making me anxious in the most frenzied way possible. The idea of a wedding stresses me out, so what do I do? Do all of the planning as soon as possible.

Although this is AWESOME and I feel far less stressed, I can’t help but feel a small twinge of frustration. I wish I could take a step back and relax instead of taking this on this challenge like a rabid lion. Wouldn’t it be nice just to be engaged a little while? I guess we will find out now since I have so little left to plan. Take a back seat, anxiety. It’s time to chill and enjoy the simply being engaged to my best friend.

April Fools.

"Am I a fool? I don't think I'm a fool. But I think I sure was fooled." - Kenneth Lay

This year, I almost got through April Fools without incident. That is, until about 6:00pm, when I received a text message from my boyfriend (who happens to be a pharmacist at a children's hospital) that explained that he was involved in a medicine error that caused a child serious brain damage and could have cost him his job and license. Looking back, this was probably hysterical as I texted him asking if everything was okay and then sent a slew of expletive-riddled tirades about how mean he is after he broke the news that it was all a joke. I mean, any logical person would have probably seen through his ruse because how likely was a 1-in-a-million error like this to happen on April Fools Day.

However, there is something different with an anxiety brain. Instead of thinking "oh, he must be joking", I immediately jumped past the thought of April Fools and started running through every worst case scenario in my head- how would I support us both financially? What about the dreams that we have created together?  How can I manage my depression and the inevitable depression that would come from a situation like this? What if he becomes suicidal?

As I sat in my living room- waiting for the punchline, my stomach twisted into knots, I felt like I would vomit, and I started breathing exercises to avoid a full-blown panic attack. None of this is logical, yet it is something that I experience often. An email that come across as scolding, a text message that seems too short, or a frustrated glance can trigger feelings of anxiety- what did I do wrong? Is there something wrong with me? Is everyone mad at me? Am I annoying? April Fools Day is my least favorite day throughout the year, as it seems to play into my anxious mind and thus turns me into a hot mess express headed towards dysfunction junction.

My poor, sweet, amazing boyfriend then felt the needs to apologize over and over again, as he never intended to trigger my anxiety. He felt bad that he upset me; I felt bad that he was feeling bad. This amazing human being, who supports me through thick and thin, loves me for all of me, and tries his best to understand my mental illness, tried to play a little joke that (on anyone else) would have been hilarious and my anxious brain turned the entire thing into an ordeal.

One positive thing has come from this whole experience- forgiveness. Although salty for a few hours, I did forgive the datemate for freaking me out. He forgave me for the harsh things I said in a state of anxiety. But most importantly, I forgave myself. Many times I have found myself replaying similar situations and getting angry at myself for being overreactive or overemotional. I have anxiety- it is going to cause some awkward situations, but that's okay. My anxious brain doesn't control me- I can forgive myself and I can live a life bigger than my mental illness.