If you’ve been around here for a while, you know that I was on anxiety medication for well over a year after my oldest was born.

Then by God’s grace, I was able to ween off of it, and I haven’t needed it ever since.

But fast forward to this season of my life, and I’ll be honest, friends. It’s been a really hard year. Life has thrown me one too many curveballs and the anxiety rising inside of me has led to an excruciating amount of insomnia. Something I’ve never battled before and something I feel completely incapable of dealing with.

I’m tired. So tired. And not an “I stayed up way too late and need an extra cup of coffee” tired. But a weary-to-the-bone, I-can’t-take-one-more-step tired. I’m irritable. I’m spacey. I’m lacking energy and motivation to do simple tasks. I’ve been walking around like a grumpy zombie heavily dependent on caffeine, and it hasn’t been healthy for me.

So I finally went to see my primary care provider, and she put me back on my anxiety medication for the first time in almost four years.

I really hesitated to do this. I flat-out didn’t want to if I’m being honest. I have worked my booty off these last few years, and even though this is a different season of life and a completely different situation, I still had to wrestle through some sneaky shame that re-surfaced. There was a part of me that felt like such a failure for having to admit after all this time of being okay, now I’m not.

But I have to admit, the rest of me is so dang proud of myself.

For taking the time to evaluate and realize that I need some extra help right now.
For talking with my counselor and wise people I trust about a part of me I’m tempted to hide from the rest of the world.
For refusing to let my past define my future.
For doing whatever it takes to show up for my family well, because nothing is more important to me than that.

I’m learning this journey to healing isn’t linear. Though the enemy would love for me to believe that I’m right back where I started, I know I’m not.
I’m not moving backwards…this is just another stepping stone forward.

I want to share this part of my story in hopes of encouraging even just one other mama out there who may feel ashamed or defeated by her own mental illness and all that it has taken from her. If that’s you, my beautiful friend, please know you have NOTHING to feel guilty about. You are courageous, capable, and absolutely cherished by your Heavenly Father. And choosing to get help, in whatever way that looks like, is not a sign of weakness.

It’s a sign of absolute strength.

Lift up those tear-filled eyes, sweet sister.
Do whatever is necessary to take care of yourself so you can take care of your people.

And be proud for taking that brave leap of faith. I’m so proud of you, too.

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