Explanation

My whole life, I dealt with weird feelings, unexplained exhaustion and stomach aches. Restless nights filled with nightmares, cold sweats, and my heart racing. Stress and paranoia in the simplest of social situations. Barely passing classes and constantly failing tests. I couldn't bring myself to do normal everyday things. I grew up thinking I was lazy, weird, and stupid.

I didn't know I had anxiety.

I knew that Mikelle being taken affected me. I knew that it changed things. But I did not know that it had a name, that there was a reason I felt so off for so long. Slowly as I got older I learned to listen to my body and recognize things. I trusted my intuition more and more, rather it be in less than desirable situations, or untrustworthy people. Certain things happened through out my life, pivotal moments that molded me into who I am. Obviously my older sister being kidnapped when I was only 9 years old is the first and most tragic one. Being followed home from the bus stop when I was 14. Being in a couple toxic relationships in my very early adulthood. But then something happened. I was given an amazing gift. My son. Becoming a mother was almost like an apology for all the horrible shit I had gone through. I realized during my pregnancy, which was not easy, that there was essentially something wrong with me. It wasn't normal hormones. It wasn't normal stress. I came to the conclusion that I was having anxiety attacks. At this point I didn't say I "dealt with" or "had" anxiety. Just that I was experiencing anxiety attacks. For whatever reason I just decided to go with it and took that as "good enough". But it's really only been in the last couple years that I truly learned, and accepted the fact that I have anxiety. Probably PTSD as well. The more I learn about it, and read through ways to cope, the more it's like a weight is lifted off of me. I used to just torture myself about how pathetic I was. That was the only thing I could conclude. Nobody else around me seemed to have such trouble cleaning their room, getting sleep, or taking tests. It was me. I was weird, and wrong. Now I know. It's not easy of course, I have rough days. I still beat myself up sometimes when I order take out instead of cooking, or struggle to just be awake all day. I have also recently opened up more to Zac about the details of my anxiety. I never really used to tell him when I was having an issue or if I had one. I didn't tell him why the house was a mess and why I was still in my pajamas. But I realized communicating with him, and reaching out to him when I am actively having an attack, helps me. It helps me tremendously. Even if he is at work, and all he can do is text me, he will take the time and talk me through it the best he can. It boggles my mind that it took me 20 years to learn to do that. Because of all those pivotal moments in my life, I am now able to be confident in who I am. I am passionate about advocacy, child safety, self defense, writing, art, and expressing myself. Among other things. I like myself, flaws, anxiety and all. No matter the battles I have with my appearance, my house keeping skills, or anything else, over all I actually like myself. I now know that it is actually okay to like who you are even if you suffer from any kind of mental health problems.

 I also know that just realizing it isn't a solution. I decided a while back that I needed to see a therapist of some sort. I have put it off  (due to my anxiety, shocking irony I'm sure), but I finally feel as though I can actually go through with it. It's weird to think about, honestly, you'd think I'd jump at the chance to see a professional. I'm surprised at how hard it is for me. But I know I need it. I have never really seen one. I know my parents took me to one when I was 9 and I think I basically told the poor lady to leave me alone because all that mattered was finding Mikelle. I apparently hid my issues very well, the therapist and my parents mostly concluded that I was handling it well. And that is something I have heard my whole life when it comes to Mikelle. How well I handle it. How "normal" I am. How I could have turned out so differently. While people mean well, and I truly understand and partly agree, I can't help but feel frustrated. I have issues. I don't handle it well sometimes. I don't feel normal having anxiety. I'm not perfect. It's not easy for me to do interviews, and run a page for Mikelle, write a book about it, and write a blog (obviously since my last post was months ago). It takes all my energy when I decide to write and open up. But I know it's good for me, and more than that I do want to do those things. So I push through, and when I need to take a step back, I allow myself, and I try not to feel guilty for that.

I want to thank those who constantly support, and reassure me. I know so many amazing people, and even those that I don't know that follow Mikelle's page and take the time to send me kind messages or supportive comments. That means more to me than any of you can ever know.

I hope anyone going through any kind of hard time, tragedy or struggle knows that it is okay to reach out and that it does help.