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Taking Medication Doesn’t Make Me Weak
I’ve navigated the world of anti-anxiety medication three times in my life. The first time was after my first baby arrived, the second after my second little one, and now, here I am again.
Anxiety has been my companion since childhood. I remember feeling overwhelmed by my parents’ spontaneity, always wanting to know our destination before we even left the house. My little mind would race ahead, planning for every possible scenario. It’s funny that I’m the only child of two free spirits who thrived on unpredictability.
At six, I began chewing my nails, and by nine, I graduated to pulling my hair out. Fascinated by the different colors—blonde, brown, red—I was shocked when I noticed the bald patch on my head one day after a shower. My mom reassured me it was manageable; she could style my hair to cover it up. That year, I was homeschooled, which thankfully shielded me from the harsh realities of third-grade judgment. By the end of that year, my hair grew back, and I switched to chewing my cuticles instead.
At twelve, food became my escape. One particularly stressful Christmas break, I spent the days at my Grandma’s house, gorging on cheese sandwiches and homemade fudge until I felt ill. I thought it would comfort me, but it didn’t work.
I’ve never been one to take medication. My mom was a firm believer in natural remedies and would whip up tea bag poultices for any ailment. We only visited the doctor when absolutely necessary. Before having my first child, I even judged people who sought medication for their struggles, thinking they were weak.
I soon realized how wrong I was.
For those with anxiety, even the thought of asking for a prescription can trigger a wave of anxiety. What if the doctor thinks I’m exaggerating? What if she believes I’m one of those people who misuse prescriptions? I worried about dressing just right—enough to look responsible but not so much that I seemed like I was hiding something.
I also found myself worrying about my kids getting into my medication and eating them. I worried about losing my emotions altogether. I constantly debated which was worse: gradually falling into alcoholism or taking medication for my anxiety. Which would draw more judgment from others if they found out?
For a long time, I fought to cope through exercise and self-care, but eventually, the weight of everything became too much—everything came crashing down.
Seeking help was the next step, and my doctor was nothing like I feared. She listened without judgment and validated my feelings. Her kind gesture reassured me that I wasn’t there to deceive her. She told me I wasn’t weak, and for the first time, I believed it.
I still read the warnings that came with my prescribed medication, worrying about side effects like numbness or tingling. Yet, I realized I no longer cared, as the tightness in my chest had finally lifted. Medication became my lifeline, allowing me to breathe deeply again.
People often say it takes courage to ask for help, but I believe it takes even more courage to admit you need it in the first place. If you’re interested in understanding more about fertility and home insemination, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and related topics. You can also find great insights on boosting fertility for men here.
Summary
This reflection explores the journey of dealing with anxiety and the decision to seek help through medication. It highlights the importance of recognizing that taking medication is not a sign of weakness, but rather a courageous step towards healing.