One thing you’ll learn about me after a brief conversation is that I am always tired. I know that doesn’t make me special –– aren’t we all always tired? –- but I’ve had sleep problems for almost five years, and I take a prescription sleep aid to help me sleep through the night. Unfortunately, the medication leaves me feeling hungover, so it’s not exactly ideal. I try to “catch up” on sleep on the weekends, but obviously that doesn’t always work!
A week ago today, I jetted off to California for a press trip to Facebook’s headquarters. I posted the above on Instagram and made it all seem like a breeze.
Reality: The day of my flight, my hands felt shaky and I felt lightheaded. I was sobbing the entire drive to the airport. I’m not afraid of flying –– unlike most people I know, I actually enjoy getting meeting chatty passengers — but I am super anxious about traveling away from home. Cue the world’s tiniest violin.
Breaking news: I’m not a size 0.
Of course, if you’ve ever seen a picture of me, you’re probably like, “well, duh.” I’m usually a size 12 or 14 at most stores, and I go from medium to XL depending on sizing. It sounds silly to say I’ve struggled with this when the average American woman is a size 14, so I’m in good company, but I’ve tried pretty much every weight loss scheme. When I was a teenager, I saw a therapist because my relationship with food was disordered, and I coped in some unhealthy ways.
I took an inadvertent break from blogging for pretty much all of February. I had wrist surgery thanks to carpal tunnel syndrome, so I had to minimize my time on the computer. It was honestly for the best –– I stay super busy for no reason at all, and it’s honestly a pride thing. I joke about it, but it’s seriously not a healthy habit.
This year hasn’t exactly been picture-perfect, regardless of what Instagram may tell you! From my hospitalization to my layoff to unexpected financial stress thanks to said layoff and hospitalization, Vagner and I have had to pause & remember what really matters.
When I had my first panic attack, I hadn’t yet experienced puberty, let alone serious mental distress. Sunday School taught me enough about God that I knew how things would play out: I’d pray, get healed, and never deal with it again.
Oh, if only it were that simple.