I told a friend recently that it’s a weird time to be online. To be honest, this statement feels evergreen — when is it not a strange time to live your life publicly on the Internet? But recently, there’s been a push to be authentic (something I’ve written about several times) without being too authentic. No one wants to make the people around them uncomfortable, right?
Happy Tuesday, friends! I wanted to get a little bit serious during today’s post and address something important to me. My Twitter bio used to say, “Always loud, always laughing.” And it’s true! I am usually talking too loudly and laughing obnoxiously — most people describe me as outgoing and friendly after spending time with me. I have an amazing family, a doting husband and abundant resources at my fingertips.
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.
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.
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.