It was supposed to be a nice, romantic few days away with my husband. We had booked a B & B, the kids were taken care of and we had a chance to just enjoy ourselves. What was supposed to be a nice little getaway for my husband and I was quite the opposite. It was when all I had been carrying for seven years came crashing down.
While on our getaway, my husband and I looked up a nice restaurant for dinner. Following the GPS, he took a turn down a dead-end street and had to back up onto the main road to find parking. While he was backing up there was a family on the sidewalk and I thought for sure he was going to hit them. He insisted he saw them; they saw him and it was all fine.
But my brain spiraled.
I thought for sure he had almost hit them. I thought for sure they were calling the police with his license plate number and the cops were coming to get him. I thought for sure he was going to be arrested and our lives would be turned upside down.
I couldn’t sit. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t focus on the menu. I kept looking at the door and waiting for my sweet husband to be taken away.
He did not understand. Everything was fine. What was I worrying about. He had done nothing wrong.
But my brain would not shut down and I was losing control. Somewhere deep inside I knew this was irrational. And yet the overwhelming feeling of dread and anxiety was so real it terrified me.
I got up and walked out of the restaurant. I called a very close friend and shared with her what was going on. She said the wisest words I have ever heard.
“Jayme, you are one of the strongest, bravest women I know. You have been through more in the last few years than anyone deserves to go through, and your mind and your body can’t take it anymore. You have been taking care of everyone else and you need to start figuring out how to take care of you.”
I had spent the last seven years in survival mode. First, I had a medically complex child who endured four surgeries in the first year of her life. Then we had another baby who we almost lost at birth and endured a complicated first year of her life. Then I began to struggle with my own health in an endless parade of doctors who could not give me any answers.
I hung up the phone with my friend, took a very deep breath and went back into the restaurant. It was clear from the look on my husband’s face I had ruined our potentially lovely dinner. I apologized and laid things out for him.
“Honey, I know you don’t understand. I know this is going to be difficult for you, but I am not okay, and I need help.”
It was scary for me to say those words. It was scary to admit I couldn’t soldier on my own. It was painful for him to hear he couldn’t fix this. The first step we took to take care of my mental health was to admit that there was a problem.
My mental health had had enough, and it was time to get help.
My friend was right, I was strong and seeking help didn’t make me weak. I thought it would. I thought it might reveal I didn’t trust God enough, that I didn’t have enough faith. Seeing and recognizing what has happened to us, seeking wisdom from others to help you process that; that’s not weakness, that’s strength.
Thank you Jayme for this post. I resonated with this and it encouraged me.