For as long as I can remember, I have lived with anxiety. Worry. Angst. Nerves. As a little kid, I had separation anxiety. As I grew up, my anxiety did, too. Shifting and shaping itself alongside me. When I was 16, I couldn’t keep it at bay any longer, and after dealing with two weeks of panic attacks and complete inability to sleep and eat I started therapy 2X a week. My therapist was a child and adolescent psychiatrist and she prescribed me Klonopin to take as needed for my panic attacks. I rarely took it, just knowing it was available to me was usually enough to make me feel better. One diagnosis of Generalized Anxiety Disorder, TONS of cognitive behavioral therapy, and I was on my way to being just another person with high functioning anxiety.
Flash-forward to December 20th, 2016. I was eight days past my due date with my firstborn child and desperate to go into labor. I went to an acupuncture appointment with my dog Gatsby and then out to dinner. Around 9pm I started to feel some minor cramping and I went to sleep thinking I would be meeting my baby soon! HA. That was Tuesday night. After 24+ hours of intense labor, my nearly nine pound baby boy was born close to 5am on Thursday December 22nd. The boy who made me a mama.
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