Story of Anxiety

Two years ago, I hit rock bottom with anxiety and depression.

I was diagnosed with low depressive disorder.

It felt like a repeat of what happened to me five years ago, in 2016.

I broke up again with my long-time partner.

My right-hand person resigned to pursue family life.

We lost our biggest client, and another ghosted us.

Our business cash flow would only last for three months.

I was overthinking about anything and everything.

Everything seemed to be crumbling downhill.

Every single day was full of worries and panic.

You know that feeling of waking up every day feeling incredibly heavy, yet also empty, making you just want to sleep again.

It was recurring thoughts of hopelessness and failure.

So, I flew to the US to celebrate the holidays with my family.

But despite being surrounded by a wonderful support system of family and friends, I felt so alone.

I lost interest in everything and everyone.

I kept getting nightmares and was constantly in a state of fear.

You feel nervous and scared, and every blink brings tears.

It was intense. Maddening.

I remember, whenever I sulked, my nieces and nephews would come to me.

Then they would perform, dance, and sing as if they really wanted to cheer me up.

So, I really tried to fight it.

I played with them and laughed with them. I teased them.

Sometimes, we went out, ate out, and visited different places.

But long nights were the hardest.

At night, when everyone was asleep, I did nothing but cry and cry.

Night after night, my pillows were soaked with tears.

I was crying myself to sleep, trying not to make a sound.

Not wanting to drag them into my darkness.

It was tough because I didn’t want to involve them in what I was going through.

I thought a trip to the US might help, but it didn’t; I was still miserable, lost in my thoughts.

I was in a very, very dark place.

And every day, I struggled to think about what to do.

I didn't know the answer.

No answers. My mind was blank.

And yet, I was in denial.

I was in denial, refusing to accept that my life was falling apart again.

Then, one day, I broke down in the bathroom, not knowing my family could hear me.

And so, Mom came running to me inside, and she kept asking me what was wrong.

“What's happening, child? What's the problem? Mommy is here. Talk to me.”

I didn’t answer; I couldn’t speak; tears ran down my cheeks.

A few days after Christmas, I got Covid.

In the hospital, I decided to face my fears.

I decided to open up to my Mom and be honest with myself...that I messed up.

I mean, when I was hospitalized, and it was confirmed I was positive, my mom didn’t care if she got sick as long as she was beside me.

So why can’t I open my heart to someone who loves me unconditionally?

During those days, I have daily journals to release my thoughts and stress.

So, I just let Mom read my journal.

Then I slept—honestly, I pretended to sleep.

I couldn’t face her with all those revelations.

I was scared, embarrassed, and overwhelmed.

I’m not expressive with heavy feelings like this.

I don’t want to burden anyone, but this time it was different.

My thoughts were starting to scare me.

I’ve thought of things I never thought I would ever think about.

I badly needed help.

For the first time, I confessed everything to her, admitting I needed help.

I told her everything.

I told her I messed up.

And it felt as if it was the end of the world.

As she was reading my journal, I heard her breathing heavily and softly whimpering.

I closed my eyes tighter, frightened as I snuggled on my pillow.

Guess what she did next?

I will never forget this moment.

She touched my head, brushed my hair with her fingers, and hugged me so tight that she whispered.

“Why didn’t you tell Mommy sooner? I’m here for you. Child, whatever is lacking, I will fill it.”

And then a waterfall of tears came running down my cheeks.

This time, I could no longer tone down the sound of my sadness and suffering.

It felt as though a massive, heavy rock suddenly exploded from my chest.

That night, I cried my heart out.

She cried with me.

We just cried and cried.

No words, just tears and understanding.

Until I fell asleep in her arms.

Waking up the next day, I felt relieved.

I began to assess my situation, finding reasons for the chaos.

I knew I needed to endure the pain and sit on my emotions.

I started to accept what had happened and recognize that everything happens for a reason.

A reason that I may never understand, but it’s okay, I accept it.

I stepped back, saw the bigger picture, and started reclaiming control of my life.

That decision brought me direction and a renewed sense of purpose.

In the midst of my darkest hour, I discovered an unexpected beacon of hope.

I found hope in the unconditional love and understanding of my person, my Mom.

Teaching me that sometimes, the first step towards healing is simply allowing yourself to be held and heard.

And through tears and truth.

I learned that even at rock bottom, in our most fragile moments.

We can find our greatest strength and support.

All we have to do is embrace vulnerability.

And believe that from the depths of despair.

We can rise stronger, wiser, and more powerful than ever before.

Jozelle