It was 5:30pm, supper needed to be made, the boys were crying that they were hungry and my husband wasn’t home yet. I sat down on the floor in a corner of the kitchen with my knees to my chest and felt the room shrink in around me. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, I didn’t know what to do. Next thing I know my husband is pulling me to my feet and asking me if I was okay. I knew I wasn’t but I said yes and made supper. Fast forward three months and I knew I wasn’t okay and was able to say it. Something was wrong. Having up to seven panic attacks a day couldn’t be normal. Being terrified of every thing that I did wasn’t normal.
Then I did what was even more terrifying. I asked for help. I declared that this thing that had stolen my life for over a year wasn’t going to anymore. I went for counselling, I went on meds, I did things for me and day by day, month by month, I got better.
It has been over two years now and I would love to tell you that everything is perfect and I am fully healed. I’m not. Every single day I get stronger. Some days it feels like I have taken ten steps back, I know that it isn’t a failure, it’s just a new deeper layer to overcome.
I get through every day because Jesus is carrying me through this journey and it is because of Him that I know I will be okay. I believe this with all of my heart.