To My Husband, I can’t imagine how hard my anxiety is for you.
To be fair, I’ve always been crazy–that’s the word I use for how my anxiety makes me tailspin sometimes.
And, full transparency, you signed up for this ride when you married me. So, there’s that.
But I also recognize that when any of us excitedly recite, “in sickness and in health,” that we are naive and in love and just think that means that the other person might develop dementia when we’re 80. But in that moment, dressed up and smiling, we were young and had no idea the gravity of those few simple words.
And now, here we are.
And some days things go well and I can manage and I can cry in the shower and hide my big emotions, fears, frustrations, and bury the overwhelm so they don’t all fall off of my shelf at your feet, scattering for you to pick up.
I’ve lost track of the times you’ve had to put me back together again.
My broken parts far outnumber the original, undamaged sections, for sure.
Some days it takes every bit of my energy to get out of bed.
Some days I have to escape–take a nap, a walk, a coffee break–leaving you to manage it all solo.
Some days I get so wildly overwhelmed that I break.
I yell.
I make lists.
I scramble.
I don’t sleep.
I rage clean.
I fall apart.
And there you are…
Picking me up–what’s left of me.
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