Tag: stress

To smell the flowers

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It’s been a funny few months. I say ‘funny’, but I don’t mean ‘haha’ funny. More like a peculiar, confusing funny. The ‘I’ll laugh otherwise I’d cry’ kind of funny, although I’ve still admittedly shed quite the volume of tears over the past few months (though some that know me would say this isn’t necessarily unusual for me). The point is, I’ve run the gamut of emotions in a condensed amount of time, and it’s left me feeling really weird lately. An emotion I can’t quite pinpoint. How annoying. 

It’s been understandably difficult dealing with my husband’s evolving medical issues, though I can say after more than 6 years of relentless, terrifying situations, I genuinely feel like we face these issues with much more pragmatic attitudes than ever before. It never stops being terrifying and emotional, but I’m immensely proud of the way we’ve faced recent events and pushed ahead with logic. Though we’d give anything (literally anything!) not to have to deal with this crap, in a twisted way, I’m grateful that we, as individuals and as a pair, have become better versions of ourselves off the back of what we’ve experienced. Just the fact that I can type this now shows that I’ve grown a lot as a person – that I can take a step back from the chaos and analyse it logically. And better yet, that I can admit that there’s any glimmer of a silver lining in the shitty cards we’ve been dealt in life shows how far I’ve come. Every cloud, eh?

As a quick update for those following this insane medical journey: we’ve found a private neurologist in the last few months who my husband describes as ‘the best doctor’ he’s ever had. And considering his medical history, you can be damn sure he’s seen plenty, so this judgment points to good things. The doctor treats us like human beings (gasp!), has a sensible approach to health backed by science (not always a guarantee these days) and genuinely seems to want to help. This is the first time we’ve not felt like lepers in a doctor’s office. It’s still early days in my husband’s current treatment, but we’ve got a course of action… and then several other courses of action planned should the first one not pan out. So in short: we’re happy and optimistic – something we weren’t feeling at the start of the year. Fingers crossed the trajectory continues this way.

Whilst all this was going on in the background, as is usual fashion for me, a tornado was wreaking havoc in other parts of my life too. I’m still waiting for the reality TV crew to jump out from their hiding spots, but until then…

The company I work for went through some major internal structural changes recently that left my entire team facing redundancy. It happened very quickly – we were told our roles were being made redundant, proposed new positions were explained, those who wanted to stay had to interview for these very few new open roles, then we were told if we were successful or if we were out the door. All within 30 days. As you can imagine, this was incredibly stressful and emotional. I went through every stage of grief, no lie, and I for sure had severe moments of ‘why now, why me?!’. Nevertheless, I pushed through the best I could, and I attribute that both to the strength I’ve found in past life experiences, as well as to the people who helped prop me up and cheer me on throughout the process. Though I’m grateful I landed a new role at the company I love so much, I’m simultaneously grieving the loss of many fabulous colleagues and friends. It’s a complicated time, gang.

I went on a much-needed holiday, then came home and immediately fell very ill for a very long time. I faced conflicts with people I love. I made distant future plans knowing life could change by then. I went to the doctor for myself – twice! I’ve been let down. I’ve been surprised. I’ve been socially awkward and shockingly social.

These last few months have forced me to think about my own wants and needs much more critically, and to make very hard decisions quickly. I’m not a fan of making quick decisions on a normal day, so it’s been particularly difficult of late. I’ve had way too many anxiety attacks to count, but whilst they’ve been frequent, they’ve been brief. I’m slowly learning how to regularly claw my way out of these moments (with obvious external help from those around during an episode – thank you!), and so I say again: every cloud.

I’ve made regular use of the ‘block’, ‘unfriend’ and ‘hide’ functions on social media platforms, protecting myself from toxic people who trigger me. I thought this would be hard to do – I don’t like the aggressive feeling of doing this – but I can honestly say that it’s helped me so much more than I could’ve expected. I’ve also made use of the word ‘no’. Little miss ‘too-afraid-to-disappoint-people’ and ‘gives-everyone-10-billion-second-chances’ has given firm nos to negative influences who’ve tried to reach out. Who am I?! I won’t say this was easy to do in the moment, but after doing it once and realising I was better off for it, I find myself becoming much more comfortable looking after myself and not feeling guilty for doing it. Guess this is growing up, ya’ll!

I don’t think I’m feeling optimistic or particularly positive, but the main thing is that I’m trying to. It’s taken me many, many years, but I now feel like it’s okay to put myself first. This doesn’t mean that I care less about anyone else, but rather I care so much that I want to ensure I’m putting the best version of myself forward first. Not the tired, broken down version I previously offered. I’m not saying I’m killing the game over here – I still have bad days where I just can’t get a grip on my anxiety and collapse into a ball of erratic, irrational emotions. But I can say I don’t feel like a failure on these days anymore. I am allowed to feel broken. I am allowed to be angry and resentful about the cards I’ve been dealt. I’m allowed to have ‘woe is me’ days. But above all this, I know I’m allowed to be happy and continue to seek happiness. I’m allowed to change my mind and my mood. I’m allowed to be! It’s crazy that I’m only just now coming to this realisation, but I’m very glad I did.

And now, I think I’ll take some time to stop and smell the flowers. It’s a crazy life, folks. But there’s always a little beauty to see. You just gotta know where to look for it.

We all march on…

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I’m just going to slide into this blog post acting as if it’s only been a blip in time since I’ve last posted. It’s okay to start this one out on a lie, yeah? Great, glad we’re in agreement there. Moving swiftly along…

Hi buds! Can you believe it’s 2019 already? I can’t! OK, great. Chit chat – done!

Life sucks. Pardon the melodrama here, but honestly it’s become such a drag lately I genuinely feel like all I ever do is whine and complain and I hate it. I’ve wanted to write about it for so long, but I felt like if I did, I’m just painting myself as this world-class complainer who can never see the good side in life. I don’t want to be that person in the slightest, so instead, I just shut up. But that doesn’t help me emotionally, and it certainly doesn’t help anyone else who cares about me and wants to help. So despite still having reservations about writing this post, here I am. Doing it anyway! *insert awkward grimacing face here*

The last you heard from me, I was talking about my husband’s vitamin deficiency. Plot twist! Turns out, that was never the problem. Also turns out, nobody knows what is the problem. Sound familiar? We’ve done this song and dance so many times, it’s almost weirdly expected now. We’ve been in and out of the hospital the last six months – the emergency department a few times – test after test, waiting for someone to find a lead and bring us closer to an answer to the problem. I’ve been having flashbacks to the time we had to do all this before his CRPS diagnosis, and it is honestly heart-wrenching (and unbearable) remembering it took years of suffering before a doctor diagnosed him. Can I handle that again? Can he? And even now, not all doctors agree that he does, in fact, have CRPS. Every doctor seems to have a differing opinion, but I guess that’s just the nature of a syndrome, eh? In any case, this was never a place I expected us to be back in… ever, let alone this soon after having just rode this crazy train to CRPS land. I want off the damn train.

Every day at work, someone asks me how I’m doing. It’s a natural, casual question, not intended to be loaded in any way. For the last six months, my answer has literally been the same no matter who asks: I’m tired. I keep joking that exhaustion is now just a part of my overall personality, but in my head I do kind of feel like it has overcome me as a person and I’m incapable of being or acting any other way. It’s exhausting being this exhausted! I find myself digging back through my photo archives, reminiscing about years before, wishing I hadn’t taken such a carefree life for granted now that I’ve learned how overwhelming it’d all become. Then the guilt strikes, hard, in waves, and I’m chastising myself for being so negative. My thought patterns are wildly unpredictable, and I can’t even keep up with myself most days. So, I keep it simple when people ask. I’m just tired, and leave it at that.

I’ve mentioned before that I often approach a new year by reflecting on the one that’s just gone, to shed myself of those feelings to begin anew each year. Most of 2018 wasn’t all too bad. Health-wise, my husband wasn’t great the majority of the year, but it had become our new normal and we were just living with it. I felt lonely and isolated a lot, but lacked the motivation to do anything about it. But toward the end of the year, the feelings of pride I had for handling the difficult life the universe crafted for me with grace were quickly replaced with intense fear, uncertainty and crippling anxiety. As his health degraded and new symptoms were emerging, we were absolutely gripped by what was happening. I more or less blacked out from September onward, unable to think of much else apart from his health and what I could or should do to help fix it. Every moment of my time was spent worrying about him, whether he was around me or not. Not only did the new symptoms present more problems going about our ‘normal’ lives, but they seemingly made previous, regular symptoms worse.

But when Christmas finally rolled around, he was starting to feel a little better, and since medical tests hadn’t found anything still, we thought maybe we were in the clear. A fluke, surely. He got back to feeling more positive, laced up his running shoes and stared his pain condition directly in its non-existent face; running each weekend brought him pain, but also joy. The thing that he loved most before the nerve condition turned up uninvited. He was doing it again (!!), slowly and very carefully, but I could see his pure joy and god, how fulfilling that is to witness. Short lived, of course. Isn’t it always?

A few months later, the symptoms were back: extreme dizziness, blurry and/or double vision, intensified pain, localised unintentional muscle contractions, insomnia. A change in diet had improved his gastro symptoms, but nothing else. Blood tests still revealed no abnormalities. I think I took it hardest at first. I felt foolish and naive – how dare I think the issue resolved itself overnight? Haven’t I learned anything in this journey so far? How could I let him down by not being the pragmatic one? I was livid. At myself, at this mystery illness, at the universe. Why couldn’t I help him? It all feels so unfair and I can’t understand why we don’t deserve a break. It’s hard. Every day I’m fighting my own emotions, it’s no wonder I’m this exhausted.

My resolution this year was to be more sociable and make more friends. One thing that makes dealing with my life so difficult lately is that I genuinely do not have friends to help me escape – my mind, the situation, my life (sometimes). Especially in my new country. I don’t mean that to be cruel or dramatic or insensitive to the people who are in my life, but to be completely honest, I do not have anyone who regularly checks in on me without me having to prompt it first. Maybe this is my fault. I can be very closed off and I’ve often backed out of plans with others (because, this life), so I can totally see how I’ve made myself unapproachable in general. Nevertheless, it is hard seeing my husband’s phone light up with messages from friends and colleagues simply checking in, asking if he wants to grab a drink, shoot the breeze – all because they want to. He’s got friends fairly regularly asking him to do things and he’s the one with the disability, but I’ve often been sat at home alone waiting for him to return (and worrying if he’s okay). Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled my husband has people in his life like this. It relieves some of the burden and guilt I feel when I think I’m not being or doing enough for him. But still, I’m jealous. I wish I had people who wanted to take my mind off the things troubling me most! And boy, is it hard to make friends as an adult. In any case, I decided I didn’t like feeling so lonely and pathetic, so that’s why I endeavoured to put myself out there more often – social anxiety be damned!

It’s slow going, I’ll admit. I’m still resentful that I’ve seemingly been unable to pick people to stay in my life of their own volition. I can’t help but feel like there must be something wrong with me for people to forget about me so easily or treat me unkindly. I still struggle to shake this ‘woe is me’ feeling I have so often. But! I’ve started to make new friends. People who have so far been kind enough to reach out on their own accord and invite me to do things, ask me how things are, assure me they’re there to talk or not talk – whatever I want or need at any time. I am apprehensive, at best. I want to trust that opening up to new people will bring in new friendships I crave, but I’m also afraid I’ll lose them just as quickly. My life is so unique to the average 20-something, and I’m hyper aware that none of these people may understand the life of a caregiver. Because that’s what I am, really. But I am still trying and being more social and slowly opening up to new people. It is likely I’ll get hurt. I know this – such is life. But if there’s even a small chance that one of these wonderful new people in my life will stick around, then it makes it all worth it. We need people. And I need people to help remind me that I’m still young and have a whole, exciting life ahead of me. To remind me that I am more than this situation. That my personality isn’t ‘tired’. That I’m someone who needs care and attention too, sometimes. I very often forget this down in the muck that is this medical nightmare. So to those of you reading this who’ve been so kind and understanding toward me – even without knowing my whole story yet – I thank you. You have no idea how huge of an impact you’ve already had on my life, and moreover, I hope you stay.

This isn’t an easy life. I’ve never foolishly believed it would be, but I never could’ve guessed I would experience such trauma in such a short span of time. Word on the street is that I’m strong and resilient, but I almost never feel this way. I’m proud of myself for sticking my neck out when I’ve been in need, though. This is something I’ve never been known to do or particularly good at, but I’m finding life a little easier to handle knowing I’ve got a bit of extra help on the outside. Even if that help simply comes in the form of a smiling face willing to take me away from my own thoughts for a bit. Every little bit helps.

So I end this post with one request: always be kind. And when you’re feeling least like wanting to be kind, be even kinder. You never know who is so desperately relying on your kindness just to get through the day.

Go as long as you can, and then take another step.

Keep rolling under the stars

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Hi buds! This sure has become a pattern for me, huh? Dripping life updates at a glacial pace. I always apologise or throw up an excuse for why it’s taken me so long to post something new, but really I’m not all that sorry and I don’t have an ‘excuse’. I post when I feel ready to a) share and b) delve into the emotional complexities of the situations I’ve been going through. And at the end of the day, this blog is for me, mostly, and you just get the pleasure of coming along for the ride. So I say: you’re welcome. And also thanks for taking the journey with me. Coming to a cinema near you! Not really, but wouldn’t it sell!?

Truth be told, I’ve been plodding along rather contentedly the last few months. But today is World Mental Health Day, and I’ve been inspired by my colleagues who’ve taken time out of their days to share personal stories of struggle, with tips on how they’ve overcome them. I’ve been exceptionally reserved and introverted at work, keeping all personal details about my life to myself for various reasons. Mainly, I found it incredibly difficult dealing with the day-to-day once my colleagues at my previous job knew about the struggles I was facing. Though they all meant well and logically I was fully aware of this (even in the moment), it became far too painful enduring very personal questions, often uninvited. Once I opened up, it’s like I couldn’t keep anything to myself anymore. My story and my struggle were no longer mine alone, and everyone always wanted to know what was happening. When I left and began my new job, I vowed not to let this happen again, and reasoned the best way to avoid personal discomfort was to shut up and keep to myself. I think I’ve done quite well, though I’m not sure it’s really been as beneficial as I thought. I work with amazing people (hi colleagues!), and I do feel guilty quite often for not letting any of them in.

I genuinely believe talking about things out loud helps make even the scariest of scenarios seem a little bit less daunting. But I’ll tell ya from experience – it sure isn’t easy to start. A constant ripping-off-the-bandage feeling, most often accompanied by unwanted tears. We’re always embarrassed by our tears… why is that?

Anyway. Life. What’s happening? How am I? Well, as I said, I’ve been relatively fine considering most things. I want to attribute this to growth: learning how to better cope, how to respond to my own reactions, talking to people when I need guidance. I realise that I’ve not actually been better, but the improvement in my response and recognition hasn’t gone unnoticed. For example, just the other night I had a panic attack. These are not uncommon for me, and they’re really horrific to experience. I liken it to feeling as if you’re drowning, in quicksand, being fully lucid yet paralysed, in -100 degree chill. It’s awful. But this time, I felt the panic attack coming on, was able to tell my husband just before and he helped me get through it; talking to me, insisting I try drinking water, rubbing my back. Within minutes, I had regained control and was out of the panic attack. It’s the quickest I’ve ever done it, and to me that feels like progress. I’m still the same person, but maybe a better version of myself. It’s taken awhile to get here, though, and a whole lotta courage.

And it’s never really done.

Things have been especially tough for, gosh, an entire year now. My husband’s seemingly ever-evolving medical issues have more or less called the shots on the daily. However he feels is how the day goes. On bad pain days, which are most days now, all responsibilities fall on me. I know he absolutely does not mean for it to burden me and I know it kills him to ask me to do something like get him a glass of water because he simply can’t bear to stand up, and I hate he subsequently experiences two kinds of pain from these situations, but it has been hard for me. I’ve had to literally learn how to cook edible meals or force us both to starve on days he can’t cook. I’ve had to run across the city at the last minute because he needed me for emotional support during a flare up. I had to paint almost the entire flat by myself because he couldn’t muster more than near 10 minutes on his feet. I’ve had to abandon family events to get him home and back in a comfortable space. I’ve become a human WebMD. I’ve been forced to become physically stronger so I’m able to push a man twice my size in a wheelchair. If I’m ill, but he needs me, he comes first without hesitation. I’ve had to watch the love of my life continually suffer, unable to take away his pain. Still. I’m honestly still so exhausted every minute of my life, but I do all of this and more because I want to. Because that’s what love is about: being partners, and helping each other when needed. I do not resent him or blame him for any of this, and he knows that, but he also knows it weighs on me. We do what we can for each other, when we can.

Recently, we’ve learned he’s vitamin deficient, which has caused severe bouts of dizziness and too-many-to-count near-collapses. This deficiency has appeared to cause even more problems with his nerve condition, though doctors haven’t medically linked the two yet. We’ve become so astute to his symptoms, we can’t help but notice the parallels of pain flares and dizzy spells. We wonder how long he’s been so deficient? Was he always? Is this something we missed that could’ve prevented further damage had we realised sooner? Is this why the spinal cord stimulator hasn’t been helping? It’s impossible not to wonder these things, but completely fruitless at the same time. We know this. Yet we still wonder. It keeps me up at night now, despite already having issues with insomnia.

Dealing with this has never gotten any easier. I’ve just gotten better at it. I’ve stopped allowing myself to feel like I’m missing out on something by staying home with him because I want to stay home with him. I don’t get upset when he has to tap out of an activity quickly and asks me to step in because I expect this now. Well, I’ll be honest, some days I do still get upset because it gets hard ya know? But I’m so much better now.  We didn’t choose this life. We didn’t ask for it. We don’t want it. But it’s the life we have. We’re doing our best to make it work for us.

I can say today, with the utmost pride, that my husband has actually been an inspiration to me, despite what he may think sometimes. One day not too long ago, he announced to me that he was done feeling sorry for himself and letting his nerve condition determine his life. And that was it. Though it very obviously still does make most of our decisions for us, he no longer gives CRPS power over him. It’s amazing. He’s gotten so much better at acknowledging the pain, adjusting his actions, and getting on with things. He still wants to go for walks with me even though I know it causes him a great deal of pain. He doesn’t want to miss out on things he genuinely wants to do, and though it took us more than 5 years to get to where we are now mentally and emotionally, I am constantly in awe we’re managing it. He’s excelling at work and still makes it into the office every single day, even though he has to get a cab to and from. He’ll text me in the middle of the work day saying he’s in so much pain he wants to throw up, then after a quick pep talk gets right back to work and never gives up. If you want to know strength, you should meet my husband. He doesn’t make it look easy, but he makes it look achievable in impossible situations. I admire him more than he realises. I aspire to be this strong.

My biggest struggle of late is not being as honest as I can be about my issues with people who care about me. I don’t let anyone in because I find it hard to make them understand what I’m going through. They don’t understand how severe it is. They don’t see it. And as a result, I get angry and incredulous and stubbornly decide I’m done sharing with everybody because they just don’t get it so what’s the point? And when anyone seriously asks me about my husband and how he’s doing, I get emotional every single time. I can’t help it, and I hate it so much that that also prevents me from sharing. But the catharsis can help. I endeavour to try to be more open for my own sake. It won’t happen over night, but if I can claw my way out of a panic attack, then there’s hope for me yet.

There’s hope for all of us, really. We’ve just gotta believe it ourselves.

When you recognise that you will thrive not in spite of your losses and sorrows, but because of them, that you would not have chosen the things that happened in your life, but you are grateful for them, that you will hold the empty bowls eternally in your hands, but you also have the capacity to fill them? The word for that is healing.

The edge

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The day doctors confirmed my grandfather had cancer, I cried in the bathroom at work, finished off the following hour in the office, then left early, unable to truly focus. I went straight home to buy him tea. A few weeks prior, my mom mentioned my grandpa really enjoyed tea I had given he and my grandmother, which I purchased here in London, but I couldn’t remember what type of tea it was to save my life. So I did what any sensible person would do: I spent $100 on different varieties of tea and shipped it to them. That’s right, my first instinct upon hearing my grandfather’s diagnosis was to send him tea.

Even thinking about it now, a few weeks on, I can’t help but think how strange of a reaction that was. But in my head, it was an action. It was something I could do to help from afar, albeit a very small action with seemingly little impact. All I could think was ‘what will make my grandparents smile during such a traumatic time?’. Hundreds of tea bags would do the trick, I thought. I think it did… but it still doesn’t feel like enough. Which begs the question – what would be enough?

For those of you following the snippets of my life that I serve up via blog post, you’ll know I’ve been dealt a number of awful cards in my time on this earth. Just in the last year alone, I’ve faced a slew of horrific ordeals and hovering unknowns. I thought I was closing the book on the majority of these issues when my husband had life-changing surgery about 8 weeks ago. It’s been a slow recovery, but he’s on the mend and his quality of life has sky-rocketed into positivity. I know now, however, that I was not closing the book, but simply a chapter, as I face another seriously stressful and scary situation happening to yet another person I love.

I’ve been in this situation before: far away from someone I care about dealing with a scary health problem. It doesn’t get any easier. But whether I’m there or here, it still impacts me the same. I’m scared and I want to help, but I’m hyper aware that there really isn’t much I can do. So here I am, continuing on with life as if I don’t have something else heavily weighing down my conscience, feeling helpless and isolated.

I’ve kept this subject quiet for quite some time. My grandfather fell ill a few months ago, and that’s when the subject of cancer came up. But cancer is horrifying. I refused to believe it was even a possibility until I received categoric confirmation. I couldn’t let it impact my work life because my situation with my husband had already interfered heavily. I couldn’t bear having to admit to my superiors or colleagues that, yes, here I was again dealing with yet another medical nightmare. But more importantly, I didn’t want anyone to pity me. I know I don’t give myself much credit, but I know I’m strong. I’ve handled terrible situations with a level of grace I’m still not sure is my own, so surely I could put my brave face back on to get through another workday.

My grandfather is the toughest guy I know. I’ve always said he’s too stubborn to die, and I still very much believe it (hope you’re reading this, Papa!). I’m so glad he’s got my grandmother to help him through this journey, despite the scary health issues she’s enduring herself. I fully believe in the power of love, and how this magic ingredient helps so many of us pull through each and every day. I only wish I could be there, in person, to help them both. They’re such an integral part of my life, and I feel like I’m doing them a disservice being thousands of miles away. But here I am.

I don’t want pity and I don’t particularly want to discuss this subject with anyone because it’s still raw… so why the heck am I writing about it, you ask? Well, it’s simple: I want people to understand that we’re all dealing with things behind closed doors. That not everything is as it appears. I beg you to please be kind to people, always, no matter your own circumstance. I can’t count the number of times I’d return home from a rather rough day at work, shouldering the weight of others’ roles plus the mental anguish I was already juggling, collapse into tears and wonder if maybe had I expressed what was happening in my personal life, I’d earn some compassion from others. But I didn’t want to talk about it. I still don’t want to talk about it. I shouldn’t feel like I have to pour my heart out just so people will be nice to me. I was taught to be kind, so why can’t I be granted the same courtesy?

Look, I’m not here to complain. Life has a tendency of kicking you in the teeth, but you still have to get back up to finish the day. I’m the poster child of this! But I’m also not too proud to admit that I’m tired. I’ve not had time to bounce back from my husband’s ordeal, who still has a number of months of recovery ahead of him. Yet here I am, still trucking along, dealing with every little thing the universe throws my way. Not always in the best way perhaps, but I’m getting through the mess the only way I know how.

I don’t know what the future holds. If I’ve learned anything in the last few years, it’s certainly that life has a way of keeping you on your toes. I like to think I’ve navigated the obstacles well, but it’s hard to say. The only thing I seem to have any control over is how I deal with all of this – and how I choose to allow it to affect my life and the people around me. And most importantly, I’ve learned to keep going. I’ve wanted to throw in the towel so, so many times and just crawl into bed and never leave. But I haven’t. And I haven’t stopped laughing or spending time with friends, I haven’t neglected work or failed to help out my husband. I haven’t given up. I won’t give up. My grandparents haven’t, so I think I’ll follow their lead.

Anyone can slay a dragon. Try waking up every morning and loving the whole world again. That’s what takes a real hero.

Life now

13880394_10154406098136350_5826270149240278047_nLet me tell you about chaos.
Explain how it does not tear you apart, but seethes and simmers within, building in strength with each passing day, growing in intensity like water to boil.
And when the heat reaches your skin, all you want is to peel it off and run, frantic, panicked – because you thought that was your only option when you only had seconds to decide.
And oh, how you wish you hadn’t.
Let me tell you about chaos and how it destroys every shred of hope you once held, but selectively.
Bit by bit, they evaporate into thin air and all you have left is the thought that you really needed that.
But too late now.
There is no screaming, there is no sound.
You remember the silence most, as the whole world around you spins wildly out of control.
As your body betrays you and breaks down, slowly, and then suddenly.
You close your eyes to rest, and wake up to do it all over again.
Let me tell you about chaos.

This is now the sixth time I’ve started writing this blog. The last times I gave up after writing a few sentences, unable to put my thoughts into words. Not sure how much information I wanted to put out to the world, or if I was ready to even accept any of it myself. Then one day, as I was struggling to keep myself together, I found I needed to write what my feelings were as they were coming out. And so another of my many poems was borne, and here I am again trying to talk about the chaos that I call this life.

I’m familiar with struggle and I’m friendly with perseverance. I’ve grown used to my pathway being paved with difficulties to overcome, and my track record of success is thankfully greater than my failures. I work hard, I work tirelessly and I hope it pays off in the end. But that’s the thing – I expect there to be an end of some sort. No matter how tough things become, I’m able to keep moving forward because I feel that at some point, the difficult times will pass and I’ll get through it. That’s how we survive, isn’t it? On the faith that those times will pass. We hope to live.

But how do you keep forging ahead when that isn’t a possibility? How do you pick yourself up and keep going when you know, for a fact, that the odds of improvement, of a better life even, aren’t in the cards? Then what?

Most people are aware that my husband is disabled. Most people don’t, however, fully grasp the severity of it. And let me be clear: I do not seek pity. I do not want anyone to feel sorry for me or for my husband, but on some level, I wish they could understand better so they know how to act around us.

His condition is rare. And even as I type that, I want to stress how genuinely rare it is. Only a handful of doctors in the entire world are qualified to properly treat it, and even those doctors all have varying levels of comprehension and understanding. I’ve lost count of the number of occasions where we completely stumped a doctor. Imagine that frustration.

The nervous system is incredibly complex and intricate, so the medical world only understands a small percentage of it with any level of expertise. And CRPS happens to be one of those lovely conditions that manifests differently in people, and is only diagnosed after every other possible medical problem in history is first ruled out. A diagnosis of elimination instantly tells you how little anyone understands it. And the pain my husband experiences because of this disease is intense. It’s akin to the sensation of breaking a bone… many, many times during the day and then never having it heal. One doctor compared it to child birth pain. Now, I’ve never had a kid myself, but I’ve certainly heard plenty about the experience to appreciate the level of strength my husband must have for dealing with constant, chronic pain of this level on a regular, frequent basis.

After many surgical attempts, including killing nerve endings, embedding nerves to trick the brain into thinking it was no longer there, bone surgeries, injections, tests, trials and a million other last-ditch efforts to give him relief, we wound up with one last option left on the table. The treatment is called spinal cord stimulation (SCS). Sounds pretty intense, doesn’t it? Well, that’s because it kind of is. Essentially, it’s one of the only treatments for CRPS sufferers known to improve quality of life, even if some cases turn out to be temporary relief. Much like a pace maker, it’s an implant that goes right into your back with wires connecting to your spinal tissue. The pack sends electrical messages to your brain to dampen pain signals. Neuromodulation manages pain signals, but does not cure the condition. It is not a cure. There is no cure. But if SCS lowers someone’s pain by even 50%, they view that as a success. But with all things related to CRPS, there is no way of knowing if 1) SCS will help someone or 2) how long it could help someone if it proves a success. We thought, however, a 60-70% success rate among other CRPS sufferers was a high enough number for us to give it a go. Even now, we haven’t allowed ourselves to speculate how it would affect us if he doesn’t respond to SCS. We simply can’t consider that at this point.

Since starting the trial programme in which an army of medical professionals work together as a team to determine whether or not my husband is mentally, physically and emotionally stable enough to continue with such a serious procedure, more problems have come to light. Of course, right? Because it’s not enough that he has an incurable disease that will likely only worsen in time. It has to be even more complex.

Although no one seems to understand why exactly, CRPS is known to spread from one limb to another, or all, after time. There’s no rhyme or reason to where it spreads, it just can. My husband has it in his left foot, and in the last month, it’s seemingly spreading to his left hand now. Except! Get this – it appears to be another form of CRPS. DIFFERENT to the type he has already. He’s only had an official diagnosis on his foot for a few years, and to now be starting the process all over again for a different body part is… exhausting, to say the least. And horrifying. It’s still early stages, we think, but we’ve already begun ruling out any and all other possibilities with weekly tests and hospital visits. So the hope of SCS putting an end to the incessant misery his foot was causing was quickly replaced with fear and worry that this new development would not only affect his candidacy for SCS, but also progress to the level of pain he experiences in his foot already. This was our worst case scenario coming to life. Again, you take away the hope of a better life, what does that leave you?

I know he’s struggling, but I can’t speak for him. I’m not him. I don’t feel the same things he feels. But I do my best to show support and strength even though I absolutely do not feel I’m doing it well. I watch him hurt, I watch him panic, I watch him sink deeper into a depression that I’ll never be able to fully understand because whilst I can empathise, I don’t feel what he feels. I never worry about my being able to walk, or whether or not I can pick up a glass of water. But I watch my husband do it every day now. I have to stand by, helpless, watching him hurt and watching him stress about how to go about a “normal” life when he’s nowhere near the level of an able-bodied person. Taking the stairs is a challenge. Today, I watched him get emotional because he couldn’t pick up his burger. And all I can do is remind him that I love him and that we’ll get through this… even when I’m not so sure we can. I worry that I sound selfish when I talk about his condition, but I’m the only person who can talk about how this whole situation affects me. And he’s the only person who can talk about how it affects him. I’m scared. I’m scared for him, I’m scared for me and I’m scared for our future. We still have so many questions that will likely never be answered. Take a moment and imagine how that could possibly feel. Having a doctor tell you, “this likely won’t get better. This will probably spread to other parts of your body. This treatment may not help you.” There are no definites in any of this. And for two people who like to know all the answers, it certainly hasn’t been an easy pill to swallow.

There are moments when I’m so consumed by emotion that I simply cannot function. I get up and walk out of my office several times a day when I feel tears well up. I am constantly bombarded by friends, family and colleagues who genuinely mean well when they ask how things are going, but are actually forcing me to revisit a subject that is physically painful for me to discuss. When I met my husband, he wasn’t disabled yet. He didn’t have CRPS. And since we’ve been together, I’ve been forced to watch it degrade and become worse and worse and not being able to do a damn thing to help. And at this point in life, when we were at the brink of hopefully having relief with SCS, we’ve been ripped back down to earth to face an ugly new reality. And we weren’t ready for that. I’m still not ready for it. But this life doesn’t wait for you to be ready. And I’m angry. Scared. Wishing I could fix everything to give my husband the life, and physically-capable body, I feel he deserves. We’ve been dealt so many awful cards in the four years we’ve been together, that at this point, it all feels like a cruel joke.

I want you to understand that we are suffering. We are mourning the life we had planned for ourselves and trying to accept the one we were given instead. It is not an easy task, especially when it feels like nobody understands. Don’t tell us things will get better. We aren’t foolish enough to cling to such a dangerous hope. Tell us we’re strong. Tell us we’re capable of making the most out of a horrible situation. Tell us we’re handling it well even if you catch us having a breakdown (which we do, frequently). I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, either. Yes, I’m struggling and I’ll never deny that. But as much as I’ve wanted to all throughout this journey, I will not give up. I simply can’t. We are stronger than this pain, and I aim to prove that until my last breath.

“Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”

Reflections

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Now that it’s 2016, I feel obliged to reevaluate my life’s trajectory and try to find some meaning in the chaos thus far. Granted, that wasn’t my initial thought process. The inspiration actually sparked when I saw all those New Year’s Eve Facebook posts from all my virtual friends, updating the cyber world on their proud moments of 2015 and how they all hoped 2016 would bring even more. Apart from being slightly annoyed by all of those posts because, let’s face it, not all of them were all too impressive (SORRY), I sincerely wanted to share a post of my own. But no matter how much I sat and thought about how I could sum up the whole of 2015 in one relatively brief Facebook status, I simply couldn’t do it. Why? Well, to put it frankly, 2015 was littered with more painful, stressful, heartbreaking and overall difficult moments than anything else. But I don’t want to be so cynical this young, so in an effort to brighten up my mindset, I’m going to review my year and pat myself on the back a little.

2015 started out on a rough route, beginning with wedding dress stress that could really only happen to me. I fought with the owner of the bridal salon where I purchased my dress over moral and ethical values days before my wedding. It was incredibly hard and emotionally draining because I felt I was robbed of my “perfect wedding dress moment.” In the end of this months-long battle, I came out of it victorious, sort of, receiving monetary compensation for the trouble I had to go through. Even when I look back at this drama now, more than a year later, it still really upsets me. I hate that this woman acted so unprofessionally and made an already stressful time period even worse. But with further contemplation, I can admit that I’m also a little proud of myself for how I handled the situation. It was truly a, “holy crap, I’ve sure grown up!” kind of moment! For the most part, I kept my cool, I did my research to make sure I understood the law and that I wasn’t doing or saying anything that could hurt me. I asked friends and family for advice on how to proceed, and found I had a whopping amount of support on the matter. I made my point and I walked away with my dress in the end. I need to try and remember this part more than the emotional distress.

My wedding. My goodness. I’ve never cried so many happy tears in my entire life. It was truly the highlight and best moment of 2015, without a shadow of a doubt.

Shortly after the wedding, however, James had his final foot surgery. It’s amazing how quickly we can forget about the happy times when we’re faced with adversity, but this moment in 2015 was definitely top 3 of the worst. We dealt with a surgeon who was not only unkind, but also seriously and verbally doubtful of a positive outcome post-op. We fought with the NHS, and James suffered a great deal of pain. I, as his caretaker, found out how fiercely I cared for my husband and to what lengths I was willing to go to ensure his full recovery (insane lengths). For once, I had to be the rock in the relationship, and although I’d go home every night after visiting him at the hospital and cried myself to sleep, wracked with worry, I did my best to only show him strength because I knew how important it was to help him get better. But you know what? He recovered from the surgery and life improved. He will always have pain every day of his life, but now he can walk without an air cast, an accessory we both grew to hate. Small victories are still victories. One day at a time, right? Until then, we still hope for a cure.

My career was also going significantly well in 2015, having begun my second year as a news photographer in Cleveland. My coworkers seemed to like me well enough, and if they didn’t, they did a fantastic job at hiding it. I was given more responsibilities and trusted with higher caliber stories during a pretty interesting time in Cleveland history. I worked long days and often strange hours, sometimes tallying 9-10 days of work in a row. Some days were really tough, but others were amazingly fun. I made some pretty great friends at that gig, and the experiences I had taught me so much about the industry as well as myself. Let’s just say.. you never know how emotionally strong you are until you’re the first media responder at an incredibly grisly emergency scene. I left that job a better person, and as ready as I was to leave and start my life in the UK, I really do miss that place and the people who pushed me to excellence.

In late summer of 2015, my husband and I were finally able to apply for my UK visa. I have never put so much thought, energy and emotion into something before in my life. All of the necessary elements of our life finally fell perfectly into place and we were ready! And by early September, my visa had arrived. Apart from marrying my best friend, being told we can finally live in the same country together was the next best moment of 2015. I put my two weeks in at work the same day my visa arrived and began packing my life into a few suitcases. But before I could leave, my grandfather had a serious accident days before my flight departed. I dropped everything to be by his side, terrified for his well-being and questioning whether or not I should leave at all. Add this to the list of the most terrifying things that occurred in 2015 for me. But with my family’s blessing and promise to keep me updated on his progress and health, I made the journey to begin my new life. And I’m glad I made that decision because seeing my grandfather’s improvement over the holidays eased so much of the guilt I felt for leaving. Sometimes we have to make tough decisions. Or in my case.. often.

Now, these are just a few massively huge growth experiences that I had in 2015. There’s SO much more that it’s actually quite alarming, but hey, I fit a lot of life experiences into short amounts of time all the time! I look back and think how in the world I survived that roller coaster – or better yet – how in the world I made it to where I am now. I want to say I’m lucky. That the world was just nice enough to keep pushing me in the right direction. But in reality, I know that I am where I am today because I was determined (or as my mother would say, stubborn) enough to succeed. 2015 gave me a million reasons to want to throw in the towel, huddle in the corner in the fetal position and give up entirely. I still firmly believe that one single person shouldn’t ever have to deal with the amount of tragedy and strife I dealt with in 12 short months. BUT in some weird, twisted way, I’m glad it was me. It pushed me into adulthood faster than anything else, but it was necessary to experience so that I could see for myself that I can handle the world on my own. That I’m strong and a force to be reckoned with when faced with an obstacle. And when the clock struck midnight on the morning of January 1, 2016, I truly felt ready for what the new year would bring. Because in my mind, I’ve already dealt with so much in my short life that what’s one more bump in the road? I’m where I always wanted to be in life. And that, my friends, is both amazing and terrifying. Bring it on, 2016. I’m ready!

What hurts

Pain: The physical feeling caused by disease, injury or something that hurts the body.

We have all experienced pain in some form or another in our lifetimes. If the world is kind, we hope that it is only a temporary and brief experience. And even if we don’t get a say in how long the pain lasts, at least we get to cling to the hope that it will eventually lapse so that we can then switch gears to healing instead of hurting. But what happens when the pain not only has no end date, but also has an imminent promise of getting worse? Then what?

I mentioned last year the medical issues that were overwhelming my husband and me (yep, we got married!). We didn’t have concrete answers in regards to his nerve condition back then, so we were still able to see a glimmer of hope for improvement. The possibility of pain relief was still at least obtainable in our hopeful minds because questions weren’t yet answered. Unfortunately and fortunately (it’s a mixed-bag of emotions, here), we now have that definitive diagnosis of Complex Regional Pain Syndrome. After yet another foot surgery in an attempt to improve his walking situation, James came out of it with seemingly more chronic, daily pain. So here’s what we’ve learned in the last few months that we didn’t know or weren’t told before:

1.) CRPS is not only incurable, but has a 90% chance of worsening and spreading to other parts of the body after time.
2.) There is no medicine on the market as of yet that successfully manages CRPS pain or guarantees any long-term relief. The medicines that doctors typically go for are prescribed on a strictly trial-and-error basis. Some possible treatments can also be super risky.
3.) Forcing yourself to push through the pain is the only way to try and mitigate or slow down the risks of the condition spreading (they think), but the minute you allow yourself to rest is when the pain can get its most excruciating.
4.) Doctors won’t let you just cut your foot off and call it a day if the idea of living your life in constant pain doesn’t appeal to you.
5.) The experts and specialists don’t really have good answers for you because they don’t understand it either.
6.) BUT James doesn’t NEED to use crutches or a foot cast anymore… if he can stand the pain.

So now what? My husband has an invisible disease that nobody fully understands and it has not only become the focal topic of our lives, but it also determines the majority of our actions and choices. We don’t realize how important and integral walking and standing are until the act of doing either incurs unbearable pain. Or participating in a conversation and suddenly being wracked with disorienting and distracting pain, unable to pay enough attention to really “be” where you are. I would never wish this condition on my worst enemy, yet I have to sit idly by watching the person I love the most living with it. That’s a type of pain I never expected I’d have to live with for myself either. For the rest of our lives.

I love my husband. I fully recognize that this awful situation is not something he brought on himself, and I have never and will never blame him for it. But it is certainly something I never could’ve prepared for, mentally or emotionally. I have moments of agonizing helplessness and guilt when I find that I have no offers of advice or suggestions to give James in order to alleviate the pain. I often find myself at a loss for words simply because I know nothing I say can stop him from hurting. That is a type of emotional pain I didn’t even know existed. There are so many different facets of pain, and I’m uncovering a whole slew of them lately. Whether we’re together or apart,  I’m constantly worried about his comfort level, wanting to protect him from any possible dangers that could increase his pain, but also trying to take care of myself as well. I morphed into caretaker mode because nobody wants to watch their loved ones suffer – we want to help. But I found that as I desperately tried to find ways to help, usually without success, I was letting the worry consume me so much that I stopped caring about my own well being. Even still, I struggle to find a balance between looking after my husband and looking after myself. I wonder, is this how first-time mothers feel as well – scared and unsure? Although, at least they can learn how to fix and/or improve things to encourage better quality of life for their children, right? Or they can ask professionals who can help too. I feel like this situation is so unique that there isn’t any one thing or person I can turn to for help, and it’s not something that sits well with me. Especially with the thought of the pain spreading. What happens if the pain becomes so intense down the road that he can no longer move, work, live a joyful life? How do I deal with that then? Then I remember that speculating what could happen later doesn’t help the now, so I try and drop it. But as with most things, that’s easier said than done.

I have gained a whole new respect and admiration for individuals with disabilities (seen or unseen). For those of you fighting off illnesses, caring for loved ones who are unable to care for themselves, living with pain – I salute you. You are far stronger people than I am, and I aspire to achieve the same strength. You don’t receive enough credit for the effort you put into creating and living a good life despite any real or imagined shortcomings you’ve been dealt. You face obstacles not with fear or defeat, but with determination. We are only given one life in this wicked world, so no matter what, we have to learn how to love it. Even if it hurts.

I’m learning as I go, and despite the agony we both feel sometimes, I’m so happy James and I have each other for support. And I will do whatever I can to help raise awareness and fund research projects so that debilitating, inhibiting, invisible medical conditions like CRPS can be eradicated. I can’t do everything.. but I can do something.

That’s the thing about pain. It demands to be felt.

The cost of love

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When you’re young, you never associate paperwork and deadlines with a wedding. Planning a wedding is meant to be romantic and exciting, and it’s supposed to be that “making your dreams come true” kind of time. Dresses and tuxes and flowers and dates and parties and venues – all of these things happily float around in your head until it all comes together, culminating in the best day of your life. Well, that may be true if your significant other has the same nationality as you. You could throw together a wedding tomorrow if you were in a rush and get on with your lives together immediately! But some of us aren’t that lucky.

I love my fiancé more than life. I’m so happy I met him and I’m thrilled to some day call him my husband. But while I’m still excited to actually get married, the planning process of figuring out how to actually marry my English fiancé has almost completely sucked the excitement out of my engagement. Isn’t that awful? Here’s why:

For my fiancé to come here, we would have to apply for a visa. Have you seen or heard of the show on TLC called “90 Day Fiancé?” It’s kind of like that, except way more complicated. If you happened to watch the program, you’ll have noticed that when it first started, each couple mentioned how they’ve been with his or her significant other for at least a year or more. That duration is important to note because that means there was about a 6 month block of time where they were just sitting around waiting for the visa to simply get accepted. Why would it take that long? Well, to get what’s called the K-1 Visa, there are roughly one thousand steps. First, you have to simply petition for the visa. That’s not applying, folks. You have to state your case before you can even apply! And this petition, in which you must provide biographic information (proof of citizenship, census evidence/school records or/certificates of religious rites/every minute detail of your personal existence), a police certificate (preferably a clean one!), evidence showing that you plan to marry within 90 days of entry in the U.S., evidence that you have met in person, more forms (G-325A) specially formatted passport-style photographs taken within 30 days of filing the petition and other little details are all for the low, low cost of $400! After all that stuff is turned in, then the U.S. government may still turn around and request more evidence or require you to be interviewed before accepting your petition. When and if your petition is accepted, THEN you can apply for the actual visa. This part also includes the interview. You know, like in the movie The Proposal when Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds try to get married. Seriously, it’s very similar. If all your paperwork checks out and you can prove on paper that you’re not making up your whole history and relationship, then you have to sit before a government employee and answer any questions they want to ask about you and your relationship. I’ve been told that these questions can get quite personal as well, so that sounds fun, huh? I guess you just have to hope that your relationship sounds legitimate! Plus, at this interview, you’ll also have to bring with you an incredibly insane amount of more paperwork and evidence. This stuff includes things like medical records and a recent examination demonstrating your current health, evidence of financial support (I-134) that proves that your partner will never become a financial liability on the U.S., more evidence of the relationship’s validity, more photos and, of course, payment of all the fees involved. And again, even after all this, the government can still ask for MORE. Waiting for all of this to come through can take anywhere from a few weeks to a few months.. or a year. So let’s say after all this work, the visa is approved and your partner can now come and marry you in the U.S. When they show up and go through customs, there is still the possibility that they are not granted admittance into the country. Nice, huh? If you can pass go, then you’ve got 90 days to tie the knot or get gone, buzzo! Once that rushed marriage has taken place, you can apply for a green card to become a permanent resident. Yup, more paperwork, more waiting and more gambling. Even if you’ve gotten married, you can’t legally work in the country until you’ve applied for and been granted authorization to do so (I-485). So after you’ve dropped a couple thousand dollars on applications, petitions and forms, you may have tallied anywhere from 6 to 8 months worth of just waiting. Let’s hope that through all that stress, you were still able and excited to plan your wedding to take place in that 90 day time block!

What’s more is that while you’re waiting for your significant other to be able to move to you and be with you for good, you put your visa acceptance at risk if you plan any long visits to see each other during the waiting period. Why? Well, you have a love interest in the country and you’ve already expressed a desire to stay with them, so who’s to say you won’t just pop over for a visit and then never leave? Can’t have that! That’s illegal immigration!

So after I became frustrated and concerned that I couldn’t personally meet the threshold of the minimum income requirement to prove financial stability, and how the wait time was anywhere from half a year to 8 months, I turned to see if UK immigration was an easier process. Although very similar in terms of the process, I found that the red tape was a little looser and more flexible. Financial requirements aren’t as rigid and allow for more options, the paperwork and applications are processed and accepted (or denied) in a much quicker time frame (as soon as a few weeks!), and there aren’t fees on fees on fees each time a new form is filled out. However, the process is still just as much of a gamble, still very costly, very demanding and stressful and more or less the same as the U.S. process. The main things that appealed to me were the possibility of moving quicker and the ease of understanding the application process.

So while we wait the required 6 months that is necessary since we both accepted new jobs and need to do so in order to meet the financial requirements for either country’s visa, all I can do is anticipate and prepare as much as possible for the upcoming work involved in getting married. Now you can see why it’s upsetting and difficult to plan your long-awaited for wedding (seriously long) when you’ve got so many other things on your mind! The outside support from friends and family who are genuinely excited for our happiness helps redirect the focus from paperwork to bliss. Nevertheless, as with many things in life, there are naysayers that chime in, and sometimes it seems they’re louder than the cheerleaders. Love found across countries is a seesaw dipping back and forth between pure joy and stress.

And although I wouldn’t trade my fiancé for anything or anyone in the world and I don’t regret saying yes to marriage, I urge you to look at your own situation and learn to appreciate things that you two can do that isn’t a guarantee for others. Be able to look at your relationship and say, “yes, this IS a lucky kind of love” and learn to stifle your complaints about doing long distance or arguing over where you want to live or what have you. There are always ways in which it could be harder and there will always be people out there who may have things a bit more complicated. Love your love and always be grateful. And always remember, through any and all the stress, you’ve always got each other. Together is where you want to be, and do what you’ve got to do to get there. Whatever it takes!

Stave off stress

Keep calm & carry on

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In my very limited observations, I’ve noticed that many 20-somethings appear to be overwhelmingly stressed more often than not. From personal experience, I can say that I’ve certainly had my fair share of anxiety and panic attacks, have broken out with stress pimples, found myself lying awake at night incapable of falling asleep and many times, I just exhaust myself with worries. If I’m doing these things and I’m aware of it, I’m sure there are many others in similar positions. And although there are times when it feels like stress is running my life, it’s important to understand that there are easy ways to relieve stress. Your twenties are massively transitional – permanently moving out of your parent’s house, landing a full-time job, paying bills and loans off, looking for a partner to settle down with – a whole lot changes very quickly. As we celebrate each birthday during our teens, we’re painfully aware of the changes that are looming ahead in our twenties, but no amount of mental preparation can truly prepare you for what’s in store. So that’s why I did some research involving stress in young adults. It may not be something I can change, but it’s something I can learn to manage much better.

Stress is defined in the dictionary as, “a state of mental or emotional strain or tension resulting from adverse or very demanding circumstances.” As a recent graduate, I can certainly relate to the feeling of facing demanding circumstances frequently. Not sure if you’re stressed? Check out some of the symptoms here. Chances are, if you’re nodding your head yes to many of these symptoms, the stress monster has you in its grip. But if you find yourself hyperventilating before an upcoming exam that you don’t feel prepared for, don’t even take the time to look up your symptoms. I can tell you right now, you’re totally stressed out and you need to find your center again!

As a veteran anxiety attack victim, I’ve learned ways to calm myself down quickly before I feel like I’ve completely lost control. Been there too? Then let’s toss out some plans of attack to keep the enemy at bay.

When I start feeling overwhelmed, one of the first things I do is step away from what I’m doing and make myself a cup of tea. Many teas are said to actually help calm you down, although I can’t say it’s foolproof. I’ll brew a cup of chamomile or peppermint tea, and while I sip, the only thing I allow my mind to think of is how the tea tastes. You’d be amazed at how a few minutes can keep your anxiety in check. Plus, staying hydrated is definitely helpful too. Now, I’m a big coffee drinker and I’d pick coffee over tea almost any day, but caffeine definitely does not help in moments of stress. Tea is your best bet. But if you don’t dig tea and still want the calming benefits of the scent of chamomile or something similar, pop out to the store and buy a scented candle or two and light those babies up! The smell can just as easily calm you if you’re making sure to stop and take a moment to focus on the smell of the candle and nothing else.

If tea doesn’t help on its own, I’ll flip on some soothing classical music. Personally, I prefer classical piano with Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” (Piano Sonata No. 14 in C♯ minor) as my go-to favorite. Music has been said to help individuals deal with stress, pain and other related ailments in many research studies, so it’s a pretty solid option. If classical music isn’t your thing, turn on your favorite pop songs from the 2000s and sing along. That’ll help reduce your stress levels too!

Maybe a few minutes of distraction isn’t enough for you to calm down. If that’s the case, another trick of the trade is some old-fashioned exercising. I’m not a huge fan of any kind of exercise, but it gets those endorphins pumping and can change your mood real quick. While you’re singing along to that pop song, get up and move too! Or get flexible with yoga or pilates, lift weights, do push-ups or sit-ups, jog around the block or if all of this is way too intense for you, slip on your tennis shoes and just go for a brief walk. Removing yourself from the environment where you were feeling the most stressed does wonders.

A few other things that may help fight off stress and anxiety are breathing exercises, massages, participating in a specific hobby like crafting, playing a game, watching funny videos (laughter is the best medicine!), playing with or petting a dog, cooking, or even allowing yourself to have a good cry can be amazingly cathartic. What’s important is that you find a way to distract yourself from what’s bothering you, and you’ll have to find what works best for you on your own.

So no matter what you do, at least make sure you’re doing something to minimize the stress. If you just let it consume you, chronic stress and anxiety have the ability to seriously impact your health. So be proactive and don’t get too caught up in strife and worries. Help yourself when you notice that you’re faltering or ask for it if you’re unsure of what to do. And just as good ol’ Walt Disney once said, “Why worry? If you’ve done the very best you can, worrying won’t make it any better.”

Cheers to a happier, healthier you!