Writing about my mental health journey on Mother’s Day weekend feels fitting. Looking back, I can realize that I probably always dealt with anxiety. I was a kid who worried a lot and cried a lot over things out of my control. I was having panic attacks before I had a term for it, and in a time when adults didn’t understand mental health. As I got older, I seemed to grow out of it. In reality, I think my focus just shifted. Friends, college, graduations, weddings; all things that distracted me or made me worry about something that “made sense”. People understand stress about exams and pre-wedding jitters. It’s “normal”.
My first postpartum experience was one of those circumstances. The pregnancy was complicated and resulted in a pre-term induction. Delivery had several scary moments, and my daughter ended up in the NICU. I left the hospital without my baby. That is an understandably hard situation. The anxiety and stress made sense to me and everyone around me.
When I was expecting my second child, my goal was to leave the hospital with my baby. That pregnancy wasn’t without its challenges, but I was able to deliver at full term and be discharged with my daughter. I was so happy and relieved we wouldn’t have another NICU stay. I was seemingly in a great place: healthy delivery, 16 weeks of paid leave for me, a few weeks off for my husband, and help with my oldest from my parents. I had every reason to believe that my recovery would be quick and uneventful.
A few weeks postpartum, I started to get dizzy. I didn’t think too much of it, but I did bring it up at my 6-week OB appointment. I was sent for a glucose test since I had gestational diabetes. That came back normal, and I was referred to my primary care doctor. She ran more tests, but the only thing abnormal was a slight iron deficiency. I began to supplement with iron, but didn’t notice any real change.
Months later, I began to experience heart palpitations in addition to my dizziness. I went back to my doctor, who gave me a prescription to treat vertigo. At this point, I asked for my heart to be checked as well. It took almost a year before I was finally sent for a Holter monitor to check my heart, which came back normal.
My symptoms continued to get worse as time went on. Palpitations became more frequent, and I was dizzy and lightheaded often. I went to the ER a few times, convinced I was having a heart attack, only to be told I was fine. Nothing could physically explain why I continued to feel this way, which then caused stress and anxiety.
It all came to a head in September 2024. My grandfather, the rock of our family, was dying. I had seen him on what would be the morning of his death. By the afternoon, I was calling my husband sobbing, saying I didn’t know what was wrong with me. The physical sensations literally brought me to my knees. Palpitations, unable to breathe, shaking. A few hours later, I got the call that my grandpa had passed. My sister picked me up, and we went to see him. I walked in and again fell to my knees. I had to get out of the house. I sat on the porch, seemingly to my family in a normal display of grief, but unbeknownst to them, because I physically couldn’t be in there. The physical symptoms from earlier in the day were back, and I was powerless to control them, but I didn’t need anyone worrying about me.
In the months that followed, I experienced several other episodes that led me to the ER. One presented with stroke-like symptoms, where I was having cognitive issues. This prompted me to finally be referred to a neurologist and subsequently a cardiologist. Both did extensive testing to determine that, while there were minor physical things to be mindful of, I was physically healthy. However, the conversations were different. Instead of being brushed off, I was reassured that my symptoms were, in fact, real. I was truly experiencing these things. I burst into tears when I was told this. The validation of what I had been experiencing was overwhelming. It was gently suggested that I see someone for anxiety.
I began to work with a therapist a few months after my grandpa’s death. She immediately saw that all of my physical symptoms were manifestations of anxiety, which probably began in childhood but re-emerged in postpartum and then just compounded. The death of someone so close to me, so impactful in my life, plus the lingering postpartum hormones, was a perfect storm. I wasn’t experiencing anxiety as worry, stress, or racing thoughts. I was experiencing it physically.
I was prescribed medication for anxiety, and after some trial and error, I found something that works for me. I also continue to meet with my therapist, although now not as frequently. It’s not perfect. I still have days when I’m anxious or have panic attacks. But I’m aware of them, and they don’t send me spiraling anymore. I also continue to see my neurologist and cardiologist annually. I am so grateful to them for running the tests first and not immediately attributing my symptoms to anxiety, which is so often the case in women, especially.
Ultimately, life is hard for all of us. We all deal with circumstances that can cause stress and anxiety. We need to recognize that not everyone experiences these things in the same way. For some, it presents as emotional symptoms. For some, destructive behaviors. And for some, like me, physical symptoms. Just because someone doesn’t experience things the same way you do doesn’t mean their experience isn’t valid. If you find yourself feeling off in any way, please seek help. Advocate for yourself if you don’t feel something is right. Find people who believe you and will support you. It can get better, and you can get your life back.