Over breakfast yesterday afternoon I read a letter from one of you
readers that got me right in the gut, in a good way. It reminded me how
much we connect here over the hard stuff, and that it's been a while
since we had a chat about Real Life and its accompanying Hard Stuff.
I tend to get so caught up in my crafts and projects and photos that I
leave out the messier things happening around here, which can be dangerous. That could make you think, "Hey, that Jen, she's got it all together!" Or worse, it could
make me think you prefer this "more perfect" version of me, which ABSOLUTELY cannot stand. I'm a broken mess and proud of it, dangit.
So hey, let's catch up.
- First, a little bad: last week I had my first full-blown panic attack since March. I made it this long through a global Pandemic and the election - so what finally convinces me I'm about to die? Taking a test drive during rush hour. Arg. We got stuck in gridlock when I didn't have my emergency Xanax with me, which set off my agoraphobia. Plus the car
we were test-driving smelled TERRIBLE and the seat wouldn't let me stretch out... basically a
perfect storm of sensory overload and bad timing.
Our 11-year-old Kia broke down the other week, and we've been doing that whole "do
we buy a newer car or fix the old one?" dance. (Ergo the test drive.) In the end we decided to
keep our old car, so John's been working to fix it up, getting new
tires, lights, widgets, gizmos, etc.
Quick Cat Break, because lookit that face:
And these faces:
D'awww. There's been an ongoing battle over this blanket, so the times they share are extra adorable.
Anyhoo, having a bad panic attack after you haven't had one in a long time is a valuable - though super
sucky - reminder. It reminded me I can do all the right coping things: the belly breathing and rational thoughts and icing my hands
and face - and still feel completely out of control, just free-falling off that
terror cliff. It reminded me my mind and body can still betray me.
Mostly, though, it reminded me how far I've come, and to never take the
panic-free days for granted.
Here's a panic victory to offset
that bit of yuckiness, though: on Monday I did the Big Scary Thing and went in for
my first pap smear & exam in over 8 years. I'd been putting it off out
of fear, since I had a traumatic exam roughly 10 years ago.
(The doctor, who was later fired, performed an endometrial biopsy instead of a pap. I cried for 8 hours straight.) That fear convinced
me to keep putting it off. I told myself it would be too hard to find a new
doctor this year anyway, and if I did, they would only lecture
me once I got there anyway. But you know what? I finally, FINALLY did it. And it went fine.
The nurse was amazing, and the doctor was pretty nice, too - no
scolding at all. The slight pain of the exam did trigger some terrible memories, but
with a preemptive Xanax and John there beside me, I got
through it. Booyah. Take THAT, panic monster. Take that, PTSD.
Hmm. I think we need a silly chaser after all that serious adulting stuff.
And I have just the thing:
