My Story: Why Do I Write About Wellness and Mental Health?

So what’s my story and why do I write about mental health and wellness?

*Trigger Warning*

I cried when I launched my website.

The thought of publicizing my story, my learnings, everything I write about on a daily basis, was overwhelming and well… emotional. I’m a private person and have a hard time being vulnerable. I know a lot of you can relate. I see you, Fort Knox.

Just like my story on why I write about health and nutrition, I had to learn about wellness and mental health. My quality of life depended on it.

I won’t recount my childhood traumas, but it’s no surprise I developed a mental health condition at a young age.

I noticed something was off when I was 14, around the time my digestive complications began. It felt like a barrage of ants crawling in my belly, and it happened randomly throughout the day with no specific trigger.

Spoiler alert, it was anxiety. But I didn’t know that at the time.

Much like how I didn’t tell anyone about my digestive pains for 6 years, I kept quiet about this too.

I was a stubborn kid. 

Although I planned to go the rest of my life without anyone knowing about my “brain problems”, my body had other ideas. When I was 22, driving home after a particularly hectic day, it happened.

Tingles in my ears. Pressure in my head. Muffled noises.

My vision narrowed, which was problematic as I was in the middle of fucking traffic. The ants, who by this time had carved permanent paths inside my body, grew to the size of bats and wreaked havoc on my muscles. I started hyperventilating, and my fingers and legs locked up.

Thankfully I was able to maneuver myself out of traffic and into a Target parking lot — because you can always count on Target to meet your random emotional needs.

I thought I was dying and called my best friend, Kimberly. She drove out and sat with me as I bawled like a baby.

Shout out to Kimberly, the truest friend there ever was.

That was my first panic attack. After that, they kept coming. Add that to worsening digestive issues and my quality of life deteriorated.

Not only did I have anxiety about getting sick… I now had anxiety about anxiety and the possible onset of a panic attack.

My sympathetic nervous system was so sensitized and the chronically high levels of stress hormones caused a daily crash which resulted in depression and harmful behavior. My dog Lucy became an essential source of emotional support during that time.

All of this led to a disastrous trip at Disney World (which deserves its own post) during which Kimberly once again anchored me as my body self-destructed. That day, I decided I would go on antidepressants.

For the next two years, my psychologist and psychiatrist experimented a few drug regimes on me. A brilliant numbing overtook and I was free of anxiety and panic attacks. But the meds sent me into a strange depression void. The harmful behavior worsened though I wasn’t particularly bothered about it.

During a period of no medication where I had tapered off one to begin another (a vulnerable period when you’re advised not to make any drastic life decisions), I had had enough and bought a one-way ticket to New Zealand.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

Four months into my new and drastically different life, I decided to forego the meds. I consulted a doctor (as you should!) and slowly tapered until I was drug-free.

It was jubilant. It was thrilling. 

Until it wasn’t.

Anxiety returned with the force of having been suppressed for two years. I developed a case of agoraphobia (fear of places that make you feel helpless or trapped), so I couldn’t bear the bus or the car, meeting rooms, lines at the grocery store, or other people’s houses. I actively avoided situations of scrutiny, like presentations, pitches, and interviews, which impacted my career progression. My personality basically died.

And I experienced two of the worst panic attacks in my life, one of which was a series lasting two hours.

Although I desperately wanted to go back on the meds, I knew I couldn’t. Not only did they make things worse, but also… I didn’t want to numb my problems. I wanted to understand them. What was my body trying to tell me?

I accepted anxiety as my teacher, albeit a brutal one.

Meanwhile, I landed a job in the mental health and addiction sector. It’s funny how life gives you what you need. I surrounded myself with psychologists, psychiatrists, and academics with a wealth of knowledge and Anxiety the Teacher sent me down paths I never would’ve otherwise explored.

Meditation. Yoga. Clean eating. Breathing techniques. An unwavering exercise schedule. Nature walks. Self-care prioritization. And most importantly, identification exercises to notice and label sensations and prevent them from hijacking me.

My life transformed. And although I still have a lot of work to do — the teacher isn’t done yet — I wanted to share my story and everything I learn about mental health and wellness so others can get better too.

Whew, what a story! If you made it this far, you rock. Seriously, I appreciate you.

I hope you find some value in what I have to share. Or if nothing else, you find entertainment in my stories.

Stay awhile.

Much love,

P