My gaze left my sweaty palms as I looked around at all corners of the room. My eyes paced back and forth. When I looked up, I realized it was a poor attempt to make it all stop by the ceiling lights scolding my eyes. I could feel my pupils dilate and the pressure behind my eyes get heavier and heavier. The pressure felt so pronounced, and my head began stooping forward while my sweaty palms gripped the blanket covering me. My heart was starting to stiffen. To cope, as those have instructed me to do so, I tried to remind myself that this is just another episode. However, an internal argument began and I said to myself, "HOW?". "HOW am I supposed to tune in to the beats of my own pulse in my head over the muffled sounds of 'Mommy!' faint in the background?."

In an attempt to escape my own personal interrogation, I remind myself that this happens, and it happens often. It tends to do this when something is not right. It tends to do this, too, when I believesomething terrible might happen. My heart stiffens like there could be impending doom coming my way as I'm backed against a corner.

When this happens, I typically take a deep breath that always seems more shallow than my imagination deemed fit for some sense of relief. I look around, acknowledge my surroundings and attempt to name a few objects or pinpoint the "reason" I am feeling this way in the moment.

Truth is, the "reason" always confuses me. When I take those deep breaths while scoping out my surroundings, my reality tends to blur through a kaleidoscope lens as I try to make sense of it all. I realize now that sometimes the colors and shapes don't add up anymore. The things that used to bring me comfort don't stand a chance. I can hear the music, see the dancing, and feel the vibrations of the laughter of the now grown women who have grown up with me and loved me through it all. And sometimes I see the things that presently bring me comfort; like the little boy on my lap, or the and cats that I insisted on rescuing, a husband that I couldn't live without, and a house that's filled with so much..sooo much love.

Yet, my breaths don't stand a chance.

I'm reminded that I'm exhausted. I'm drained, mentally and physically. It's not the type of exhaustion that consumes me as a mom, wife, or a 9-5 pay-check-to-pay-checker. It's the type of exhaustion that consumes me from parenting (Which I assume is to be expected). But it's more than that to me. It's more than that to the people who know this truth: Its the type of exhaustion that makes you want to crawl under a rock somewhere and let the world fade away, most days. It's the type of feeling that we feel ashamed of ourselves for. For feeling anxious.

Anxiety is crippling.

It hurts in every way. It also gets in the way of our every day life. We try to let people understand us but they never seem to. We try to educate those who think it's a stigma; all the while pushing through with a stiffened heart while wondering how we were the lucky ones who got stuck with it in the first place. It's deep, it's dark and it's twisted. It hinders on us and through us with no remorse. It takes on this shadow of ourselves when attempting to enjoy the little things because:

1. We can't stand being touched

2. We can't stand being talked to for too long

3. We can't stand being smothered. Which in all reality could just be a tap on the shoulder, a small-talk kind of conversation, or cuddles from the ones we love.

The worst feeling, though, is when they're all gone. We scope the same place we felt suffocated in, and we all of a sudden feel more empty than we did before.

Anxiety is crippling

It feels like I'm self destructing with people around me and even more without. My pulse races being surrounded by them, yet too vacant when I'm alone. I find myself backed up in a corner again, feeling crippled by my own thoughts. But somehow, I feel guilty for it.