The Intro

So I'm not quite sure where to start. There's not really a beginning, there's only a couple of big events leading up to it, the last one being the birth of my daughter.




Rayne



   I've always had a huge temper and little to no patience - and there have been a few times that it's gotten me into trouble. But once I found out I was pregnant I figured when she was born, I would magickally find it. That the maternal instinct would kick in and that she would actually help me out.

   When it didn't happen, I thought "Fine, okay. This will just take a little work on my part and things will be great". And they were...for about 2 weeks. My little girl has had so many problems in her short little life which has caused a lot of stress for both her father and I, but I've beared the brunt being the stay-at-home parent and the one who takes her to the doctor's appointments and check-ups and worries what the outcome will be the next time.  I began to notice a problem when my husband commented on my yelling at her and gently reminded me that she wasn't doing it (crying, wiggling, scratching, etc.) on purpose; that she was a baby. And I knew that, but it became harder and harder to keep my anger in check and I found myself yelling more and more and getting louder and louder each time. It just recently came to a head - after a busy and stressful day I decided to take a shower once we got home. I came out to find her crying which turned into louder crying which turned into wailing and screaming, ending it a lot of yelling and hitting things on my part and almost inconsolable tears on hers. There's also a nice sized hole in our bedroom door because walking away wasn't helping.

    I sent my husband a text, asking him when he would be home and giving little detail on what had happened. The first thing I said to him when he finally did walk through the door was that I needed help. I wasn't sure if it was just an anger problem at this point anymore. I feared post partum depression and the possibility of unintentionally harming my daughter. I did not want to have to take her to the hospital for something and have to tell them I did it. The thought of that and possibly having her taken away from me was too much to take.

   And that's how I ended up in a therapist's office two days later. After a long series of questions and background information, my doctor put down her pen, took off her glasses and with kind look on her face said "Well, Dana, it looks like you have an anxiety disorder. You have every sign, and I mean every sign of one, except the panic attacks and I'm extremely surprised you don't have those."

   I felt a mixture of relief and, of all things, anxiety. I was happy to not have PPD; for me, it would have somehow mean that I was a failure as a mother, especially when my own mother has the patience of a saint and my husband is so great with our daughter. The anxiousness is due to not knowing what happens next. I've never had a "disorder" before or had to go through therapy for anything. It's a new experience and something I haven't quite settled into yet.

   So I guess this is where the beginning will be...