It is currently the night before. I should be sleeping. Or, at the very least, I should be doing my skincare routine and zoning out to an episode of 90 Day Fiancé to completely numb my brain. Instead, I am sitting here vibrating at a frequency that I’m pretty sure could shatter the glass in my own windows.
Tomorrow morning is the court date. The court date. The one that has been looming over my head like a dark, heavy storm cloud for what feels like an absolute eternity.
I want to talk about anxiety tonight. Not the cute, socially acceptable “Oh, I have butterflies in my stomach before a big presentation” kind of anxiety. I am talking about the full-blown, chest-tightening, “am I having a heart attack or just overthinking my existence?” panic attacks.
As a nurse, the most frustrating part of a panic attack is knowing exactly what is happening to my body and being completely powerless to stop it. I know the physiology. I know my sympathetic nervous system has completely hijacked the wheel and is actively dumping cortisol and adrenaline into my bloodstream. My brain is screaming at my body that there is a literal bear in the living room, but the bear is actually just a very sterile, very intimidating judge’s bench. Knowing the science doesn’t make my heart rate go down. I have lost count of how many panic attacks I’ve had this week. Honestly, my Apple Watch has asked me three times today if I’m in the middle of a strenuous elliptical workout just based on my resting pulse.
Tomorrow, I stand in front of a judge to finally put an end to a nightmare that has dragged on for years. I am not going to name names here. The person on the other side of this case does not get to take up one more inch of real estate on my platform than they already have in my real life. But getting to this point gathering the evidence, reading through years of digital harassment, printing out the screenshots, and organizing the legal folders has required me to relive every single exhausting, traumatic moment. It’s like studying for the worst final exam of your life, where the subject matter is your own personal trauma.
My anxiety has turned me into a caricature of myself. I have checked my evidence folder no less than 47 times today. I know where every single piece of paper is. I have the timestamps practically memorized. I am fairly confident I could present my entire case blindfolded while reciting the alphabet backward. And yet, the anxiety whispers, “But what if you trip on the way to the podium? What if you open your mouth and suddenly forget the English language? What if the judge asks you a question and you accidentally respond with a grocery list?”
Then there’s the wardrobe crisis. What exactly is the dress code for “I am a sane, organized, terrified woman asking for legal protection”? Do I wear a blazer? Is a blazer too corporate? If I wear a cardigan, do I look too casual? I stared at my closet for an hour today as if the right sensible shoe was going to magically cure a decade of stalking.
Mo has been an absolute saint, bless him. He looks at me pacing the house like a caged lion, muttering to myself while aggressively reorganizing a stack of paper that is already perfectly organized, and he just gently offers me water or asks if I need anything. I am trying so hard to keep the energy normal for the kids. I really am. But kids have a sixth sense for moms on the edge. They just know when you are mentally in another dimension.
How am I coping? Barely. I am relying heavily on deep breathing exercises that only seem to work for about twelve seconds at a time. But more than anything, I am holding onto the sheer, glorious promise of a massive iced Tesora from Philz Coffee tomorrow morning. Heavy cream, sweet, Philz Way. If I can just get in the car, get that coffee, and take that first sip, I know the caffeine will at least give me the illusion of invincibility to walk through those doors.
If anyone reading this is going through a massive, life-altering, anxiety-inducing hurdle right now whether it is a legal battle, a medical scare, or just a deeply personal mountain you are trying to climb I see you. The panic is real. The exhaustion is bone-deep. Sometimes doing the right thing for your peace and your family’s safety is the most terrifying thing in the world.
But we do hard things. We organize our folders, we put on our sensible shoes, we drink our coffee, and we stand up for ourselves. Because the only way out of the storm is straight through it.
Please send all your good vibes, prayers, and calming energy my way for tomorrow morning. I’m going to need every ounce of it to keep my voice from shaking. I’ll update you all on the other side.
Love,
Tina