The Day I Realized I Couldn’t Handle My Anxiety Alone

I was with my 6-year-old daughter, playing her favorite game—pretending we’re sisters—and I kept messing up. “No, Mama. You’re Lindsey and I’m Chloe,” my daughter said after I had mixed up the names of our characters for the fourth time.

The thing was, my mind was not on the game. It was not on my daughter.

Instead, my mind was filled with thoughts like these: My husband had been quiet that morning before he left for work. Was he mad at me? Was our marriage in trouble? How were we going to pay for college? Was that tingling I felt in my leg the sign of some horrible illness? Did I have multiple sclerosis? I hadn’t heard from my friend Ianthe in a while. Was she OK? The worry bounced from topic to topic. And it almost completely blocked out the present moment: me on the floor of my daughter’s pink bedroom, my little girl just wanting to play.

Source: huffingtonpost