I had high hopes of spending this Saturday outdoors, hiking and/or rock climbing  in Cooper’s Rock, but alas, Mother Nature had other ideas. I woke up to teach an 8:30 class and it was pouring… left class, and it was still pouring. Opened phone only to have my weather app taunt me – You actually thought you were going outside today!? LOLZ.

Brendan asked if I would bring home Starbucks, so a detour was made. As I drove home in sweaty yoga clothes, Sbux in hand, I realized that I was the total caricature of the overly-instagrammed Modern American White Girl. I totes would have taken a picture for my 20 Snapchat followers, but then I remembered that sweaty post-yoga me does not glisten or glow, sweaty post-yoga me looks like I crawled out of a polluted lake.

Anyways, it turns out that today ended up not being a total waste. As I sat on the porch with the husband and the dog, sipping coffee I realized that rainy Saturdays in July are basically the summer equivalent of being snowed in. We sat for an hour, watching the clouds roll in and making alternate plans for today which include playing cards and probably going to bed at 8:00 like a bunch of Octegenarians, since I was convinced to play golf tomorrow morning. At 6:20 AM. At a course that is the opposite of nearby.

The rain also brought a welcome opportunity to sit on the porch and write a blog post about what has been going on in my life. So here I sit, coffee in hand, head-phones on,  in Get Sh*t Done Mode prepared to divulge the dirty contents of my life to people on the internet. It is always struggle for me to find the balance between being candid and being private. Since starting this blog, I’ve had several people reach out and thank me for being completely honest about being a complete mess, so I guess I’ve kind of found my ‘niche’ in the blogging world. If that niche is being a neurotic, overly-divulgant 30-something – then I shall wear that crown with honor!

Suffice to day, 2016 has felt like my physical self is being held hostage by hormones and emotions. Some of this I’ve written about before, but I feel like everything finally came full circle this week, so I’m going to recap anyways. Also, its my blog and I do what I want.

I went off of anxiety meds and birth control in January, and I was ill-prepared for the withdrawal effects of doing so. I have a newfound sense of empathy for people who struggle with addiction, because weaning off those prescriptions was neither fun nor easy. Ever since then I’ve been of the mindset that prescription drugs are a horrible idea, while simultaneously wishing I could go back to the predictable, steady sense of numbness that comes in the form of measured doses taken with small sips of water.

I had a slew of GI issues from January until April (I’ll spare you the gross details). I am convinced that this was related to the reemergence of my good old friend, anxiety, despite being told differently by a gastroenterologist. I think anyone who has ever experience turbulence on an airplane and felt like they were going to crap themselves would tell you that heightened anxiety is most definitely related to intestinal fortitude. But what do I know, I’m not a doctor.
In other non-coincidences, since  January my hormones have been raging an all-out war on my skin and emotions.

On top of having hellacious hormonal acne, my ‘lady schedule’ has been less of a standing appointment, and more like a series of visits by a free-spirited friend who drops by unannounced and then disappears for weeks at a time. I asked my OB about my hormone levels when I saw him in April and he basically said, “Mehhh. Wait and see. Have you tried acne cream for you skin?”. What a novel idea! As a 30 year-old woman with the face of a teenager, I never would have thought to try acne cream! Ever since he disclosed that particular nugget of wisdom, I’ve tried ever over the counter product that CVS sells. Last week I finally admitted defeat and went to see a dermatologist for a prescription, throwing my aforementioned aversion to pharmaceuticals to the wind in the name of vanity.

When I went to my annual endocrinologist appointment on Thursday, it took her all of 30 seconds to read over medical history, and look at my skin to realize that something is out of whack. I resisted the urge diffuse the situation with my typical sarcasm, and instead I sincerely thanked her for being the first doctor I’ve seen this year to put all of these pieces together. Having her confirm my suspicions welcome news after being told time and time again that none of my symptoms are related, and that I just need to “wait it out”. I could have hugged her for taking my concerns seriously, which unfortunately seems to be a rare quality in most overworked doctors. So, now I’m having all kinds of hormonal testing done in hopes of getting to the bottom of The Perfect (shit)Storm that is my physical, mental, & emotional well-being. Who says that being a grownup isn’t fun!?

I disclose all of this not to elicit sympathy, but because I know so many people out there who are in the same boat. We’ve been conditioned to not to talk about our problems, but I say f*ck that. There isn’t a person out where who is as carefree as they pretend to be. To the people struggling daily with depression and anxiety: you are not alone. To the people trying to ween off of a drug (prescription or otherwise) and realizing that chemical dependance does not discriminate: you are not alone. To women who want to start a family only to have non-compliant hormones: you are not alone.

To everyone else: No matter what struggles you face, no problems were ever solved by internalizing them. Talk more! If you feel like you have no one to talk to, I’m happy be a non-judgmental shoulder to cry on. Let’s stop making conversations about personal issues taboo – just please don’t ask when I’m going to have a baby. 🙂