DISCLAIMER: I am not a medical or mental health professional. Everything I share is information gained through personal experience, professional help, and outside resources. It is your own personal responsibility to seek professional help and advice before implementing any life-altering practices. Everyone's mental health journey looks different. My story is just one of millions. If you are feeling lost, scared, alone, concerned, or just not right, I encourage you to connect with a mental health professional. Don't wait until it becomes a crisis.

It was the best I felt in years. I was cheerful, clear headed, calm, and even in the midst of stress and responsibility, I was smiling.

“I’m afraid of it ending.” I sat on the couch in my therapist’s office, her almost chuckling in amazement behind her mask. I’d only been seeing her for a few months, and she had never seen this version of Becky before.

“Don’t worry about that now. Enjoy it while it’s here.” She reminded me of what I already knew: this would likely not last forever, but to latch onto these moments. I would need to remember what this feels like - what stable feels like - when the clouds come again.

I was happy. I don’t know what did it, but a switch had been flipped. For a few weeks, my anxiety was almost non-existent and people closest around me noticed the difference. I laughed, joked, and was hopeful in my day-to-day.

But I was quietly haunted by the fact that it would probably end.

Then, just like that, it did.

The smile left. The clouds returned. The hopelessness and anxiety took its place once again in the forefront of my mind. The familiar weight rested again on the shoulders of a tense body.

What triggered its return? Maybe it was the holidays; maybe it was the shift to colder weather; maybe it was the extra stress and exhaustion of illness and major surgeries in my family, which naturally appointed me caretaker. Most likely culprit? All of the above, and more.

I had experienced it though. I had unweighted happiness in my life. The absence of anonymous burdens and fear. I saw what stable Becky looked like, and for a short time, I felt “normal.”

Although she left, a small piece of her remained behind. I feel the darkness as I did before, but calm, smiles, and laughter come a bit easier than they have in the past.

Do I know when I will see stable, unburdened Becky again? No, but I’m holding out hope she’ll make her return sooner rather than later.

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