Anxiously Accomplished

It’s hard to describe the feeling that comes over you when something you have worried and stressed over for so long, just disappears. I have been on pins and needles for 903 days. Never knowing if Stella would stay with me forever or not. Don’t get me wrong, her case looked good, I knew she was where she needed to be, but I have this thing called anxiety, and it said otherwise.

Having anxiety and deciding to take part in the foster care system is basically signing yourself to play a really long version of Russian Roulette. You can’t stop your brain from going to the worst case scenarios and in these circumstances, it can make you physically sick with worry. I would spend sleepless nights worried about the most irrational, wildest, most ridiculous worst case possibilities after getting one small sliver of bad news. See, with anxiety, where everything is already under scrutiny, the simplest piece of information can be twisted into this terrifying news that doesn’t even exist. It’s just the best.

There were days when I wouldn’t even want to speak to anyone, because I was so full of worry. Days when I was so exhausted from not sleeping, because I was up all night thinking about what could happen. Days when I couldn’t eat, because I knew she had to go to a visit that she didn’t want to participate in.

Once I finished the adoption placement a few weeks ago, I was her legal guardian. I don’t think my brain really had time to process what an accomplishment that was, because everything else was moving so fast and I had things to get done. Even standing outside the courtroom on adoption day, I still wasn’t at ease, we were taking photos, and making sure everything on our checklist was finished.

As we were making the hour drive home, it hit me.

Like a tidal wave of accomplishment, celebration, and calming.

We did it. We crossed the finish line. She is safe and provided for, for the rest of her life.

I will never be able to fully describe what that felt like. The purest, truest, brightest feeling of joy and calm. My brain is never quiet, but it was Tuesday.

For a brief moment, I had no worries, no concerns, no fears.

903 days of worry.

903 days of anxiety.

903 days of fear.


And that is without a doubt, the most beautiful version of overwhelming joy I think there is. When I realized I was feeling every ounce of worry shed off of me like a second skin, I noticed I was even breathing easier. My anxiety had even made breathing a chore. Not anymore.

Now I get to worry about normal mom things like,

  • What is my kid chewing on?
  • Why is the floor wet?
  • Why do the shoes I bought her yesterday, not fit today?
  • Why is my kid always snotty?
  • Is she going to put me in a nursing home or her basement when I’m senile?

I’ve accomplished a lot of things in my 32 years, but this is by far my proudest moment. And I still have a tiny speck of sanity left. So, today I’m giving anxiety the finger, because as hard as it tried to break me, I won.


Fictional Friday

It’s Fictional Friday again! This week is about why my mother’s fictional doppelganger is Kitty Forman. Let’s face it, Kitty is pretty much the coolest of all of the TV moms. She’s sassy, loving, and keeps everyone in line.

Kitty is a nurturer, she takes care of everyone, and if anyone needs anything, they find Kitty. My brother’s and I joke that as a child, it was punishment to have to go to the store with my mother, because people would constantly stop her to talk. Most of these people she had never met. One stranger even started hysterically crying on her shoulder. It was as awkward as it sounds. People can spot a nurturer.

Even though she’s a nurturer, mess with someone she loves, and she will cut you. If you’ve ever crossed my mom, then you’ve been given “the look”. The one eyebrow raised, eyes cut, as she’s trying to set you on fire with her mind look. You know the one.

Kitty always let everyone hang out at her house, and she treated them like her own kids. Growing up, the majority of sleep overs were at my house, mostly because everyone wanted all of the food my mom would cook. Like Kitty, my mom treated my friends like her own kids, often times by spitting hard truths. Like the time one of my friends decided to declare her dream of one day being a pole dancer over breakfast. We were like 10. My mother never even skipped a beat, telling her to maybe consider ballet instead.

I joke about my mother’s sunny optimism all the time. She’s just a naturally happy person. It’s crazy how it’s all un-medicated though!

Both Kitty and my mother are always full of sound advice. They also don’t waste time sugar coating things. They have certain expectations, but also know idiotic teenagers make mistakes.

I strongly believe there is no problem baking or life related that those two can’t solve.

Tip : Don’t ask my mother for a recipe. It will not have amounts, only a list of ingredients. Unless you consider “some, a lot, or a little” proper forms of measurement.

You won’t hear either one of them say anything bad about anyone, unless… they hurt someone they love. It’s almost an art.

Kitty loves being a mom, and that shows through in everything she does. Thanks for being as groovy as Kitty, mom!