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My Journey Through Anxiety


Like most mornings, I woke up nauseous, but I was catching up with friends so tried to push through. I got out the rice cake and sat in front of the TV. A good 20 minutes later, I looked down and half the cracker was still there. I just couldn’t do it. So I got ready and headed out the door. Cristian was spending the morning with Marc so I just had myself to worry about. It will pass. I thought to myself. I can do this. It’s just morning sickness, nothing to worry about.

At breakfast, myself and my other nauseously pregnant friend, ordered vegemite toast and apple juice. What an exciting breakfast out. However, the distraction of the conversation seemed to make the morning sickness fade. So I went along with my day, finishing up breakfast and then heading home to see my boys. The drive home wasn’t great. My stomach was turning and I could taste the apple juice coming back up. Would I make it home? Do I have a plastic bag in the car just in case I don’t? I could feel my breath quicken so I opened the window to allow some cold air on my face. For a moment, it helped.

As I walked in the door, Cristian came running like a ball of energy, whilst I was pale as a ghost and ready to collapse. Thankfully Marc was able to divert Cristian so that I could take some medication, drink some water and just relax. I think the hardest part of it all, was feeling so awful around Cristian. As the afternoon progressed I continued to feel worse, I felt weak and I felt sick. For many pregnant women this is nothing out of the ordinary, just some morning sickness. But for me it brought panic, it brought anxiety and it was the worst thing I could think of.


That evening, Cristian and Marc sat down to dinner, I was pacing around the living area, clutching at my stomach and my chest. My breaths were short and quick; my voice began to quiver as I mumbled things like, “What’s wrong with me?”, “Why me?”, “I can’t do this.” And the worst part, trying to hide my panic from Cristian. Marc proceeded to say things like, “You will be ok”, “What can I do?”, “Take some breaths.” I know he was doing his best, but I was too far gone. I felt nothing could help in that moment.

I just made it to the bathroom, head in the bowl, and there it went, the little food I had for the day. Most other days this would make me feel a little better. But not on that day, things actually got worse. Pale faced and weak, I made my way back to the kitchen. With panic in my eyes, I looked at Marc, praying that he could take this away. In that moment, I recognised the feeling and I realised what this was, a panic attack. This was not my first ever panic attack. Nor was it the first in my pregnancy, but of course, in the moment it felt like the worst ever. It felt like the end.


It was really hard to explain the thoughts in my mind, as I didn’t even know what I was actually panicking about. Was it because I was scared for the baby? Yes. Was it because I was so weak and tired? Yes. I’m sure to many of you this probably seems irrationa