It was another bad day.
She’d wake up with the sun and for only a few moments felt the peace her soul longed for. But then everything crept in. The stresses of life, motherhood, and being his perfect wife. Would today be like every other day? The anxiety stirred in the pit of her gut as she turned over. Oh no, it’s already begun.
Throughout the day she would try to keep it together, but the thought of another panic attack haunted her. She would take care of their son, feed her family, prepare for the upcoming changes to their every day routine, and go to the many weekly appointments to help her disorder.
Major depression and anxiety, and probably a mood disorder.
The more she’d think about it, the more anxious and depressed she felt. I can’t think like that. I have to think positively. But every time she tried, the harder it was.
He came home mid afternoon. She would smile and greet him with a kiss, and for the moment they began their own list of things to do. But eventually evening had to come, and she dreaded it every time.
“I’m not doing so well,” she’d say.
He wouldn’t reply, but nod his understanding. After letting him know by those few words that she was struggling with the anxiety again, and that it was getting more difficult to control, they went on with what they were doing.
Dinner would come around and it proved difficult for her to eat. Her stomach was all up in knots and she feared when dinner would be over; when the anxiety seemed to attack her with full force. Turning to him she’d look pleadingly at him: “Why can’t I feel normal? Why must this go on and on every single day? I can’t live like this. I can’t even eat.” She’d look down at her plate, wanting to just leave it.
“You have to eat,” he’d reply.
“But I can’t!” Tears. “It’s so hard.”
“The pain, the anxiety — I can’t do this.”
“You have been doing this, and you’re strong. You will get through this.”
Now she was sobbing. The anxiety being relieved but for a moment. He’d turn to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and look her in the eyes.
“No matter what, I’m here with you. You’re never alone.”
She was close to hyperventilating. “But I — It’s — I can’t –”
He’d wrap his arms around her and bring her close. He wouldn’t speak another word but let her sob into his shoulder and listen to the partial sentences spilling out.
This is the mark of the true man. He is patient, even when he needs to come to her rescue more than once in a day. He is committed, no matter what she says or how many times she drops into the depression. He is kind, he is faithful. And no matter what happens during the day, he looks at her with a twinkle in his eye, and says, “I love you so much.”
My husband is that man, and I am incredibly blessed.