Mental Health – Christy Zigweid

I’m Quitting: Here’s Why

Posted on February 25, 2016March 11, 2024 by Christy

Yes, you read that right. I am quitting. I am going to stop this circus of being stuck inside my own head. It’s been holding me back in my writing, parenting, and interactions with others for a long time, often making me feel as though I am not good enough at anything; a dangerous place to be when suffering from depression and anxiety.

I’m prone to the perfectionism trap as a writer and creative and it has swallowed me whole. I’ve been bogged down with feeling like I have to do everything: creating a platform, managing social media, writing a blog, writing the novel I’ve been working on since 2013, and a long list of other things indie authors are in charge of. I cannot get past the mental block inside myself when I write and often feel as though I fall short, unable to tell a good story or help anyone. All of this has become a vicious cycle of wanting to help but feeling as though I’m not, so I second guess everything and dig myself back into the hole I’ve tried so hard to get out of. Day after day the stress of being locked inside my own head, analyzing every move I make, has forced me to pull away from my family and miss out on precious moments. It’s tearing me apart. Outside I refuse to be a supermom, but inside I am doing just that, feeling like I have to do everything on my own.

I’m here to say, I can’t do it on my own. And that’s okay. Because I’ve realized I am the one holding me back. The constant chatter in my head fed by depression and anxiety has clouded everything I do; I often can’t see through the thick fog hanging over me. While I am okay for a while, it’s not long before the chatter starts again, and I fall right back into that dark place, defeated and stuck before I’ve even moved. That’s no way to live.

This winter I’ve been caught in my own internal snowstorm, laden with icy comment daggers. Earlier I said I was quitting. Am I quitting writing? Absolutely not. Life without writing would be like hell. Am I quitting on myself? As much as my depression would like me to, I will not give up. But here’s what it does mean. It means that I am going to do things that make me feel worthwhile. And as I start to heal from all of this negative chatter and move forward, I will write about it and continue to write fiction stories. It’s time for me to step back get my priorities straight. I need to take care of myself or I fear I won’t be here to see what happens on the other side.

If you are struggling and want to give up, please don’t. Take a break. Do something you love. Give yourself permission to take the time to do these things, otherwise you won’t be helping yourself at all. I said in another blog post, “My illness doesn’t define me.” Your illness doesn’t define you either. Stay strong. You can quit the things which make you miserable, but don’t give up on yourself. The world needs you.

Mental Health

I Will Not Let Mental Illness Hold Me Prisoner Anymore

Posted on November 11, 2015March 11, 2024 by Christy

Post originally appeared here

If you’ve spent any amount of time looking through my website, you will see I am a supporter of awareness for mental health and suicide. I also write fiction and blog posts that are hard to read because of their honesty. Why do I do this? Because I believe people shouldn’t have to suffer in silence.

I’ve battled depression and generalized anxiety disorder for many years (I was diagnosed before I was in college). I have worn the mask, hiding my illness from people (except those really close to me, which are very few), afraid if I let on just a little bit I was struggling, my friends and family would suffer.

I live with darkness and suicide every day. It’s a battle I’ve learned to manage. I sit with myself often, enduring the self-loathing my illness projects onto me, waiting until it passes. Sometimes that’s a few hours; sometimes its days. Yes, I’ve been there, staring suicide right in the face. And while I know this will be hard for many to read (especially my family), it is a truth of my everyday life. In my times of utter despair, I have to remind myself what I’ll be leaving behind if I go through with it. All I have to do is picture my husband and my kids and while the power to give up overwhelms me, I hold on to that ONE thing. Because it’s my family who keep me here. It’s my closest friends who remind me how much I’ve touched their lives, or their children’s lives, just by being me. Those are the things I hold on to. Those are the things that eventually pull me out and bring me back into what’s real. Through the years my husband and I have learned to deal with the ups and downs, the good days and the bad. We’ve worked out a system that works for our family. And we trudge on, knowing the downs will come again, but being better prepared each time for when they hit. This is why I am a supporter of mental health and suicide awareness.

Without the support of my husband, I don’t know that I would be here today writing about my story. My illness is very scary for those around me as well as for myself. My husband only wants to help but often doesn’t know how. My children see the effects but don’t understand why mom is “sad” or “freaked out.” It’s hard watching your family struggle and knowing you are partially the cause. Its scary sitting with your own thoughts, part of you knowing they are lying and part of you knowing they are not. It’s hard to sort through the truth and the lies.

I am learning to know myself better as a writer and as a person. And while I’ve been denying this truth about sharing my story, I have hindered progress in taking the right steps to move forward. Some people believe we have a “calling” in life. While I do not believe we have a pre-determined path to our lives, I do believe in fate. I do believe we are all here for a reason. I was born nearly three months early and weighed two pounds two ounces. At the time of my birth, hospitals were just figuring out how to care for premature babies. I survived. And I survive today, despite my illness telling me I have no purpose here. I will never be “cured,” just as someone with a chronic illness will tell you. But I can share my story with others. I can own my illness as part of me but not all of me. I can continue to take care of myself and live out this “calling” I feel compelled to do.

I also credit people who have helped me step out on this limb. My husband, my very close friends, some people in my writing group, and a group called “This is My Brave.” They have opened my eyes to the fact I don’t have to live in silence anymore, pretending to be something I am not.

As I write this I am very aware of the ripple effects it may have. But it’s time to share my story. It’s time to step out of hiding and say “You can’t hold me down anymore. I will fight you each and every time, even if every time you make it harder and harder to crawl out.” I am not my illness. My illness is only a part of me. I am a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, and a human being. Do I have flaws? Absolutely, but they don’t define me and they are not “all” of me.

fiction, Mental Health

Everything will be okay

Posted on July 26, 2015March 11, 2024 by Christy

I have tried to fight it off but I can feel it coming, slowly brewing deep inside. The darkness is forming and moving closer. It’s taking on a familiar shape — large, billowing, and threatening. I’ve seen them like this before but I convince myself this time is different. This time is worse. This time it won’t work out.

I’ve tried for an hour to find the silver lining but it’s hidden in the darkness.

“Everything will be okay,” Brandon says from behind me and I feel his hands on my shoulders.

I want to believe him but the overbearing storm is upon me. It has finally taken over my mind and negative voices scream inside me. This time it’s going to be bad. I just know it. This time we won’t be okay. This time I won’t hold on. I will quit.

“You know there’s no way we could have predicted this,” Brandon says as he turns my face to him, his eyes searching. “It sucks that everything is breaking and nothing seems to be going right. But just because it’s something different this time doesn’t mean we haven’t seen this storm before.”

I know he’s right. I turn from him and sit on the couch, hands in my lap, fidgeting. “What are we going to do when the money runs out?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

And what if we don’t? I grab Brandon’s hand and squeeze, holding on. If you had just… I shake my head, trying to get the thoughts to go away but they dig their claws in and hold on tight.

Before I know it, tears are falling from my eyes and I’m blubbering like a two-year old throwing a temper tantrum, rage building inside, hot and debilitating. My mind will win this time. It always does. It always unravels me. I cannot think straight.

I grab handfuls of my hair, the pressure at my scalp offering comfort from the madness swirling in my mind. “This cannot keep happening. Something’s got to give.”

Brandon puts his hands on mine, pressing gently, trying to get me to let go but I refuse. I try to take a breath, but my lungs won’t allow air through. I feel the room closing in on me. I’m getting dizzy.

“You’ve got to breathe.” Brandon says.

I look up and see the fear in his eyes. I see myself reflected in his eyes, a monster losing control. He wraps his arms around me and my rigid body stays there a few seconds before collapsing against him. I force myself to take deep breaths. I focus my mind on this one moment as I take in the smell of his aftershave and allow the warmth of his body to calm me. After two long breaths I feel the storm start to slow.

My mind is starting to give up. With Brandon by me it cannot win. When I finally regain logical thinking, it slithers away. I know the storm will come again. And every time it will be more powerful than the last. But I will make it through, even if my mind tries to convince me otherwise. I refuse to quit. I refuse to give in. I refuse to let it win.

Mental Health

Are You Good Enough?

Posted on March 27, 2015March 11, 2024 by Christy

“Good Enough.” Do these words plague you frequently? Do you ask yourself, “Am I a good enough mother, wife, daughter, friend, and sibling?”

Day after day many of us unconsciously set expectations not realizing we set ourselves up for defeat and failure. We do not force ourselves to step back and say, “Am I doing good enough?” Our focus lands on doing it right, the first time.

What is a good enough mother anyway? Is it a mother who has everything in her daily life organized, who runs on a schedule, who gets everything done, who volunteers, and who either works at home or works a full time job? Is it a mother who does her best to provide for her family, without stretching herself so thin she has nothing left for herself, her job, or her family?

What is a good enough wife? Is being a good wife a “Leave it to Beaver” type wife? Or is it a wife who works jointly with her husband, keeping lines of communication open, working as a team?

What is being a good enough daughter? One who looks out for her parents and their needs? One who helps take care of her parents? One who spends lots of time with her parents?

What is a good enough friend? Is it being there for the other person no matter what? Or is it offering what you can for them?

In childhood, especially when there’s big emphasis on comparison, we are prone to not believing we are “good enough.”

What is enough? It’s up for interpretation. What one thinks is enough another may not. But truth of the matter is you have to know what “enough” means to you. “Enough” is defined as “occurring in such quantity, quality, or scope as to fully meet demands, needs, or expectations.” For the most part I agree with that. But it’s really easy to convince myself demands of others, if not done just the way they want, says I’m not good enough. People also have different expectations and it’s easy to set those expectations too high or interpret the expectations being high.

It’s no secret we live in a culture that centers on “perfection.” You aren’t good enough if you aren’t perfect. That’s a subliminal message sent to all of us.