Meds, Madness, and Making It Through
Because Deep Breaths and Herbal Tea Weren’t Cutting It
Upgrade to Paid - If you love my no-nonsense, snark-filled takes on crunchy chaos, parenting mayhem, and real-life lessons—why not level up? Upgrade to paid and get even more unfiltered wisdom, fewer eye-rolls from my family, and absolutely zero fluff. Just straight fire (and maybe the occasional meltdown, but never in a recipe). I want to start by saying this is not black and white. Psychiatric medications can have serious, life-threatening side effects, and in some cases, they’ve been linked to increased risk of suicide. No, these meds aren’t for everyone. Some people need to work through their emotions instead of reaching for a pill—that’s just life. We all have emotions, and when we bury them instead of facing them, we risk drowning in them.
But here’s the other side: For those who have tried everything and are already drowning, these medications can be the air tank that helps them reach the surface again.
So, take this with a grain of salt, a word of caution—whatever you want to call it. Be informed. Work with a medical professional to get the help you deserve. Ask questions. Always. Your health, your mind, and your life are worth it.
Psych Meds: Not the Easy Way Out, Just the Way Out
Let’s get one thing straight—psychiatric medication is not the "easy way out." If anything, it’s the "I’ve tried everything else, and I’m still barely functioning, so let’s give modern medicine a shot" way out. Trust me, if eating organic kale, journaling, and deep breathing had fixed me, I wouldn’t be here writing this.
Before I found psychiatric medication, I was in a debilitating state—like, ‘curled up in a ball questioning my existence while also trying to keep small humans alive’ kind of state. My mental health was not just affecting me, but spilling into every corner of my life: my marriage, my parenting, and my basic ability to exist as a semi-functional human being. Except I wasn’t really existing. I was forcing everyone around me to walk on eggshells while my brain played an endless game of psychological torture. Sounds fun, right?
Intrusive thoughts? Had ‘em. The kind that made me feel like my own worst enemy. Withdrawal from life? Oh yeah. I was so detached that I actually considered removing myself entirely from the equation. Because in my mind, my family would be better off without me. (Spoiler alert: That’s the depression talking. Depression is a dirty liar.)
Let’s talk panic attacks. Not the cute “I’m a little stressed” kind. No, I’m talking about the full-blown, heart-racing, tunnel-vision, “I might actually die right here in this Walgreens parking lot” variety. I had them at the most ridiculous times, too. Case in point: One time, I was driving home from a camping trip with my kids when the camper hitch came loose. My husband had already left to go to work, and suddenly, I was alone in my worst nightmare. Did I logically assess the situation? No. I spiraled. My brain instantly convinced me that a serial killer would appear out of nowhere, that my children would be abducted, or that someone would crash into our camper and we’d all go up in flames. (Friendly reminder: This happened in a small rural town on a quiet weekday, so the chances of any of this occurring were laughably low. Did that matter to my anxiety? Absolutely not.)
Oh, and let’s not forget my grand finale—literally passing out from malnutrition, hitting my head on the wall, and waking up to my dog licking my face because he was more in tune with my distress than I was. It was like The Lion King, except instead of the Circle of Life, it was the Spiral of Self-Destruction. My anxiety had driven me into compulsions so severe that I tanked my immune system, ending up with back-to-back bacterial infections for three months. Three. Months.
At this point, even I had to admit that maybe, just maybe, I needed help. So I told my husband. And I got it.
It took three years and six different medications before I found the one that actually worked for me. It was not an overnight miracle. It was trial, error, and a lot of frustration. But when I finally landed on the right one? Game. Changer. I could show up. I could breathe. I could be the person I always wanted to be but couldn’t access because my brain chemistry was a mess. And as much as I love holistic health, some things cannot be fixed with diet and lifestyle alone. (Yeah, I said it.)
The Real Benefits of Psychiatric Medication
Let’s talk about what these meds actually do. Contrary to popular belief, they don’t turn you into a zombie, erase your personality, or make you blissfully unaware of life’s challenges. What they do is give you a fighting chance. They help stabilize mood, reduce intrusive thoughts, regulate sleep, and make therapy and lifestyle changes actually work.
Think of it this way: If your brain is a raging wildfire, psychiatric meds are like the fire extinguisher that stops the destruction long enough for you to rebuild. They don’t do all the work, but they give you the ability to do the work. And no, they aren’t for everyone. But for some of us, they are an absolute game-changer.
So if you or someone you know is struggling, please—get help. You are not alone. You are needed. And I promise, it gets better.
DISCLAIMER: I am not a medical professional, just a person who fought their way back from the edge. This is my story, not medical advice. If any of this resonates with you, please seek professional help.
Now, go drink some water, take a deep breath, and remind yourself that you are worth it.
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