Everything I Wanted to Say

After spending 5 hours in the ER this weekend I realized I wasn’t caring for myself enough.  First off, I hate hospitals, so me going was an acknowledgment that I sensed something was off.

I called my mother just at the day’s end of Friday, explaining that the chest discomfort I mentioned earlier was still concerning me. She came and took me to the hospital where I had multiple tests done (blood tests, X-rays of my heart, lots of waiting) before being released early Saturday morning.

All of the tests came back fine and the doctor told me what I was experiencing was more than likely related to  heightened anxiety–I left with the diagnosis of stress induced, non-cardiac pain.

And yes… I was annoyed that I had to spend so much time there, and sort of felt like I shouldn’t have even gone to the hospital, but then I realized why I was there. While in that hospital bed I felt uncomfortable, annoyed, and helpless. It made me realize that it’s important for me to manage my stress better so that I won’t end up in that bed again.

Its easy to claim that you’re doing what’s best for you, always remembering to put yourself first.

Yada.

Yada.

Yada…

But even when I’d like to believe that this is a common practice for me,  I don’t think its completely true. If there were ever a word to describe me I think it’d be empathy. And while the ability to empathize is great, I do believe it contributes to a lot of my stress and anxiety simply because I care too much. (Is this even possible??)

About everything–literally– everything.

And in caring too much I find myself stressing out waayyyy too much, weighing possible outcomes, planning for multiple situations to arise.

Et cetera.

Et cetera.

But…I think its safe to say, “girl, take a chill pill!”

Because life’s too long to live stressed out.

Whoosaa.

Who’s with me?