Anxiety, GAD, Life, PTSD, Writing

To My Future Husband: The Vows I Can’t Say Out Loud

To my future husband,

As the days begin to countdown, far too quickly in my opinion, and we rush to finish last-minute wedding plans, making sure all our affairs are in order – gifts bought, cake topper selected, heckling people for late RSVP’s – I can’t help but take a moment to reflect back on how far we have come, of all that we have been through and to be hopeful in all we have yet to see.

And even though we have our ceremony planned and songs picked to walk down the aisle to, there are still some vows that I won’t get the chance to say to you on our wedding day. There are some promises that I don’t have the courage to say out loud to you, in front of all our friends and family. For these vows are too hard, and too deep, for me to recite to you.

But even though I don’t have the strength to say them to you out loud, I still want you to hear them, because I mean every single word; for these vows are as precious to me as the ring you placed on my finger.

With everything that I am, I make these silent vows to you.

Keep Reading!

Anxiety, GAD, Linkin Park, Mental Health, PTSD

Losing my Shit Over a Sweater (The Red Flag I Ignored)

If you’re a person who changes their outfit five times before heading out the door, raise your hand.

🙋

Now before anyone starts pointing fingers, I’m not judging. I am also picky about the clothes I wear, despite always reverting back to ol’ faithful (a tee-shirt and skinny jeans). As an adult woman, there is nothing wrong with this. Sometimes it depends on the occasion, sometimes it depends on my mood, and sometimes it depends on the weather pouring out of the heavens. (It’s hard to wear skits and dresses in a place where it can get up to -30°C without freezing to death.)

And while I have the potential to throw on five to ten different outfits before heading out the door – ignoring the eye rolls and the endless “You’re beautiful no matter what you wear!” from my fiancé – is not always warranted from being “just picky”. It sometimes stems from something greater, something more profound.

Sometimes my PTSD is the demon lurking in my closet (and in my fashion choices).

Keep Reading!