I decided to see a therapist. I knew I needed to be professionally diagnosed and I was anxious, no pun intended, to discover what resources for managing the monster were available to me. There was an issue though...I was afraid of medications. One of the symptoms of my particular anxiety was an ample fear of the side effects from what should have been a counteragent. It was my own personal struggle. I was afraid to use the medications that would help me no longer be afraid. What a double edged sword. As my therapist listed all the different kinds of meds, how they all worked, their possible unappealing reactions, I became more certain that I wanted to find a way to tackle this naturally.
I begin attending a panic attack support group. It was more of a class than anything else. Aside from meeting other people like me, we got to talk about what we were dealing with and listen to other people’s experiences. There were so many who had far worse symptoms than I did. I hate to admit it but it was comforting in a way. The most amazing thing I obtained from the group was “Panic Attack Management by Numbers". I learned how to control how acute the attacks became by numbering the level of intensity 1-10. If I could catch it at 1-6 it was likely with focus, breathing techniques, and relaxation exercises I was able to prevent it from gaining in severity. There were of course times that panic would strike so quickly and out of nowhere. On those occasions I would have to hunker down and wait them out. But over time through fervent focus I became hyper-aware of the onset of these troublesome episodes. I gained a confidence in myself and my capacity to over-power my own anxiety.

For as long as I can remember I have had anxiety. Even as a child. I remember well the overwhelming feelings of fear and dread that would often encompass me. Most of these concerns would never have occurred to most children. I was so often fearful and overly consumed with what might happen. I remember waking up in a panicked state one night at my Grandmothers house when I was around 10 years old. I was terrified that our neighbors Chow and Doberman (who frequently escaped their yard and chased us) were going to attack and possibly kill my little sister or brother. At 40 years old I remember this night so well and the feeling of terror that engulfed me. There were so many other times; my Mom being late coming home from work, “She must have been in an awful car accident.”. My Dad taking too long to get home from being out on the road as a truck driver, “What if he drove his truck off a cliff somewhere in the Rocky Mountains?”.
It didn’t help when so many uncontrollable things kept happening around me. Our family poodle was attacked and killed by the aforementioned dogs. My beloved Papa died from heart failure at 62 years old. The day my Mother and I drove by a fatal car accident on the way home from school will forever be engrained in my memory. The poor man who had perished was still laying on the road under a white sheet with his foot sticking out; one of his boots had come off. To this day I cannot erase the image of his shoeless foot encased in a white sock. When I would express my distress or worry over things, the reaction to these “absurd” fears is still fresh. She’s just “A high strung child” they would say. Back in the 80’s they found so many ways to simplify what they didn’t know how to diagnose.

Most of my close friends know that I was never really into politics. I've had a few people come to me recently asking "Why the switch?" Well, becoming a parent changes a lot. My worry and concern for my child's future has become paramount. All Children really.
Last month I met an older gentleman in a restaurant at the airport. It was the night of the police shootings in Dallas. As we watched the horrific reports on TV we started to talk. This man said something that really inspired me and made me wish that our world could one day think like him.
He told me he was and has always been a die-hard Republican. He went on to say that he thought Bill Clinton was a fantastic President. He said he voted for George W. Bush his first 4 years and then did not vote for him in his second term as he no longer thought he was the correct person to be Commander and Chief. He told me that he had always voted for the person not the party. He went on to mention many Presidents through history that he respected and thought did a wonderful job. He surprised me when he then said he could not even remember what party some of those Presidents represented. I thought "Wow! how great would it be if everyone was like that?"

Until today I haven't shown any reaction on FB regarding Orlando. I needed a minute to really process it before I posted anything. I wanted to read the names, see the faces of the victims and hear about who they were. I knew how much more real it would become for me. I wanted to feel as much as I could from my place of distance. For this particular post I want to take the gun debate out of it. It goes without saying that there are major changes that need to be made regarding the accessibility of guns and the laws surrounding them. For this post specifically, I am genuinely curious how people feel/perceive radical groups and individuals that resort to terrorism and hate crimes in our world today? I have such a heavy heart for the hate that seems to be multiplying in human nature at a frightening speed.
Living in NYC there isn't a day that goes by that I do not think about terrorism or some kind of mass attack. I have had numerous conversations with many people over the years since 9/11 regarding this. What I have gathered is that unless we are on the heels of one of these heartbreaking tragedies they are often swept under the rug. It feels like it's only a short time after when apathy or even perhaps desensitization sets in. I ask myself why? How is that possible? I think there are a few reasons: If we aren't directly and personally affected it's easier to see it as something far away happening to someone else. I also believe it's partly because many of us, though we acknowledge how horrific it is, don't think it will ever happen to us or someone we love. And finally, I think a great group of us avoid it so we can pretend it's not real. This is the most dangerous reason.

I have always been one of the most social individuals I know. Ever since I was a little girl I have loved being surrounded by people. Some may think it’s some deep rooted fear of being alone, but I know better. I LOVE humans! I love to entertain. I love to be entertained. I love all the different personalities in one room. And most of all I love laughter. This brings me to something I have been inspired to talk about. Collectively, as women we are extraordinary at so many things but I think the very best is at friendship, especially with each other!
I once thought that I had reached a place in life where the true friendships I had made were the only ones I was ever going to have. I assumed that you eventually got to a place where making new friends, and real, deep friendships, was either unnecessary or unattainable - a clueless and naive assumption on my part. At 40 years old I still find myself bonding with women who I have either just met or have reconnected with after 20 + years. (Thank you Facebook). Many of these women are much like me in so many ways and many of them are very different. There are those who are 10 years younger and others who are 10 years older. They can be dissimilar from me, unlike each other, but none of this seems to matter. They all bring something unique and valuable to my life. I am humbled by their gifts and their willingness to share them with me.

We had to be in NYC over Labor Day for our friends’ wedding. We decided to stay into the week following. Ryan’s company had an office in midtown. We often were able to extend our visits while he worked which made me gloriously happy. NYC in September is lovely. To be in my favorite city with so much excitement swirling around felt incredible.
An added bonus...we were to find out the sex of our baby that week. We didn’t care which way it went though we both had a feeling it was a girl. The day the phone call came will forever be cemented in my memory. I was expecting it much later in the afternoon as the time in Phoenix was 3 hours earlier than New York. Ryan was in the office and I was out having a “date with my city” day. I was walking down 43rd street nearing the restaurant that I worked at when Ryan and I met when my phone rang. I quickly walked into the bar area to avoid the outside street noise.

It was now late summer 2012 and we had planned a trip with two other couples. I know we were both silently hoping it was going to be our last vacation as a childless couple. But at this point we assumed it would be months before anything would happen, so once we arrived we put all of the preparation and planning aside to relax and enjoy some time with our friends.
That is why, it was beyond anything we could have imagined when a few days into our trip we got an email that a couple had chosen us. I can still hear Ryan calling my name and telling me the news. I was dumbfounded. ANLC, along with this amazing couple, wanted to have a conference call right away! We were completely stunned and confused. Our webpage had not gone online yet. How did they know about us? How were we chosen? Was this really happening or had those Margaritas by the pool knocked me out and I was just dreaming on a lawn chair in the sun?

Surrogacy was now the recommended course. There was nothing wrong with my eggs or Ryan’s sperm. I had what we called a hostile uterus. My baby cabin was inhospitable to say the least. It was spitting out kids like a 2 year old eating broccoli. (See what I did there?) We had done all the research and met with a surrogacy specialist. We understood the procedures involved as well as the cost. No matter what, we were willing to figure out how to make it work. We had a few family members and close friends who offered to carry our baby for us. This was helpful. We felt like surrogacy was a viable option. But there were still so many things to consider. It was a huge decision. Another big unknown. How would I feel watching someone else carry our baby? What if they had complications or became emotionally attached? The unknown was frightful.
It was then that the idea of adoption started to take shape. It hadn’t really been on our radar before. I even remember having a discussion with someone after our third miscarriage. They, got all pushy about the reasons why we just didn’t just adopt?!? We just weren’t there yet. We wanted to leave no stone unturned. We were so focused on a child of our own DNA that adoption just seemed like a last resort.

I have been through a lot in my life. Many things have made me stronger and assured me of my abilities to get through anything. Giving in to the pain of miscarriage or breaking down in front of others was hard for me. Sometimes I would sit alone on the couch while Ryan was at work. I would close my eyes and try to visualize the baby growing inside of me; organs developing, arms and legs popping out, I was willing it to survive. Other days, I would walk into our upstairs guest room. It was intended to be the nursery. I would picture where the crib would be, the changing table, the rocking chair. A few times I even pretended that I was softly rocking a sleeping baby in my arms, often with tears streaming down my face silently begging God. This was a pain I really only shared with him. My vulnerable side that was very rarely present for anyone else to see.

Our next step brought us to a reproductive immunologist; one of the best in the business. After more blood work and testing, we were informed that my situation was undiagnosable. I was among 1% of women who would receive no answers. Seriously? 1%?!? I started to become concerned that I was doing it to myself; that my inability to control my fears and anxiety was killing my babies. Maybe my inability to think “next time will be different” was causing what I considered, my failure. I read “The Secret” hoping I could learn better ways to put positive energy into the universe. I strived and tried to take friends advice to just “stay positive.” I of course prayed, hard. But I began to lose hope. I started to feel like maybe God didn’t want Ryan and me to have children. Maybe we just weren’t meant for it.

When I first starting writing this, on a flight for vacation, I intended it to just be just a Facebook posting. I had no idea that I would be starting a blog. Our plane landed, our vacation began, and my incomplete post was forgotten. The first day back home, my daily devotional was about finding your purpose; using your struggles and challenges to help others. It was then that I remembered my post. I decided to finish writing it. And now, I’m offering it to you.

As this blog is born, it’s apparent my devotional that day was a catalyst leading me to much more than I ever envisioned. And because of that, I thought it fitting that this story be my first topic. It’s not a story one can tell in one single posting so I have divided it up and will post in segments. If you see yourself in any of my story, let’s talk. I hope you enjoy.

And Then There Were 3 - Prologue
Two years ago, we finalized our amazing three-year-old daughter’s adoption. The two years prior Ryan and I were still not sure we would ever become parents. In a million years we could not have imagined where we would be in such a short time. I truly believe every challenge God gives us is for a purpose. As painful and baffling as many of those challenges are, we believe there is a higher power who is leading us exactly where we need to be.