And when I say “we,” I mean me and my two brains. We have returned. Not triumphant, not glorious, not carried in by a choir of angels just walking back in like somebody who forgot their keys. Anxiety is a helluva drug, but fear not, I’ve found the antidote: Prozac. Just kidding. The only way through is… through.There are no secret tunnels, no trap doors, no emergency exits. You crawl. You march. You drag yourself past the mess you created and the mess that found you anyway. And for me, that means facing the things I keep running from like a roach when the lights flip on. I’m back, and this time, I know it’s for real. Like Donna Summer. Has anyone else felt like this? Overwhelmed. Anxious. Stressed. Unsupported. And you can’t afford to call 9-1-1 on yourself like that one lady did? Yes, she called 9-1-1 on herself. The overwhelm was that real. The kids, the exhaustion, the everything. Now, I wasn’t that dramatic, but I did make my husband drive me to the hospital seven months after I had our youngest because I genuinely felt like shutting down the whole operation. Those were the best 9 days of my life. A war retreat. A ceasefire. A hospital vacation where the nurses became the United Nations and my brain finally signed a peace treaty with me. Churchill said, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” I say: If you’re going through hell, walk your ass into the ER and get some apple juice and a warm blanket. Thus, we march onward. Not fearlessly. Not gracefully. Just forward because forward is the only direction left. So, I'm back. Figuring out how to move forward in my anxiety and using my own drama therapy techniques to boot. I know, sharing is caring. Stay tuned