![]() The simple act of identifying a stressful moment and throwing a few drops of potent tasting liquid on it helps to deconstruct it a bit, encouraging one to identify what's going on, slow down and take some deep breaths. While "flower remedies" dispensed out of eyedroppers have never been my thing, I decided to give it a whirl after I read someone on Reddit discussing how he uses it - not for its supposed curative powers themselves but as a diversionary device. There's the Bach Rescue Remedy, which I keep in my bag for when I feel a panic attack coming on. They say money can't buy happiness, but it can buy something that made me regret every day of my life before I owned it, so score one for things that make whooshing sounds. There's the Dohm white noise machine, which helps blot out both screaming street noise and my spouse's snoring. There's the This Works! Deep Sleep pillow spray, that I love so much my family refers to it Lady Chloroform. There's the lavender eye pillow for when a migraine seems imminent. There's the microwavable, scented heating pad, for the days I'm so tense my shoulders park themselves somewhere around my ears. If you wanted to get your own middle-aged mom with anxiety starter pack, you could probably just pick up a few of the items around my apartment. Over the ensuing months, other purchases intended to help consumers chill the hell out began infiltrating my life. ![]() Well then, sign me up, I thought, making a mental note to detour to the Walgreens on the way home. "Some of my patients say it improves their moods," he added. In the spring, at a checkup to see how I was responding to Wellbutrin, my physician mentioned that my vitamin D level was low, and recommended I start taking a supplement. I can't quantify how much good it did, but damned if it wasn't an improvement on the usual early day gloom. But I kept routinely flipping it on every cold, dark morning regardless, until the sunrise caught up with my alarm. It was instead bright as hell, and I was not immediately charmed. I talked to my therapist about it, and a few days later, I was eating my breakfast at my desk, feeling like I was at a Yankees night game. Using the light did not feel like basking in the warm, inviting light of the sun. Two hours later I was on Amazon, ordering something called a Happy Light, because an endorsement from someone who grew up in a place where it gets dark at 3 in the afternoon is good enough for me. But last winter, in the throes of my crisis, I went out with a friend. I'm a GOOP skeptic who spent years rolling her eyes when her friends talked about their homeopathic remedies and their crystals. I never set out to accessorize my mental health with some pretty woo woo-sounding merchandise. Exercise, support and meditation have also given it all a big boost, along with the ongoing experiment of buying stuff and seeing what sticks. And after grappling with insomnia, debilitating headaches and panic attacks, I got a diagnosis of anxiety and PTSD and a treatment plan. I still have bad days and better days, but therapy and Wellbutrin have been life changing. ![]() Over the past few years, I've experienced enough cataclysmic jolts - including grief, financial insecurity, and a few brushes with death for both my firstborn and me - to significantly rewire the brain I used to consider so resilient and optimistic. It's just the first time I've paid for it. It's not the first time I've had that sensation. I am trying to fall asleep, and it feels like there's an enormous weight on my chest. ![]()
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