Spotlight on Stigma... Welcomed but Not Accepted

I'm a very analytical person. I analyze problems to figure out the best solution; I analyze things that are good to see if they can be made better; I analyze myself to try to understand why I do the things I do. The subject of this post relates to the last example.  I'm 55 years old. I've been through a lot in my life - some really, really good experiences and some really, really, really bad ones with some mundane ones sprinkled in for kicks and giggles... ... and I sometimes feel like I've analyzed (really - overanalyzed) every single one of them either at the time or even years later. One thing I have realized about myself is that when a big problem comes at me, I immediately go into figure-it-out mode. I begin mobilizing. I start working on a plan.  I try to decide my next step.  At that point, I'm usually not afraid. It's later - after I've been mobilizing and planning and deciding for hours or even days when the exhaustion hits me and the fear comes at

Receiving a diagnosis of a chronic and/or mental illness is life-altering. It's tough to think about the future, especially if you have had undiagnosed symptoms for a while and have put all your energy into simply surviving each day. This is true whether the diagnosis is for you or someone you love (as long as that individual is someone who relies on you for even a small part of their care). As someone who is a partial caregiver for my parents, husband, adult daughter... and myself, there are several things I wish I had made myself do from the time any one of us was first diagnosed. Sometime in the last decade, I realized what I should have been doing all along - and I started. Then during COVID, when we were all stuck at home, I continued. Intrigued? What I realized was that if I had simply kept up with my medical records on an ongoing basis throughout the years, it would have made it a lot easier now. I do recognize how hard that is... but trust me, it's very, very worth it.