I was thinking the other day, as I recalled how far I've come emotionally in the last year, just how amazing my husband is. I look back, and I think that I personally would have wanted to punch Anxious-Shelly in the face. She was whiny and needy and constantly crying or hyperventilating. She would medical google even though she knew it wasn't good for her, and she would spend hours circling around the same negative thoughts in her head.
Yet, all he had to offer me was love. And patience. And grace. He would come home to kids crying, the house a mess, dishes in the sink, and instead of rolling his eyes or asking what I'd done all day, he'd jump in and carry us through.
He encouraged me to go to Anchorage, was faithful in making sure I could keep my phone appointments with my therapist by taking care of the kids, and reminded that the medicine was necessary for my recovery when I was hesitant to take it.
Then as I started to feel better, he pushed me out the door to hang out with friends, did bedtime so I could blog when I wanted, and supported me through getting back off the Prozac that had helped me overcome those dark days.
He is one amazing man, and I am more grateful every year that he's mine.