Two weeks ago my husband fainted and sliced his head open

Two weeks ago my husband fainted and sliced his head open. It was 6 am and I jumped out of bed to find him bleeding and half conscience in the bathroom. I was terrified for two reasons - I was so afraid that it was going to be another stroke and I was so afraid of what this type of experience would do to my psyche.

I used to write to unravel all of the thoughts swirling around in my mind and put sense to some of the more difficult to comprehend concepts. So, in other words, I wrote when my heart just couldn't understand what my brain was telling me.

The more I have participated in this activity the more I think my brain actually fools me sometimes. I say this because I have residual anxiety from having had Maddy fall in the fire and I'm sure from a lifetime of stress - or responsibilities that I figured I could handle without help from anyone else or from God. Now with Will's fall and potential of really bad things happening - I was so afraid of where my mind might go.

I am a storyteller, but sometimes storytelling comes at a cost though. The stories we tell ourselves, that are not true, can literally hurt us.

Compare it to any time you have told yourself the following.... "what if I lose someone I love..." or "so and so doesn't like me." or  "I'm not good enough to do that..." or "I've tried changing but I can't...". You get my point.

For me, the curse of telling myself anything that isn't true at this juncture in my life is that it literally can conjure up a panic attack- like my body is "protecting me" from the pending doom I've imagined-- even though it didn't or will not happen.

I wish I was alone in my fear of the unknown and doubt of other's acceptance, but I think it is human nature to be afraid of the things we can't see or feel, and instead of bringing out the best in us- it brings out the worst in us. We assume the worst will happen and we respond accordingly.

With all this weighing heavy on me, I sometimes stop telling stories to stave off the anxiety. But really it's still there, I'm still afraid. I'm starting to believe the only way to really stave off the fear is to have faith. Faith that the worst won't happen and that people do like me and that even when they don't I will still be OK. And most of all that people will and can change - not because I tell them to but because they are good and they want to return to live with their Heavenly Father again too. He wants them there and knows the best way to recover each one of us from our "fallen" states.

Finally, I know it was mean of me to wait until the end to finish Will's story- but I guess I wanted to make a point. Even if the worst had happened two weeks ago- I would have been OK. I am OK. We are all OK. We don't have to beat ourselves up so much- we don't have to beat others up so much. We are OK.

After Will fell I carried him to the bed. Called my mom to watch the kids and started getting ready to go to the hospital. In the moment I stepped onto my front porch to see if my mom had arrived- instead, I heard a car door open across the street. It was my neighbor, a doctor, on the way to work. He came over and told us Will was not having a stroke. He was just dehydrated.

We stayed home. My mom went back to her day. Will was fine (as was later confirmed by his stroke doctor as well).  In fact, Will's stroke doctor also confirmed had we gone into the ER it would have been an entire day's worth of lengthy and expensive tests.

As much as the stories we tell ourselves make us feel like we are in a losing battle- it is so far from the truth. God knew all along that the timing of Will's fall would coincide with the doctor leaving for work. He is in the wings, He is there to catch us. We aren't alone. We can and should have faith instead of fear.