Walking around the shopping centre, with a wee toddler’s little hand in tow, I rushed him across the car park. Suddenly I realised, his poor little feet were pounding the pavement super quick cause I was walking too fast.

Sad mama face.

I slowed down. I went with his pace and even if I wanted to race up to get all the things done, I stopped and slowed it down again.

Your anxiety has you racing fast doesn’t it? (Like when you’re being chased by birds – oh wait, that’s me…anyone else relate?)

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It’s June. Mid-year madness around here.

I’ve just finished writing high school reports as part of the requirements of my teaching job and getting over the latest cold.

It’s been a season of surrender and I’m not good at it. I want to do ALL.THE.THINGS but God says, “Not right now.”

So I ignore Him.

I revert back to my default self, like a toddler chucking a temper tantrum. I don’t want to deal with the emotions right now, so I scroll mindlessly, while cosied up under a doona, while hacking up my lungs and dipping bikkies in my tea.

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Sometimes all you can do is cry.

Like big ugly, rub all the snot on your grey cardigan kinda cry. (Cause grey oversized cardis with pockets are my jam at the moment).

I mean, you’ve tried negotiating…

You’ve bribed…

Perhaps you’ve even yelled…

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Ugh! I am so itchy!

I had gotten to a point where I had scratched up all of my legs because it was insatiably itchy.

My arms were itchy, my legs were itchy, well you get the point. EVERYTHING WAS ITCHY!

So after exhausting all my natural health options I headed off to the doctors.

While there I mentioned my hand with the bumps on it that had been there for months. I had enquired back then with a different doctor and he said ‘oh they are just age spots.’

I said ‘really? Well why are they itchy?’  The doctor replied ‘They can get itchy.’

Fast forward to recent and I thought I would get a second opinion.

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