What originally started as a joke that I should sign up for a swim meet to get matching mommy/daughter records in the 200 butterfly and the 400 IM has turned out being a blessing in disguise. Anxiety has taken a lot away from me over the last seven years but more specifically over the last two years. It truly took almost all joy out of my life.

When I was asked on my 40th birthday to name five things that I wanted to do over the next year, I really had a hard time answering the question. I started thinking and couldn’t come up with anything. I am chuckling as I am writing this because I remember legitimately not being able to come up with any answers. Nothing came to mind. I was so numb that I couldn’t say outloud what I wanted to do over the next year. Surely I could dig deep to think of something. Anything? Sadly, the answer was no, I couldn’t. I remember giving 2-3 generic answers just so the conversation wasn’t too awkward. I said I wanted to craft more, get more in shape and spend more quality time with my family and friends. Those answers are absolutely acceptable, but for me, not where I was mentally. This was truly where I was at that moment and it was sad.

I said spending more quality time with family and friends but I didn’t really want to be there when I actually did get out. Sure, I’d look like I was having fun and don’t get me wrong, some of the time I would be, but most times I was counting down the minutes to go home so I didn’t have an epic anxiety attack in front of people. This was almost everywhere. The grocery store, getting my hair done, a friends birthday party, a swim meet. Literally, EVERYWHERE. I didn’t want to be there no matter what it was or how fun it was supposed to be all because of my brain and how trapped I was inside of it.

I stopped swimming competively after high school. I swam every now and again but truly stopped it all together after I had Camryn. When I was trying to get back in shape after I had her, I attempted swimming again. Swimming is like riding a bike. The muscle memory will always be there. Whether or not you are still fast is a different story. However, for me, I was looking for a workout. I got in, started swimming freestyle, did my first flip turn off the wall and when I pushed off I had the most intense dizziness. So much so, I swam directly into a lane line. I remember being instantly frightened and then also wondering, what in the actual fuck?? How did I just swim into a damn lane line?! I teach people how to swim for Christ’s sake but yet I swim into a lane line!!! So, I tried to brush it off but I couldn’t. The rest of the way down the pool, I could barely remain straight. I got to the wall and I rested for a few minutes. Tried it again and the same thing happened. This time it was worse. It took a few minutes for me to regain focus. I was in shock. Why was this happening? I tried to swim a few times thereafter and this vertigo weirdness ensued. This weirdness continued for almost 7 years, on and off in some way, shape or form. Little did I know at the time it was one of the MANY physical symptoms of my anxiety harboring in my body.

I’ve written before about how hard it was for me to workout and have my heart rate increase and get higher. My anxiety would kick in, tell me it wasn’t safe and I would have to make a choice. Stop and give in or push through and tell my anxiety to take a hike. Well, for those almost 7 years the majority of the time, anxiety won. If I ever attempted to keep score for all these years, it would probably look something like: Anxiety:727392727 Korrinn:2628. I tried, boy did I try to fight it. So in this case, my anxiety took over and told me I was done with swimming laps. Forever.

A passion of mine that was so deep was stripped away from me. One summer I even had to stop giving swim lessons because my anxiety was so bad. I was literally scared of the water. The one thing for years that would always be calming for me, was no longer that. That’s the thing about anxiety. It strips it away from you. Almost all of it. Well, I guess I should say it buries it. Anxiety buries it so deep reminding you of that one time or a few times that this “thing” happened. Anxiety tries to protect you but if you let it get out of hand, it actually cripples you. I was crippled with it.

I have been doing so much work this past year to help myself get back to a place I once was. My healing journey has been hard but so worth it. It has been 9 months since my last anxiety attack. And that attack was a small baby one that I don’t want to count it but I will. 9 whole months! I decided that I was going to push myself and do more things that I wanted to do for me. So….

Three weeks ago I signed up for a Master’s swim meet. I signed up for four events. Two being two of the harder events in swimming, the 2fly and 4IM. I wanted those records and instantly realized that I bit off more than I could chew. I got in the pool and like an absolute crazy person I decided to see how far I could swim fly. No warmup, no nothing. I was able to swim four lengths of fly. Ok, so I was halfway to my goal. Then the next day I tried to see where I could get in my IM. I was able to do only half of that. So again, halfway to my goal. Not so bad? Right?

The first week of my training I would swim for thirty minutes. That was all I could do. I would fight off the random dizziness spells that happened the first day. I would tell my anxiety that I was safe, I can do hard things and to basically fuck off. I kept coming back to the pool every single day. For those three weeks of training (which definitely should have been more than that to truly get me ready, but I am a crazy person), I swam every day and took one rest day. I became stronger, I became faster (not by much but slightly) and I was proud of myself. Harper started to make my workouts for me every day and she was pushing me. She had such faith in her mom and all along I was blind to see it in myself. Every day when I would come home from the pool she asked me how I did, how each set was, where did I struggle and where did I feel good? On the weekends she would come evaluate my strokes and give me pointers. Her swim bestie wanted to join in the fun and they would talk on the phone or during a playdate and make my workouts together. On the days where I wanted to throw in the towel, Camryn said, “Hey, Mom. What do you tell us all the time? To do your best and believe in yourself.” So, I listened to my kids. I had this little team rooting for me and it felt good.

I kept at it and the dizziness was gone. My anxiety and intrusive thoughts about dying while in the pool were fading. I was swimming for an hour a day and sometimes even longer and doing up to 2,500yds. I became stronger physically and so did my mind. I swam the full 400IM on week two during one of my sessions. My time was trash but I didn’t care. I did it, I finished it, and I was ready to tackle the next big obstacle.

The 2fly posed such a problem for me mentally. I didn’t think I was ready even though my 10 year old coach told me I was. I’ve only done it with flippers or had completed it in broken formats over the last few weeks. My mind kept telling me if I tried it, something bad would happen eventhough fly is my stroke of choice. I know, I know. Butterfly, yes, is my stroke of choice. So, I did what any crazy old geriatric swimmer would do in this case. I skipped warmup that next practice and just busted out a 2fly. I did it. I fucking did it. I stood at the end of my lane for a minute, smiled, cried and pulled out my phone and texted two friends and my sister to tell them all while catching my breath. I would have texted Harper’s gizmo but it was 6:15 in the morning. I have never been more proud and felt like I conquered the world. I didn’t look up at my time, hell I didn’t even look at the pace clock before I took off. I just had a goal and I conquered it.

Well, today is race day and although I signed up for the hardest events to medal in or get the record in, I am truly just excited to finish the race with my family and friends cheering me on in the stands. I have put in the work and in hindsight, I wish I knew about this race sooner so I could have trained a little more. But, here we are.

I have worked so hard to become this version of myself. I wouldn’t be here without any of the past versions and my anxiety that has come along with it. It is important to find the people who support you to be what you want to be, who push you to be your very best. I am so lucky that my support team is truly incredible.

I am grateful for my anxiety and how I’ve reframed our relationship this past year. Water has always been and will always be my happy place.

July through the beginning of September was wildly challenging for me. I had my extremely fun and profitable side business ripped out from underneath me which then in turn trickled into my full time job being a complete and utter disaster due to those similar circumstances out of my control and I felt so overwhelmed by all parenting and household duties. I was frantically off loading as much as I possibly could off load but a lot of the day to day tasks still fell in my court. To say I was more anxious and more depressed than I have ever been was an understatement. I was trapped. My body and mind were in a constant fight and freeze status and I could barely make it through the day. I used all of my tools, but the existential dread that existed while getting up each day made living extremely hard. I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t eating and I couldn’t look forward to anything. I was broken.

Waking up each day felt like the worst version of groundhog day. Groundhog day included waking up with a stomachache and headache each day, having the same horrible conversations over and over and over and over again at work, not wanting to eat any food because nothing was appealing, resorting to just drinking protein shakes because that was all I could physically muster up the appetite for, calling my friends and family constantly crying and wondering if and when I would ever get back to where I was in life before this enormous hanging black cloud was literally every single day for weeks on end. Wow, that was a loaded run on sentence if I ever read/wrote one. I was frozen in this victim mentality and became immobilized. It took all of my strength and force to get up each day and simply breathe. Just to simply exist.

I knew I had to figure out a way to break this horrible stretch that I was in. The issue with anxiety (in my case anyway) when I get this bad, I know what to do most times but I just can’t do it. So, I pushed myself as hard as I could. When I say pushed myself as hard as I could, I mean it. I started reading each day. I ordered The 5 Second Rule by Mel Robbins and 5-4-3-2-1’d my ass out of bed every morning. Literally, that is what I would say to myself, “5-4-3-2-1, GO KORRINN! Get your fucking ass out of bed and go walk.” I would walk early in the morning each day at sunrise for a half an hour. I needed to get out into the fresh air and I would listen to my morning meditation from my Calm app. Doing this for a few weeks started giving me the clarity I needed to see straight and put myself first again. I went back to the gym after my long hiatus. My anxiety was still really high but I was breathing through it and trying to move through the discomfort rather than being derailed by it. My therapist noticed the difference right away and the people I hold close to me did too. Most importantly, I noticed the difference. I felt the difference.

I went 18 straight days without an anxiety attack. 18 whole glorious days. When it did finally happen that following evening, it was short lived. It did however come on quick and in the middle of the night which tend to be some of the worst attacks for me. Since I have a system in place with my therapist, anything over a 7 on a scale of 10, I just have to sit with it and stick it out. This is one of my hardest challenges in my life. When your heart is racing out of your chest, you’re constantly gagging and throwing up, you are shaking uncontrollably and whatever else your body decides to throw at you, you are being told to breath and feel all the feelings. It sounds crazy, I know. Since anyone in their right mind would want all of that to end quickly, you do what you can to get it over with, but with all of the work that I have been doing over the last few months, that doesn’t cut it. Wishing it away and trying to make the anxiety leave your body quicker doesn’t work long term. The attacks will come back more often and more intense until you just manage what is going on in your body and feel your way through it.

What I learned through this process over the last month is that no emotions are fixed. All will eventually fade or change. They come and go. Even when you are in the thick of it like I was for those two horrible months, your mind tells you that this is what will stay or last forever, however, YOU actually control that. You have to figure out how to get in front of it before the anxiety piece takes over. You are the owner of your own mind. Here is to day 14 (and counting) of no anxiety attacks. Happy World Mental Health Day (a day late), everyone!

I wrote this the evening after my daughter’s fourth-grade concert which took place on May 17th. I couldn’t publish it until now, over six weeks later because of how debilitating my anxiety has been. This was my experience while at her concert.

My daughter’s fourth-grade concert was last night and it was HER night. Her night to shine and sing her solos. Yes, she had a few solos! My night to sit back with my family and be thankful and proud. About halfway through the concert, I could feel it. A pain in my side I had never felt before and then boom, panic which more often than not, leads to anxiety. The irrational thoughts swirled and filled my head quicker than I have experienced before. My entire body radiated heat, so much so that I felt like I was on fire. I looked at Scott who knows the look all too well and I kissed Cam on the forehead and said I had to use the bathroom. Now visibly shaking and just sitting on a small toilet trying to calm my breathing, just thinking to myself I am missing her show. The show that was rebooted after a three year hiatus from fucking covid. The show that I kept hearing about almost every day since the beginning of her school year. And here I was, sitting in a middle school bathroom stall obsessively checking my heart rate, over and over and over and over and over again. Ok, yes, point made, I checked it a lot. I decided not to go back to my seat just in case I need to make a fast exit again and I see Harper looking at the empty seat I was just in. She actively scans the crowd and we lock eyes. Before her solo starts she mouths, “are you okay?”, to her 40 year old mother. A 10 year old who is on stage about to belt out Walking the Wire by Imagine Dragons with all her might but checks in with me first. Want an additional punch to the gut while having an anxiety attack? Well, that did the trick.

A few heavy feelings about this moment. First off, how in the hell did she find me in the back of the dark auditorium?! Although, I am so glad she did. Second, the love in that kid is astonishing. Harper is so caring, selfless and such an incredible human. Third, the fucking guilt. Yes, the overwhelming guilt I felt that it was her night and here she was, checking in on me. She knocks her solo out of the damn park and in a moment where all I wanted to be was present, my anxiety had another plan and wouldn’t let me. At this point, I am still shaking, my heart feels like it is about to burst outside of my chest and I am hotter than Hades and now tears are streaming down my face.

The ending of the show was a culmination of drums, lights, and the most insane amounts of loud banging on recycling containers. My brain and body actually were in sync at that moment and all they wanted to do was run. Run from the anxiety, run from the shame and run from the noise. However, I stayed. I had to. I pressed my back up on the wall as firmly as I could to ground myself and just incessantly kept looking at my heart rate on my watch continue to go higher and higher. The show starts winding down and the lights come on. It is now a standing ovation with people everywhere were trying to get to their kids. As I remove myself from the wall, I see a the mom of one of Harper’s friends. We greet each other with a hug and I whispered to her, “I am currently having an anxiety attack.” She said, “What can I do?” I replied, “Please just keep hugging me.” Without hesitation she grabbed me tighter and just hugged me while tears streamed down my face as everything around us carried on. Margaux, thank you for being there at that exact moment and for embracing and bracing me as long as you did. You truly saved me in that moment.

I wiped my tears and made my way towards Harper and told her how proud I was of her. She stared at me with a look and I mouthed, “I’m fine, I promise.” However, I knew I wasn’t. I had to get out of that space. I asked her if there were any friends, parents or teachers she wanted to chat with and she said she already did that. I’m assuming it was during my hugfest that I missed those interactions. I have never moved so fast in my life to get out of a musty auditorium and out into fresh air. We took a picture to commemorate the evening as shown above. In that moment you would never know what I was struggling with. Cam was looking down because she didn’t want to be in the picture and she just lost it. She was tired from the long night and sitting for almost two hours, and not to mention, she already saw the show at school earlier that same day. So, she was clearly done. Cam tends to lean on me more in those moments and when I am in one of my anxiety attacks I cannot parent her. I truly cannot parent her. The amount of guilt I feel when it comes to saying that statement and writing that twice in a row is heartbreaking, but it is true. I cannot care for someone having a meltdown when my body and brain are acting in opposing directions. It is a recipe for disaster

After getting home, Scott did his best dealing with someone who only wants to be with me but physically can’t. Harper checks on me one final last time and I tell her how sorry I am and cry. She tells me that it is okay, she understands and quietly puts herself to bed. All that is left now is for me to work on quieting the anxiety. I take out all the stops and do all of the things that I normally do when I get anxious. Nothing was working. I think I called all members of my select anxiety friend/family unit and they couldn’t help me. Normally I just need to call one person and I can usually rework my brain after that. Now, in these moments, my friends/family are all so kind and thoughtful but my brain needs immediate relief. So, if one voice or their advice can’t soothe me, I move on and call the next. Seems pretty rude if you ask me and that is coming from the one actually doing it, so I get it. I am grateful that they all know me and they all get my struggles with anxiety as much as they can.

That day was one of the longer attacks I have had in a long time. The symptoms are getting worse and the length of my attacks are longer. Little did I know that this was the start of six of the most grueling physically and mentally draining weeks of my life when it comes to my anxiety.

After barely making it through a summer of teaching swim lessons, I needed to have my back looked at. Although my tolerance level is frighteningly high, even I couldn’t disguise the pain I was in. I was physically crawling up my basement stairs at the end of the day, I couldn’t stand up straight, and I couldn’t pick up my kids. Now that I am thinking about it, I could barely sit without being in agonizing pain. An MRI showed some bulging and herniated discs in my lower back and I was off to a spine center to see what I needed to do.

We had a three tiered plan about injections and then surgery. When she saw my eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets when she said surgery, she reassured me that we probably wouldn’t get to that point because the injections should work. We started with cortisone injections for the first round. After signing my life away on a piece of paper, I nervously laid on the table face down and waited for the pokes. The doctor told me I would be sore but should feel everything kick in to help within 3 to 5 days. After 10 days of absolutely no change, we scheduled an epidural steroid injection a month later. When I arrived, the doctor told me all of the things that could go wrong and told me the slim chance to none that those would happen, most likely.

So, I anxiously laid on the table face down and held on to my wrist and took my heart rate about 18 times. Sitting at a cool 120bpm, I tried so hard to calm my body down but I couldn’t. I just kept going over all of the things that could go wrong. So, I tried a different strategy. I thought about all of things that could go right. What if I could walk with no pain again to at least get me to PT to rehab this issue? What if I could walk up a set of stairs again without crawling? How great will it be to pick up my kids again? I wish I could tell you that those coping strategies worked, but it didn’t. In the back of my head, I just knew this wasn’t going to work. After the initial injection and screaming out loud because this burning sensation followed by pain traveled down my leg, I was released into my little holding cell where I sat for 30 minutes by myself in a wheelchair. 10 days later, no change.

As I mentally started contemplating spinal fusion surgery at 38, I instantly panicked. I couldn’t do it. Mentally, physically, emotionally. I decided that my last ditch effort was to throw a post up on good ol’ facebook to see if my network had any ideas. My good friend Maria sent me the name of her physical therapist and I called immediately. Sadly, she was booked for months and I decided to tell the woman my story. I pleaded for her to look at Meg’s schedule again and that I would make ANY time work. I met Meg in August and it was a match made in heaven. She was funny, quirky and extremely knowledgeable. We began to repair my back in the smallest of baby steps. There would even be times I couldn’t get up on the table. When I say baby steps, man were they fucking baby steps. I was in PT 2-3x a week from August through December of 2021.

In that same post, another friend messaged me and asked if I had my pelvic floor looked at. Other than the time my OB told me my vagina was sad (yes, that happened), I haven’t had any other opinions. Why would I need to have my pelvic floor looked at or my stomach? It was my back that bothered me not my vagina or my stomach. Ha, boy was I wrong.

I met Melanie from CoreSet also in August of 2021. It turns out that I tore my linea alba (the section that runs down your midline of your abdomen) in three places. I had what is called a diastasis recti. The top, middle and bottom were all stretched far apart and I basically didn’t have an abdominal wall. Well, I did but they weren’t close by. The worst separation was 12 cm long! This all started to make sense once Melanie explained everything to me. I wasn’t seeing any results when I was working out because I had no abdomen muscles since they were stretched too far apart. My back was in so much pain and I could barely stand up on my own because I had no support from my abdomen whatsoever.

The program that I would be put on would not have overnight results. I had to work hard. I had to be consistent. I had to trust the process. I was put in splints that covered from just underneath my boobs and my entire torso for 22 hours a day. Now, we didn’t just slap those things on for 22 hours on the first go. I had to work up to that place. I felt nauseous at first. The splints were tight. It was hotter that Haiti in August of 2021. And you can’t really sit down without the splints flying up and bending everywhere. So I stood for almost every portion of the day. I bought myself a standing desk and rarely sat down unless it was to get in the car. I hated driving with them on because it bulged up something fierce.

In addition to wearing these splints, I did exercises every single day. Multiple times per day. Between my diastasis recti exercises and my back exercises, it took me about 2-3 hours total per day. Some days I had to give up and only do one set. Some weeks when I got my period, I would have to give in all together. And lucky me, I get my period 2x a month so some weeks I just felt like a failure. However, I continued to push myself. I was determined to do this for me and I wasn’t giving up.

So, here we are 9 months later. I feel stronger than ever. My diastasis recti is completely closed at the top and bottom. I have about 1 cm left in the middle section!! I have more work that needs to be done but my back and core are stable. I only have spasms in my back when I get my period. So yes, it does suck that it happens every 2 weeks but sometimes my back pain will last 1-2 days and other cycles my back won’t hurt at all. I am back at the gym and have been for 3 months with no limitations. I have my confidence back. So much so that I am putting up this next picture. I am ready to show my before and my work in progress pictures.

I do want to thank Scott, my sisters, my parents, my friends and my trainer for being so supportive during this journey. Thanks goodness for facebook posts and for friends reaching out to get me the recommendations I so desperately needed. Last and certainly not least, my tag team partners of Meg and Melanie who have never met one another but heard all about one another during my appointments. They gave me the tools I needed to be successful and I will be forever grateful.

Here is to a summer of teaching lessons and launching these kids so far into the air, stomach engaged, of course.