The story of Sleeping Beauty begins at the christening of Princess Aurora, the newest child of the King and Queen.  At this celebration, seven good fairies are invited to be the godmothers to the infant princess.  However, an eighth fairy, who is literally referred to as “the old one”, did not get an invite to the party.

And she was pissed.

During the festivities, six of the seven fairies offered Aurora gifts of beauty, wit, grace, dance, song, and goodness.  The “old” fairy, who was naturally also referred to as “evil”, continued to fume about being forgotten.  Therefore, her gift to the baby was a curse that Aurora would one day prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die.

And die?  I’m pretty sure that wasn’t on the registry.

Thankfully, there was still one fairy at the celebration who had not yet given Aurora a gift.  Since she clearly showed up empty handed, her impromptu gift ends up being an attempt to reverse the evil, old, (obviously over forty), fairy’s curse, but she only does so partially. Instead of dying, Aurora falls into a deep sleep for 100 years and can only be awakened by a kiss from a King’s son.

Does anyone else think this gift is kind of a sucky?

I know “the evil, old one” is supposed to be the antagonist of this story.  But personally, I think she’s more like the protagonist.  Now granted, her intent to kill the young princess for a mere party diss was truly twisted, especially for a “kid-friendly” fairy tale.  (Hello, nightmares.)   But, her proactive actions eventually lead to Aurora’s deep sleep during her most awkward years.  What I wouldn’t have given for a gift like that!  How much better would my life have been if I were comatose through my most difficult times?  I could have slept through middle school.  And high school.  And several parts of my twenties.  And turning thirty.  And the years prior to and after forty.  And all of 2016.

This gift would be have been a dream come true! (No pun intended, and minus the death part).  Yet, if I slept through all the challenging times I’ve had, I probably would have ended up spending the bulk of my life asleep as opposed to being awake.

From a very early age, I have been plagued with insomnia, which is a sleep disorder that is characterized by the difficulty of falling asleep and staying asleep.  As a child, I remember being so afraid to go to sleep, because I knew what was ahead.  I would just lie there for hours, wondering why I couldn’t sleep, fearful that I’d be awake the whole night.  And usually that was the case, only to be repeated the following night.

The insomnia stayed with me through my teen years, and into adulthood.  Eventually, I stopped being so afraid of it, and just surrendered.  And, like a lot of things, I learned to live with it.

Trying to put the kibosh on all the thoughts and worries racing through my head, I’d instead watch a lot of late night TV or read trashy celebrity magazines.  Incidentally, Dateline is on multiple channels after the midnight hour.  Ironically, watching stories of murder and violence didn’t help me ease into my nighttime slumber.  And stories about the Kardashian’s only lead to nightmares and being wide awake again…go figure.

When I turned thirty, I went through a bit of a health scare that included symptoms of exhaustion, loss of appetite, restlessness, palpitations, nausea, sweating and trembling.  I saw several doctors, fearful of what horrible disease I might of had.  I knew I was dying.  I just knew it.  WebMD agreed.

Eventually, the diagnosis came in, and I didn’t see if coming at all.  There was nothing physically wrong with me.  I had an Anxiety Disorder.  The insomnia, my excessive worry, the constant fear I could never seem to shake…that was all attributed to anxiety.

I wasn’t dying.  I was simply a nervous wreck.

Like the insomnia, the anxiety was something I would learn to live with as well.  After all, on the outside, I was able to function fairly normally – at least, both professionally and socially.  Sure, I was constantly afraid and always worried about something, but that was something I did my best to keep to myself.  The fact that I was anxious was no secret to those around me, but the usually high level of anxiety I was experiencing was not common knowledge.  And I wanted it to stay that way.

And then, right around the time I turned forty, the panic attacks started.  And once again, I felt as if I was going to die.  Literally.  My body was now physically reacting to what was going on in my head, and slowly, it started to take a toll on my life.

But I kept going.

In 2016, my anxiety had pretty much taken over.  Professionally, it was the biggest year of my life, with the mall’s impending grand opening.  Looking back, I don’t remember a time in 2016 when I wasn’t at work, thinking about work, doing work…it’s honestly all I remember.  And while I was actually referred to as being “robotic” during that time, getting things done at an unnatural pace, the anxiety kept building, and by year end, would morph into a deep depression, and ultimately become debilitating.

The weird thing was, on the very rare occasions I wasn’t doing something work-related, you’d actually find me on my couch, curled in the fetal position…fast asleep.   I’d doze through Dateline.  And nap through the Housewives.  I just wanted to shut down…if only for a little while.  I just wanted everything to go away.  I wanted to go away.

Towards the end of the year, I was still managing to function at work, but personally, I was falling apart.  I kept wondering if this was how my life was always going to be.  Was I going to feel this way forever?  How was I going to live with this?  Like Sleeping Beauty, I just wanted to take a little siesta through this incredibly hard time, and then, when it was all over, be woken up by a kiss from my prince.  (Although realistically, I would more than likely been licked awake by one or both of my jumbo cats…who probably would be licking their crotches shortly thereafter…and more than likely before the enchanting lick.)

I would eventually end up doing the one thing in this world that I hate to do the most…I would ask for help.  While I didn’t want to bother anyone, I started with telling my struggles to my parents, and it progressed from there.   And sure enough, in due time, after accepting some much needed help, I finally saw a light at the end of the tunnel.  And it was quite the sight for sore eyes.

Better yet, I saw the Tracy that not only I used to love, but others as well.  The funny, happy, approachable Tracy who, over the last few years, I thought had left the building…never to return.

Yes, in the eloquent words of Dino Manzo from The Real Housewives of New Jersey, “I’m back, bitches,” and as they say…I’m here all week!  (Don’t forget to tip your cocktail waitress.)  😉

The other day, I was having a conversation with someone about my blog, and he said that he couldn’t believe how I was putting my life out for all to read.  I felt as if he was shaming me for doing something I shouldn’t be doing.

I don’t think I’ve ever been one to overshare.  I’m not posting on social media every time I have a meal, or have to go to the bathroom, or have a random thought, or have an ache or pain, or feel the need to share my views on anything and everything.  I like to stick to pictures of pretty dresses and fat cats.

But, after holding so much anxiety and so much fear inside for so long…after all the sleepless nights, heartache, and loneliness, it’s nice to finally open up about my struggles.  These are my battle scars; I wear them proudly.  And if I am able to help one of my five blog readers also struggling along the way…then bravo!

Through the years, I’ve been told I’m too vulnerable, too emotional, and too trusting.  And, yes, that is all true and has gotten me into some trouble.  Yet, I never want to change these qualities about myself.  They are who I am.  They make me relatable.  They make me human.

My anxiety is also a part of who I am.  And it always will be.  We’re a packaged deal.  And I don’t really care who knows about it.  I went through something and came out a better person.  I’m okay.

Bottom line, I recently realized that there will be plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead.  And if that includes more restless nights, more Dateline and more Kardashians – so be it.  (Actually, no more Kardashians.  Do you hear me?  NO MORE KARDASHIANS!  They must be stopped.)

For now, I want to remain alert, attentive, and, most importantly, AWAKE through my life…all of it.

And the next time life gives me lemons, rather than heading for the couch, I’m just going to add some vodka, triple sec, and sugar, and toast my troubles away with a lemon drop!

Because I know…this too shall pass.