The other night, I was cleaning up dinner, my two children at my feet, when the fire alarms throughout our house began blasting. Of course, the baby started crying. Of course, my 4-year-old joined in, happily screaming in dissonant harmony. I swung around checking the oven and the stove, but the cooking was long over and nothing had been left on.
Military Life Fueled My Anxiety, Then Taught Me to Manage It
I’ve wrestled with anxiety my entire life. But growing up in the 80s and 90s, we didn’t label it “anxiety.” We didn’t really label it anything, and as a result, I thought …
