I have been off Zoloft for about six weeks now and feeling great. Today, I touched base with my psychiatrist. After our usual talk about my life and mental health, the psychiatrist asked if I wanted to schedule a followup appointment or if I was ready to bravely go forward to conquer the world and call her if I ever needed a booster session.
(Those were not her exact words. I’m paraphrasing.)
I said that I was ready to conquer the world!
(Not my exact words either.)
We shook hands, I promised to get her a copy of my book when it’s published, and then I left.
Stepping into the hallway, I felt as if I was having a cinematic moment. Like I was about to fall to my knees and weep with joy. I did it! I did it! I kicked postpartum depression in the ass, did everything I needed to do to protect my mental health, and lived to tell the tale. And now, I am such a mental health boss, I’ve got this.
But instead of getting dramatic and weeping on the floor, I called Nathan to share the exciting news. He said we needed to get a cake to celebrate. Marrying that man was one of the best decisions I ever made. He gets it! He gets just how freaking important this milestone is to me.
We’ll probably just get takeout dinner tonight because we just had cake for my birthday, but still, I like the sentiment.
Folks, my mental health is all on me. I don’t need a psychiatrist to tell me that I’m doing well. I am so excited to be in charge!