Post-Redemption Ride Madness and the Importance of Mental Health

I named my drive from Florida to New England “Redemption Ride 2023.” It was the first “big thing” I did solo since my accident. It was also my first time going back “home” since moving south in 2021.

I stayed with friends and family along the way, which was lovely. A few days in a hotel near my old NH farm allowed me to catch up with old friends and visit one of the horses we had rehomed. He got a smooch and scratch on the withers.

Then, a good friend and I drove back to Florida together, stopping to see her daughter in Washington, DC, and scoped out areas in the Carolinas for future house shopping.

Revisiting my past triggered me to compare life in New Hampshire to life in Florida. The contrast was stark. The losses experienced in our new Florida home made the NH farm life we had to leave seem idyllic.

It had been a month and a day since returning home, and I was gravely out of sorts.

Still reeling from the journey, I had not yet returned to the comfort of my routine. Knowing that the upcoming months would be filled with trips, I realized that my routine would be challenged once again. My ambition sank.

I neglected daily habits that kept me grounded - exercise, stretching, reading, journaling, and praying. These were proven critical by their absence on my trip, but I lacked the energy to start any of them after returning home.

I expected to feel relief and joy being home from my trip.

However, I was distracted and disinterested. Not only did I not feel at “home,” I didn’t want to be there at all.

I missed my solo hotel room.

I slacked in everything. I had no motivation to jump on my rebounder, which I loved. I ate crap food, not caring how it made me feel. I didn’t even engage with my dogs, whom I loved dearly.

Then guilt took over - for not engaging with my dogs, eating crap food, and neglecting my rebounder. I grumbled about having no alone time. Showers were daunting.  I was NOT ok.

Then the weathermen began forecasting Hurricane Ian.

To make matters worse, the day before Ian was to land, our generator wouldn’t start. I asked my husband to test it days before, but he hadn’t. He enlisted help from friends at the last minute.

On top of all of this, our horse, Dusty, needed a place with shelter ASAP. His portable corral shelter was not designed to withstand a major hurricane, and we had no options for relocating him.

Visions of being stuck in the house with the Florida heat and no a/c or electricity, while water poured into our garage from Ian tormented me. I pictured poor Dusty in a driving storm, alone, wet, and shaking. I was on a shrinking island alone with no help to keep me safe as the storm encroached.  

I was flat out scared.

The morning Ian was to make landfall, I woke up lightheaded and shaky. I knew low blood sugar could cause that, but mine was fine - I keep a test kit at home because of my fluctuating blood sugar levels. As the day unfolded, I had a surmounting feeling that I had to get out of the house. The broken generator situation pushed me over the edge. Too impatient to wait for our life-saving friends to help get it going, and tired of calling places to find Dusty proper housing, I thought I might explode.

My heart pounded into my head as I paced in the driveway. I didn’t like how messed up I felt. I decided I would go to the grocery store for the few hurricane supplies we needed. I had to “get the hell out of dodge” before our friends showed up, sensing that I was about to blow a gasket.

With the volume cranked high, typically a saving grace for me, I exited our Florida community. As I pulled onto the two-lane, I was suddenly aware of the space around and in my head. It was dizzying. I couldn’t breathe or, at least, couldn’t breathe normally. Something as natural as taking in air felt impossible.

It was like a dark spirit got inside me, taking hold without my awareness. Things distorted. I was freezing up and shutting down. Dread threatened every crevice.

It was terrifying. 

Then, “I remember this -” the thought washed over me like cold water.

I had battled panic attacks years prior. Remembering their debilitation brought on more panic. It took everything I had just to keep breathing in and out.

I wanted to scream, but was afraid that if I let it go, I’d lose control. I saw myself in a violent breakdown on the side of the road. Thoughts of ambulances and men in white coats taking me away almost made me laugh. I had hit a wall.

I grabbed my phone and called my sisters, something I had been doing more frequently in times of desperation, which lately seemed plentiful. Truthfully, there was no one else to call. My mom had been my lifeline, but she had been gone for years.

The sisters talked me off the ledge. When I got to the grocery store, my breathing slowed down. Sitting in my car, I placed my finger on the phone camera for the heart rate app to take a measurement. My heart rate was 155.

“I’m going to have a heart attack,” I thought. My dad had a few mild heart attacks in his forties. My super-in-shape brother had one at fifty-three. Surely, this was my fate.

Breathing exercises and reciting scripture eventually lowered the rate to 74. My head began to feel normal again. I ventured into the store, shortlist in hand, and meandered around the produce section, taking in all the green around me. The longer I shopped, the more I felt like myself.

It occurred to me as I walked and shopped that I had been isolating in the house since returning from my adventure. I thought I had been content staying inside, looking at a screen, searching for answers. However, ignoring real issues caused my anxieties to swirl and billow internally.

Back at home, I opened up to my husband about what happened - the disorientation, physical effects, and overwhelming fear. We had a raw conversation about my anxieties. A call to my primary doctor the next day set an appointment, and she was able to offer resources for additional support.

Sharing my struggles was both humbling and encouraging.

Luckily, we were able to move Dusty to a safe stall. For the next few days, we rode out the hurricane, put the house back together after it passed, and contemplated our future. The thought of another monumental move was unnerving but necessary. With all the losses and challenges, Florida had not been good for us.

I returned to reading scripture daily, watching inspirational sermons, reading, studying, and journaling frequently. I did all I could to rebuild the stones of my faith foundation. They had been shaken out of place pretty hard.

As the ground beneath my feet began resurfacing, I got out of the house and back into the world. I was patting and playing with my dogs and feeling closer to "normal" once again.

Hope returned.

Anxiety, depression, and mental health issues are scary and should always be taken seriously. Seeing my heart rate spike the way it did, and realizing how disoriented I became that day, were wake-up calls. It was clear that the losses, injuries, and upheavals of the past few years had taken a toll on me.

Managing our environment is crucial to a healthy state of mind. I am a huge proponent of therapy and was lucky to find a fantastic mental health practitioner. I utilized her extensively over the next few months. I immersed myself in things that fed my faith. I ate better and moved my body daily.  All those things, in concert, got me back on my feet.

Redemption Ride 2023 and the two months that followed taught me important lessons. I learned what I do and don’t need to be healthy. I identified necessary boundaries. I realized who I needed to surround myself with, and who I needed to distance myself from.

In that chapter of life, as I searched for another new place to put down roots and carve out a fulfilling lifestyle, the most important thing I did was to be honest with myself. Recognizing I was sputtering forced me to prioritize self-care.

It was a crucial, albeit scary, lesson that led to securing the tools I needed to repair and rebuild part of the bridge back to my true self.