Finding My Way Back

Hi, Again! It’s been a little while! Since there are some new friends here, let me reintroduce myself. I’m Caitlin. I’m 38, a Cleveland girl through and through, and a Cancer if you’re into astrology. I’m married to the most incredible husband…isn’t he cute?!

Together we’re raising two amazing kids (plus a few furry ones), and these days you’ll usually find me in my full-blown “sports mom era” or teaching Mommy & Me gymnastics classes. My life is far from perfect, but it is full!

A few years ago, I started this blog because I wanted a place where women could talk honestly about mental health. Social media is full of highlight reels, but real life is messy, beautiful, heartbreaking, and complicated. I wanted to make room for all of it.

For those who don’t know, I experienced a mental health crisis almost a decade ago. It was one of the hardest seasons of my life. My husband didn’t just stand by my side through it—he carried me until I was strong enough to stand on my own two feet again. That is something I will never forget.

After some incredibly difficult years, and with the love and support of my family, friends, psychiatrist, and therapist (shoutout to Kristen), I slowly began finding my way back to myself. Along the way, I was diagnosed with OCD, bipolar disorder, and PTSD. It took time to understand what I was experiencing, learn how to care for myself, and begin rebuilding my life—but little by little, I found my footing again.

When I was first diagnosed, I felt equal parts relieved and ashamed. Relieved to finally have answers and a treatment plan (I LOVE a good plan), but ashamed that people might see me differently. I worried they’d think I was “crazy.” Eventually, I realized something important: We only get one brain, and it quietly works around the clock to keep us alive—from regulating our emotions to controlling every heartbeat, breath, and movement. Caring for our mental health is really about caring for the very organ that makes all of life possible.

Recovery was messy. It meant facing my deepest demons, acknowledging the damage I’d done, and accepting the terrifying reality that if I didn’t change, I would eventually make decisions with consequences that couldn’t be undone.

I am now on the other side of that nightmare and as strange as it sounds, my mental illnesses have also shaped some of the parts of myself that I love most. They’ve given me deep empathy, compassion, and an appreciation for life’s ordinary moments. People are often surprised when they learn I struggle with mental illness…

“But you’re so happy.”

“But you’re so friendly.”

They’re right—I am. Most days anyways. Mental illness doesn’t erase my personality. It simply means my brain sometimes works against me. And because I’ve experienced some incredibly dark days, I never take the good ones for granted. Peace feels extraordinary when you know what it’s like to live without it.

Which brings me to today. I’m coming out of another depressive episode. It wasn’t my worst, but it was definitely a doozy. This time, though, I knew what to do. I returned to therapy, worked with my psychiatrist to adjust my medications, and leaned heavily on my family. I stepped away from social media and turned inward. I created a safe little cocoon at home and quietly focused on getting better, one day at a time.

The unexpected gift has been what therapy is uncovering. I’m finally working through my lifelong people-pleasing tendencies and learning how to forgive myself. I have a running list of mistakes in my head dating back to childhood. Somehow I can forgive other people in a heartbeat, but extending that same grace to myself has always felt impossible. Because my greatest fear is hurting or letting people down, I’ve held myself hostage to my mistakes, reliving them again and again. My OCD loves to latch onto all of this. It doesn’t just fuel obsessive thoughts—it creates endless “rules” and rituals that my brain convinces me I have to follow… or else. That’s a story for another day.

If I’m being honest, I almost quit this blog during this last episode. Then something unexpected happened. New followers started showing up literally out of nowhere. Strangers started sending kind messages. Friends reached out asking when I’d start writing again because they missed my posts. Ladies, I had been deep in prayer for months over this. I’ve spent most of my life searching for my purpose. Maybe it’s been here all along. So here I am. Ready to be vulnerable again. Ready to keep sharing the messy, the hard, and the hopeful. You’ll see more guest bloggers, more collaborations, and more honest conversations about mental health. I’m also finally ready to pursue volunteer work supporting women living with PTSD after sexual assault. I’ll keep you updated.

If sharing my truth helps even one person feel less alone, then it’s worth every vulnerable word. I’m so glad you’re here. Let’s do this….again! Please feel free to reach out. I’d love to chat! This isn’t about just me, it’s about us and OUR stories. Each important, each impactful!